Jean Haigh

Rest in peace big sister.
You were at my childhood side in difficult times.
You held my hand when I needed it.
You were always there.

Even half way around the world,
You were always there.
Now, no longer there in body,
You are there in soul.

In my life.
In the child as she grew.
In shared experiences.
In memory.

Thank you for being you, Jean.
Now, rest in peace big sister.

It is hard to know quite what to say when someone who has been part of your family for your whole life is no longer there.

Auntie Jean was my mum’s big sister, and theirs was a relationship that stretched across a lifetime. Jean was always very protective of Mum, and I think that said a lot about who she was – someone who cared deeply about the people she loved and wanted to look out for them.

Jean was also wonderfully creative. She loved sewing and all kinds of crafts, and one of my own special memories of her is of the clothes she used to make for me when I was little. There is something particularly lovely about looking back on that now – knowing the time, thought and care that went into making something especially for me. Those are the small things that perhaps you don’t fully appreciate as a child, but which become much more precious as the years pass.

For much of our later lives, Jean was a very long way away from us in Australia, and sadly we hadn’t been able to see her in person for many years. But distance didn’t mean that she stopped being part of our family. We kept in touch through emails and phone calls, and by sending photographs and sharing news of our lives.

Jean was always particularly interested in hearing about my children, Darwin and Edison. She wanted to know how they were getting on at school, what they were interested in and what hobbies they were enjoying. I would send her photographs and updates, and she genuinely loved hearing about what they were doing and the people they were becoming. Although they were growing up on the other side of the world from her, she still wanted to be part of their lives. That meant a great deal to me.

In many ways, those conversations, emails and photographs helped to bridge the enormous distance between us. They were our way of keeping Jean close and of making sure that she continued to share in the life of our family.

The last years of Jean’s life were made very difficult by dementia. It is a cruel illness, because gradually it can obscure so much of the person you have known and loved. So today, I want to remember Jean as she really was – as Mum’s protective sister, as my Auntie Jean, as someone creative and caring, sitting in her sewing room or working on her latest craft, and as the auntie who used to take me on days out when I was little.

And I want to remember her as someone who, even from thousands of miles away, continued to care about what was happening in our lives – who wanted to hear our news, see our photographs and know how Darwin and Edison were getting on.

There is sadness that so many miles separated us and that we didn’t have the chance to see her again. But I am grateful that we continued to have that connection. Geography may have meant that Jean couldn’t be physically present in our lives, but she remained part of our family and part of our story.

Most of all, I hope that after such a long illness, Jean is now at peace.

We will remember her for the person she was, for the things she made with her hands, for the love and protection she gave to those closest to her, and for the interest and pride she took in the generations of family that came after her.

Goodbye, Auntie Jean. You may have been on the other side of the world, but you were always part of our family, always loved, and you will always be remembered.