I was wandering through the cemetery in Arnprior, Ontario, and came across this tombstone belonging to my dad’s uncle and aunt. I don’t visit the family graves often, and don’t remember seeing this one before.

I never met my great-uncle Charles, at least not that I remember. I was only 21 when he died.

But I remember Aunt Ruby. I’m not sure if she was eccentric, or perhaps people didn’t appreciate her. After she was widowed she came into my family’s orbit, always present for holiday dinners. (After her husband’s death she moved to an apartment down the street from my family’s home, in the same building where my wife and I live today.)

I also remember my father mentioning something about her age. Apparently it was a secret. I have no idea why. He didn’t know how old she was.

For all I know she refused the Old Age Pension. To receive it she would have had to admit she was over 65.

Maybe she was significantly older than her husband, and didn’t think that was socially acceptable. Maybe she just thought it was no-one else’s business. I never asked – she was known for a sharp tongue (not uncommon in the family).

Looking at the headstone though, I see she was adamant no-one know her age, even after her demise. The year of death is listed, but not the year of birth. If I had to guess, I would have put her in her late eighties when she died.

It is funny how each of us can have little quirks, things that mean a lot to us but not to anyone else. I have no idea what mine are. it isn’t my age though, I’ll tell anyone who asks.

Do you know yours?