Our daughter Anne has been home for a visit this week. The end of
a relationship, and a looming birthday bought her back from London for
a flying visit.
Her return sparked off a whole round of family obligations. I'm
the only sibling in my family to have bred, so my pigeon pair are
always the subject of special interest from the senior side of the
family - which is very senior, indeed.
Dad is the youngest sibling in his family - a mere stripling at
81. In ascending order follow the girls (and they have always
been girls) Val (84) Ida (87) and Bonnie (91). If genes count for
anything, I can bank on a telegram from King Charles.
Although they are all in varying degrees of decrepitude, none of them
has anything life threatening and they all look as though immortality
might just be an option
The girls, all widows, adore Dad. They delight in recounting how
as a baby they used to push him round in their dolls' prams, and they
all regard him with a kind of enchanted awe, as though they can't quite
believe he's there.
Dad is quite deaf, and I suspect blissfully unaware of how intently they discuss every aspect of him.
Mum and Anne are very close. When Anne was a baby, and I was a
single parent, Mum used to look after Anne while I was working.
They have been co-conspirators ever since. They are both strong,
reserved, watchful - much quieter than Dad and his ebullient
sisters. They sit on the sidelines, happy in each others'
company, pouring over family photographs - a source of endless pleasure
to them both.
Matt arrives - big, boofy, boyish, he plays his role as clown prince to
perfection. His presence seems to fill up the room, and emphasize
how small Dad and the girls are getting.
Matt adores his big sister, and has driven several hours to see
her. Anne regards being adored as a natural state of affairs, and
responds calmly to Matt's puppyish displays of affection.
It is not an original thought that all families are special in their
own special ways. As I look around the room at all the members of
my family, I'm struck by their capacity to be happy in each others
company, to enjoy simple things (curried egg sandwiches were the big
hit on the day), to believe only good things of each other.
Dad was in the Middle East and New Guinea during the war. God
knows what he witnessed. He certainly never talks about it.
He has a strong faith, and is approaching the end of his life with
equanimity - although given his sisters' remarkable longevity, he will
probably be with us for some time yet.
Matt and Anne are both in their 30's, and neither has a family yet,
like many of their generation. I catch myself thinking I hope
they don't miss out.
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Change of Life 
