Growing up we all hear those stories of the old couple who met while young, fell in love and spent a lifetime together then sadly one dies and the other follows shortly after.
Well that was the love story/life story of my uncle L and aunty E they both meet whilst in their twenties, fell in love and married shortly thereafter. They spent the sixties living here in London, him designing parts for plane, and her dressing the hair of the many West Indian women who where a long way from home she provided them with a familiar scene and ambience in this new strange country which they now called home.
In fact it was in that very same location, a little hairdressers attached to their home where my parents met, my father had just arrived in the country and was living in the house with he’s brother and sister in-law and my mother had arrived not much earlier herself and had frequented the hairdressers. Years pasted and they decided to move over to America where they lived a life happily together, had adventures, travelled, and most importantly loved. That was their story.
Last year aunty E died after a battle with illness. My uncle who was a very strong man you know the kind that never showed emotion, (I have many memories of giving him big bear hugs and him standing there almost in shock not knowing what to do but trying he’s best to cuddle me back) but when he lost he’s beloved wife he lost a huge part of himself he told me once that he didn’t know what to do without her, how to be without her and then began to sob. That was one of the last conversations I had with him, sadly he died last Friday 4th march and I am shocked that I will never again see him; it saddens me so very much to think that their lives have been lived, the story told and they are no more.