As I said, we lived in a very small town. Everyone knew everyone else and pretty much knew everybody’s business. At least, things that were not hidden from view by those who wished to manipulate things to suit their own needs.
My mother’s sister and her family were in fact our next door neighbours. She had a lovely husband and two children, a daughter who was a year younger than my brother and a son who was a year younger than her. That is to say that my cousins were seven and six years older than me respectively.
Their home was a haven for me growing up. My aunt and uncle were demonstrative people. Hugs abounded and affection was clear. I lived as much at their house as my own and from very young I always felt safe and secure there.
In fact, I probably spent as much time at their house as I did at my own. And it was always somewhere I turned to in times of trouble, even after I reached adulthood.
Also living in the same town was my father’s sister and her family. But their home was not quite so welcoming to me. Their home was my brother’s haven. I cannot help but wonder how differently my life would have turned out if there hadn’t been such a divide. If I hadn’t been so much younger than my brother and cousins. If the family affections were the other way round, with me being closer to my father’s family.
I had many friends until I was about eleven years old, most especially a young girl who lived a couple of doors down from us. She was my best friend and I am happy to say that I have finally tracked her down after all these years. Not just because of a friendship that I would like to renew, but also because she has been able to verify that my memories are real and not just a figment of my imagination.
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