Aunty Shirley

Aunty Shirley and my mom at the first Curran reunion 2004

She was the life of the party. I don't think she was 5 feet tall, but damn if she wasn't the tallest, biggest soul in the room. Aunty Shirley was quick with a joke, she could toss back a pint with the best of them, she was always smiling, one leg tucked up underneath her petite body. Perfectly permed hair and until a few years ago, always frosted brunette. Her voice was similar to Harvey Fierstein, perfect for underscoring the stories and jokes and songs that always seemed to come with her to every gathering.

In 1990 I graduated from high school and my parents threw me a huge bash. Being a true teenager of the 80s, I had 2 live bands - all metal, all the time! At one point in the evening, my Aunt Shirley decided that she was probably a better drummer than the drummer of one of the bands. And being Aunty Shirley, this was important information that needed to be known by all the guests. And so, she walked over to the drum set, removed the long-haired 20 something from his stool and took over. My Aunt had no idea how to play the drums, but there she sat... wailing away on a huge drum set for all to hear. When she was done, the guests who had never met Aunty Shirley had their jaws on the ground. The rest of us, while not surprised at all, were on our feet laughing our asses off and cheering her on. Her husband, my Uncle Tom (dad's brother) always played the straight man to her antics and tried to shake his head and act like he was shocked. But it was his eyes that gave him away: he loved her and he loved that she was a woman who could knock a young man off his chair and play drums for 150 people.

And that was Aunty Shirley. LIFE. She was life. She was so freaking hysterical, she was so eternally youthful and kind and giving. Every year at our family reunion she would recite the following, in her husky voice, crouched there in the center of a circle, she would perform for us:

Some Guiness was spilt on the barroom floor
When the pub was shut for the night
Out of his hole crept a wee brown mouse
And stood in the pale moonlight
He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor
Then back on his haunches he sat
And all the night you could hear him roar
"Bring on the goddamn cat!"

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Today was nine months since we lost Patrick. And today, I believe he came and took Aunty Shirley with him. And with these two angels in the same place again... I can only imagine St. Peter's chagrin at her entrance!!!

We miss you already Aunty.