The last of 14

Earlier this month one of my father’s last remaining siblings died at the fine age of 92. My aunt was one of 5 daughters, along with 9 sons, born to Conan and Mary McMenamin over a span of 23 years.

Yes, my grandmother really was pregnant for the better part of a quarter century. Moms out there – can you even imagine?!

Of the 14 McMenamins in my father’s generation, I was able to meet just 6 of them over the years since I first made their acquaintance in 1989. There will always be a pang in my heart for not getting to know them all, in particular my father, but 6 McMenamins were more than I had ever imagined I’d meet and for that, I’m very appreciative.

My Aunt C was one of the siblings with whom I did get to share time. She was a petite woman, always impeccably turned out with not a hair out of place. Her home was lovely with carpeting which seemed to provide insulation from every possible negative possibility be it sound, cold or discomfort. The gardens behind the house were a perfectly achieved balance between riotously beautiful and carefully cultivated and were, along with her children, a great source of pride.

When my father returned to Ireland, where he would eventually die, from England, he stayed with my Aunt in a room where I too would one day sleep. She and my uncle took him into their home and cared for him, just as they done decades earlier when they agreed to temporarily tend to another sibling’s infant, a baby adopted from the notorious Irish convents.

She was generous and kind and soft spoken. There was a delicateness to her but, like the woman she somewhat resembled, Nancy Reagan, if you looked more closely you’d see the strength of her spine. She was not a pushover.

In my most recent trips to Ireland, I didn’t get to see Aunt C. Her health was failing and she had been forced to relocate to a facility for the aged, as her need for care exceeded what was possible in her own home. There’s comfort in knowing that she was of the belief that upon death she would be reunited with her daughter, her husband and, I’d like to imagine, my father. I hope she rests easily.

And, now, only one of my father’s siblings remain on this side of the earth. I wonder what it must be like for my Aunt R. at the age 96, to be the last of the 14 McMenamin children. My cousins have told me she’s ready to go and join her husband, and all of her brothers and sisters, but I’m selfishly hoping she’ll stay a little longer. She’s the last person who grew up with my father and, I like knowing she’s still here.