Aunt Little Kate

Aunt Little Kate of the smiling eyes,
apple-cheeked, with upturned nose,
was mine by marriage, mine by law.
No blood connected us, But when I knew her,
O, how I wished it had.

I was reminded of her on my nameday,
one of many days to be celebrated
according to aunt Little Kate’s calendar.

Aunt Little Kate’s main aim in life was to spread joy.
Aunt Little Kate loved life,
genuinely loved people,
and in turn was loved by many.
When she married into the dour, joyless family,
ruled with a rod of iron by my politics obsessed grandfather,
she simply carried on, innocently, sweetly, softly,
always pliable, yielding, never breaking.
Still celebrating.

War came, took my uncle, her husband away
and made him a prisoner in a far distant land.
Aunt Little Kate lived with grandfather,
who, true to his nature, tried to bend her to his will.
She looked after the old man, on whose charity she depended,
bit her tongue, made a fist in her pocket and waited for better days.
Her smile a little less radiant, her eyes a little cloudier,
she carried on, innocently, sweetly, softly,
always pliable, yielding, never breaking.
Still celebrating life.

When her husband returned, a broken man,
years after the war had ended,
Aunt Little Kate picked up the pieces.
She had a child and two men to look after now,
two men who soon were bitter enemies,
One despising, the other cowed in impotent anger.
Aunt Little Kate carried on, the buffer between the two,
taking each by the hand, sweetly, softly,
always pliable, yielding, never breaking.
Celebrating life and love, joyful once more.

Life, which she loved so much, treated her harshly.
Aunt Little Kate accepted it all,
discord and strife,
illness and pain,
unkindness and loss.
Her eyes still glowed, her smile still shone,
her joy a constant beacon to warm the saddest heart.
Aunt Little Kate never stopped celebrating,
her calendar a crowded record of reasons to be joyful,
to mark each special day in the life of all those dear to her
with a token of her love.