Eulogies

I always felt like Aunt Barb was my big sister.  She was closer in age to me than she was to her big brother, my dad.  I remember little things like having sleepovers, watching her make a barbeque apron for Dad for his birthday, her curling my hair, and keeping an eye on a robin’s nest on her bedroom window until the eggs hatched…and then until the little ones left the nest.  As a teenager, I remember saying something that was a common expression at the time.  Aunt Barb explained where the phrase came from and how it belittled a group of society.  I was always learning from her.  

When I was about nine years old my sister Kate (she was never Kathy to me) spent some time at Sick Children’s Hospital in Toronto.  Mom and Dad would put me on the train in St. Marys and I would arrive at Union Station to be picked up by Aunt Barb.  Together we would visit Kate. It was wonderful to be able to do that.  When my kids, Blain and Jess, were of similar age, we sent them on a train to be picked up by Great Aunt Barb and go to her summer camp, Showtime.  The tradition continued.

Aunt Barb was always about the magic of family.   Her understanding of that magic came through in so many things she did. She never missed family events including our big Selves family gatherings at the Russeldale Hall or Exeter Park.  Behind every one of her photos was that magic…a fundamental appreciation for what makes us who we are and the love that creates families.  Her photo of Mom, Dad and the four kids on our tandem bike (built by Grandpa) will always be near and dear to all of us.  It captured everything we were.  

Speaking of what makes us who we are, Aunt Barb loved delving into family history.  She researched, travelled, wrote letters…whatever it took to find out as much as she could.  It wasn’t just the genealogy she was interested in either, it was the stories.  So, my great-grandfather Richard Selves wasn’t only my grandfather’s father, he was the baby boy who crossed the Atlantic by ship with his parents and siblings to arrive in Perth County and make a new life.  Those stories created pictures in my head and I came to love family history as well.  Less than 10 years ago, Aunt Barb invited me to come along with her on a trip to France.  The plan was to visit Sarlat, a town on the Dordogne River, where she learned our ancestors had come from.  I knew the stories about my ancestors being French Hugenots (with the name deSelves), so the opportunity to visit that part of the world with her was beyond exciting.  We visited a family estate that had been bequeathed and transformed into a school and home for adults with learning challenges.  We tromped around graveyards and left a note by a gravestone that had fresh flowers and bore the deSelves name.  We subsequently received a letter back from a family member.  Making that real connection between family history and our own family was incredibly special and I will always be thankful for the memories of that trip with her.

Speaking of family and stories, Aunt Barb was one of the best storytellers I have ever known.  Her stories could be happy, heartbreaking, exciting or hilarious but they would always capture a moment perfectly.  Truth be told, the childhood memories I mentioned earlier might not actually be my memories.  They might just be stories she told so vividly that they became my memories.  

I will miss her a great deal – my aunt, my big sister, and my travelling buddy.