Eulogy by Sarah: Jenny as an aunty I wanted to speak today about Jenny as an aunty. Jenny’s journey as an aunty began 41 years ago when I was born, followed by my sister Rachel two and half years later. Aunty Jenny and Uncle Pete were part of the fabric of our very happy childhood. This early period of her role as an aunt was a practical one: she took us on days out, she babysat for us, she looked after us when we were sick. She taught us things: how to play games – ludo, pit, tell me – how to do our nails, and how to type on her electric typewriter (little did we know in the 1980s how important that skill would become in later life). As we grew up, we were joined by Joe, Tim, Will and Tom, and Aunty Jenny was always there to mark the key moments in our lives. She followed us as we progressed through school and university, and into jobs, and as Rachel and I met our partners Les and Fred. She celebrated our birthdays, she recognised our achievements – she was always interested in us. She was also there in our darkest moments – when mum died and when we lost Grandma. She called, she comforted and we shared our grief and learnt to be happy again. And then her role as an aunt moved into its most recent phase – a deep joy in the children that we are lucky enough to have join our family; Millie and Lola, and her Great nieces and nephews: Sofie, Molly, Joshua and Rosanna. Jenny adored children – she loved spending time with them, going on family days out, coming to their parties and buying them presents. Often she would arrive at our house and half an hour later I would wonder where she was. I would find her upstairs talking with one of her great nieces or nephews about going to school or showing them how to play with one of the many games and jigsaw puzzles she bought them. Although Jenny’s role as aunt changed over those 40 years, her qualities as an aunt and great aunt remained the same. She was caring and always interested in us. She was fun and had a great sense of humour. She was generous with her time and with her gifts. She made us feel special. And she always wanted to buy the ice creams. So it’s deeply sad for us that Jenny died at Christmas – a time which she loved so much. Jenny has spent every Christmas with Pete, Rachel, dad and I for the last 40 years and we have had so many nice times. Her email in November asking for present suggestions was always the first sign to me that Christmas was truly coming. But despite the sadness we feel, we can take comfort in the knowledge that Jenny has given us so much and leaves with us things we will carry throughout our lives: With mum and grandma, she taught us how to celebrate – to send birthday and Christmas cards early so people have time to enjoy them; to enjoy our traditions such as Rachel’s box of maltesers under the Christmas tree each year; and to play games and end up crumpled up in laughter at who’s good, who’s bad and who’s just a plain cheat. She taught us that most good family celebrations culminate in a sing song, and end with a game of cards, where everyone seems to think they have the worst hand and the best skill. But most of all what Jenny leaves us with is the knowledge that there was always someone backing us, willing us to succeed, and wanting us to be happy. There was someone who knew us and loved us with all our faults and talents. There was someone to celebrate our successes and commiserate on our knock backs. And most of all there was someone who was always thinking of us and making us feel loved. All of this made us the people we are, and we will carry it with us as we bring up our own families. Jenny was a very special aunty and we will really miss her.