I went to a funeral on Thursday, my uncle's, my mum's younger brother ... he was 81.
As I sat there looking around and remembering the times I'd spent at his house playing with my cousins, I reflected on the incredible family he came from.
My mother is one of eight children. She's 87, independent and stubborn to boot. Her older sister is 88, independent but I wouldn't dare call my aunty stubborn, although I will say it's a family trait.
The third eldest died several years ago. Then there's another sister who is 83. She and her not-quite-90-year-old husband live in Tauranga. Next was my uncle who died last Saturday, then there's another sister who is 78, a brother 75, and the baby of the family, another sister who is 73 and lives in Sydney.
All apart from my aunty in Tauranga are widows or widowers.
You can imagine how many cousins, second cousins and cousins once removed I have.
But what makes this group of siblings so special is how close they are. Many families drift apart as the years roll on. Not this one. They all know about one another's families, what's happening with this one or that one. That's how I keep up with what's happening in my cousins' lives ... mum tells me.
Their lives have been by no means easy. Five of the sisters have lost children, all have lost nephews and nieces and all but one husbands and wives.
However, they seen to draw strength from one another.
The three sisters who live in Hastings, including my mum, get together every Saturday.
They gather in time for afternoon tea at one of their homes and have turns supplying the food for tea.
Sometimes they have takeaways but more often than not one or the other will cook.
They watch the telly, they talk, sometimes they argue (that's the stubborn streak I was talking about) and they just hang out.
On birthdays they all get together for morning or afternoon tea and then there are Fridays. I swear my mother has gone to town every Friday for at least 60 years. I don't mean she has jumped up and down and had a tantrum. I mean she takes herself off to Heretaunga St, goes shopping, gets her magazines, pays any bills she might have and meets her sisters and brother for morning tea.
When I was younger I loved Fridays. You never knew what might be on the end of the bed when you got home from school - new pyjamas, socks ... not every week, just if I was lucky.
My mum likes to buy things and not just for her. She has 11 grandchildren and 26 great-grandchildren plus several step-great-grandchildren plus one step-great-great-grandchild.
Some of them live overseas but all those who live in New Zealand get a present at Christmas time.
It might be a box of biscuits, or a bag of lollies. There are always tea towels with crochet tops to hang on the oven.
Mum knits for the new babies - booties, bonnets or beautiful blankets.
If you are lucky you get knitted socks (I need some more, Mum, mine have worn out), fingerless gloves, or scarves.
She recently knitted a heap of beanies for charity. She is forever stitching, knitting and crocheting.
That doesn't mean she sits at home all day. She gets her hair done once a week, her nails about every three weeks, goes to the Old Folks every week, visits a friend where they make cards; in fact, she's pretty hard to pin down. And when she's not out she's Skyping on the laptop.
But she is always home on Sunday morning and that's when my siblings, my wonderful sister-in-law (who usually arrives with cake tin in hand) and I go every week for morning tea.
So the circle continues. We talk about our families and catch up on any gossip.
At my uncle's funeral I heard someone say, "He had a good innings." I really don't like that saying. Life is not a game of cricket. When someone you love dies no matter what age it's bloody sad.
I hope to have my Mum around for years and years to come. When the time does come, as I know it must, please don't tell me she had a good innings.
FOOTNOTE: If you haven't visited your Mum or Dad lately go see them, make some memories.
Linda Hall is assistant editor of Hawke's Bay Today.