Friday 17th April 2026 - No Weddings and a Funeral
Family bonds are never broken. They just branch off and grow in another direction.
Today was a difficult day. It was my Aunty Val's final farewell, and it was beautiful.
I found it more difficult than I thought I would. I've changed. I hadn't seen most of them for years. I felt self-conscious for a moment, but my mind quickly turned to family. I'm a cryer. I wear my heart on my sleeve. But I was so nervous today.
In my chair, in an appropriate wig. Within minutes of settling, the emotional and physical pressure set in. The tremors and shakes started. My husband was there, squeezing my hands, giving me stability, but it wasn't going away. I just had to own it. I wasn't in a room full of strangers. This was my family.
It was a beautiful celebration of all things Aunty Val. The hardworking, big-hearted woman I remembered.
The celebrant talked as if he knew her, knew her family, the wider family, but where there should have been nine brothers and sisters, there were four empty spaces. I looked over to Dad, and you could see how broken he felt, having only just recovered from illness himself.
Is it wrong that in that single moment I counted my blessings? I still have some time left. My dad, older, deafer, funnier and full of love, just like all his siblings, is still here. How on earth will I cope? Time and tide wait for no man. We have to make the most of the time we are gifted.
The cousins I grew up with shared shenanigans with, we are all grown up now, with children and grandchildren of our own. And our parents are the oldies.
Aunty Val's husband and children, their children, their children's children, overcome with the loss of a wife, a mother, a grandmother. They held themselves together and celebrated her life with few tears, just as Aunty Val would have wanted them to. I remembered her as the mischief maker. If there was fun to be had, she'd be there. I hadn't seen her for a long time, but the video the family put together reminded me that her family was everything. Her daughters are all so close to each other.
Again, my thoughts turned to my own family. Times are different now. Family life, family shape, the way we stay in touch. None of it looks the way it used to. And I looked at that front bench, at my dad and his brothers and sisters, and you could see the pain of losing another sibling. How fragile life is.
As with all families, you grow up and drift apart, and the cousins who were your best friends growing up, by the time you get to your late 40s and 50s, you only really see each other at funerals.
We went to a social club on the road where my Pops and Nana used to live. We drove past the house, the heart of our childhood, and then went into the club where so many family celebrations had taken place. I could almost see us sitting on the benches with little glass bottles of Coca-Cola.
It had the same smell. It seemed smaller, but it was comforting. The buffet was almost bang on. Cheese and pineapple on sticks, egg sandwiches on white bread. Though Nana always made her egg mayo with salad cream.
This is where everyone exhales.
I hadn't been in the bosom of Ingleby family love since the last family funeral.
I was nervous. I'm not the same person I was the last time we were all thrust together. I don't think some of them recognised me: a thin, tiny, wheelchair-bound woman.
I was anxious about the questions. In my teens and 20s, I was one of the three black sheep. One of the tearaways. Burning the candle at both ends. Every family has them. I was just living in Leeds, and they were in the Midlands. It's not until later in life that we discover this about each other.
But once we started talking, it was like we'd never been apart.
We have a window into each other's worlds, social media, but that's only half the story. There are lifetimes they want to share. And you can see in their eyes and faces that they've lived life to the full. Each family is tight-knit, just like Nana and Pops. Just like Aunty Val and Uncle Fred.
I took a moment to glance at Uncle Fred. He looked lost. Like he was frozen in time while the world revolved around him. My stomach dropped and ached. I've never seen him like that.
The man with the never-ending smile. Not propping up the bar, not hanging out with the cousins, making mischief. He always loved being out and about with the youngsters, one of the last to leave any party, making sure everyone got home safely.
Aunty Val and Uncle Fred lived for each other. For their five girls. I've lost count of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Old photos and videos appeared. Fond memories shared.
I settled. No shakes. No tremors.
I think my dad turned his hearing aid off because the noise all merged into one. And I grew the courage (medicinal alcohol required - it's rude not to at a wake) and felt comfortable enough to start to talk, to mingle. (No, I didn't run anyone over.)
The occasional question about my health wasn't as hard as I thought. More than that, I found myself saying it plainly: good days and bad, some weeks more bed than good. But when you get a good day, you make the most of it. Celebrate it. Be happy you've made it to the sofa, got dressed, and heard from someone you love.
Life today is not like it was when we were little. Family life is different now. Different shapes, different distances, different rhythms. But we all have windows into each other's lives with social media and this blog. I was amazed and humbled that my cousins read what I wrote.
It's distance and growing up that's changed us. But we are still that group of tearaways who gathered at Nana and Pops for that one photo, all those days at Drayton Manor.
Your cousins are your first true friends. Time doesn't break that. Life just changes. We are the grown-ups now. Taking care of our parents. Passing on the family love that has flowed through the generations, a love I'd lost touch with.
Plenty of love, hugs and laughs shared. The good times when we were carefree, loved, and always had each other. Each family carries that love and passes it on.
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Memory lane, the good times we shared; it's a wonderful place to visit.
We never had much. We never had much money. We lived in the most deprived area in Lichfield. But we never felt that, because we had each other, and we were loved. Pops and Nana were at the centre of our world. We may not have had Clarks shoes, but they made our lives complete. We wanted for nothing.
You forget they weren't perfect. We were just kids.
We say it every time. "We need to get together sometime." But not at a funeral.
So why am I writing this? I've not resolved anything. But we are family, and there's only one thing that can physically keep us apart. No matter the distance or the lack of communication, we all come from a loving, strong family line. When that line breaks and branches off, we make do and mend.
Family today looks different than it did when we were small. It's fragmented in places, reshaped in others. Sometimes by choice, sometimes by life, sometimes to protect the heart and the head. But the family my mother married into took me under their wings as one of their own, and today I felt that love. Physical, through hugs and kisses. But more than anything, I belonged.
And I owe so much of that to my Dadio.
No matter what, he loves me unconditionally, and in return, I love him deep in my heart and soul. I just need to find time to spend more time with him. This life is far too short. I want to soak up every bit of his love.
Although I think he might start locking the door or hiding in the shed.
Rest gently, Aunty Val. Uncle Fred and Val's girls. Live every day with her in your hearts.
I learned something today.
Family bonds are never broken. They just branch off and grow in another direction. That's life.
I need my family. I want to spend more time with those who bless me with their love. Hold them close. Share your life, even if it's only through a screen because of distance. And never forget where you came from.
Dad. I love you with every fibre of my being. Divorce, angry words, messy relationships, work, and ill health. They may have stolen time we could have had together. But that's about to change. I don't want to be in that room, the room where we said goodbye to Aunty Val, regretting that I didn't return the love you bestowed on me.
Lou. I might need a lift when you next go to visit, so I can come with you?
To Aunty Val's girls. Thank you for sharing your day with me. KOKO (Keep on keeping on), just like your mum would want you to. Fire in your belly. Love in your heart.
Sleep gently, Aunty Val, knowing your love lives on in your beautiful family.
#KOKO