I’m very lucky to have had two extremely lovely aunties in my life; and my kids are very lucky to have two extremely lovely aunties in their lives. I’m writing this blog post, though, specifically in memory of my Auntie Molly.  She died 10 years ago, very suddenly, leaving a significant gap.  She happened to die in the same week as my mum, just by chance, and so the space to process the gap she left was harder to come by.  It was a big week.  My sister & I were next of kin to both women; two funerals needed organising; two homes full of possessions to consider.  We knew that my mum was dying, and I was so looking forward to having Mol there to lean on in the aftermath.  She had always been such a solid, reliable, twinkling presence in our lives. Emotionally literate yet incredibly stoic.  A child of war times and rations and just-getting-on-with-things, yet full of compassion and a drive to understand people better. She’d told friends that she was honoured to be becoming the closest relative left to Ruth & I, after mum died, and I’m sure she was annoyed at her last breath that she didn’t get to fulfil that role.  Although, equally, she’d have hated being ill and growing old dreadfully slowly, so in many ways a sudden-dropping-dead suited her perfectly.

My Auntie Molly was remarkable. She was eccentric, funny, talkative. She hated cats with a passion, loved nature, always took the bus, found connections with everyone she met on the bus, had a freezer full of soup, archived everything. She knitted all sorts of things – never clothes – such as 300 coathangers and an entire nativity set and tiny Christmas puddings.  She was a teetotaller who objected so strongly to gambling that she wouldn’t even buy a raffle ticket.  She was Church of Scotland in her bones. Mol was both a knowledgeable countrywoman and a well-to-do Edinburgh lady.  She was deeply committed to her friendships – that’s something she taught me – and cherished her oldest friends dearly.  In turn, she was so well loved.

In a time where there is so much chatter about how there is no longer a village to support parents, I feel like we should be shining a light on the powerful role that aunties play in raising kids. That’s why I decided to design a card that can be sent to an excellent aunt, to say thank you, we see the work you do and the love you give, it doesn’t go unnoticed.  The card has the words “everybody (it’s true) should have an auntie like you”.  There are two little foxes on the card in memory of Molly and her love for the foxes in her garden. Molly lived in a first-floor flat (which my sister now lives in, which is hugely comforting) and could look down from the kitchen window into her garden.  A family of foxes made their home under her shed. She loved them! And she loved a fox cub drawing of mine so much that we chose it for the front of the Order of Service for her funeral rather than a photo of her (she hated having her picture taken and would, without fail, be talking in every photo). 

I also chose foxes for the card because, often, there are female foxes in the family group who are helping the vixen to raise the cubs.  It seems that foxes have a vested interest in the survival of their bothers, sisters, nieces and nephews – something called kin selection.  This is to do with the survival of the family genes, but the fox doesn’t know that. What the fox experiences is not for us to know, but I imagine it as a fierceness, a protective instinct, an indulgence, a care, a love for her relatives. 

Thank you for listening to my reminiscence about my lovely Aunt.  I hope you’ve been blessed with a remarkable auntie or two in your life.  This is my call to action: it’s time to send a lot of love to those aunts.

 You can find my new Auntie Like You card here.