Memoir

2018 – A SOBER YEAR

2018 was a year full of joy and sadness in our home.
It was the year my beautiful daughter Morna married Mike Feeney, the first of our children to wed. It was a wonderful intimate occasion where both family and friends travelled from all over to the beautiful country house hotel at Castlegrove to celebrate with us and make it the highlight of our year.

It was also the year my dear Dad left us to be by our Mum’s side once again. Dad was 87 and in seemingly good health entering 2018. The news that he had cancer was totally unexpected, but when he died peacefully in Killybegs community hospital just three weeks after he had been diagnosed, it was a huge shock and the low point of our year.

Both occasions drew a soft tear.
The tears at the wedding were of great joy, salted with the sadness of Dad’s empty seat. It was a moment of such great pride, one of those moments in our lives we crave to share with our parents. “Look Mum and Dad” hoping for the recognition of a child doing well.

The tears at his funeral were of real sadness and loss. I’d spent every other weekend of the last five years in his company. This was not out of duty but of a true want to be in his company of the man I looked up to and loved, and we loved and treasured every moment. We still have the house in Carrick that our family had a happy upbringing in, but I’ve come to realise that when your parents have both passed, a house, sadly, is no longer a home.

Continue reading 2018 – A SOBER YEAR →
Memoir

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD

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It was March 7th when Dad first heard his dire prognosis. Pancreatic cancer was the most likely culprit. Dr. Muhamed explained the options, or lack of. A biopsy to confirm the diagnosis, followed by some mild chemo. The Oncologist, on his rounds the following Tuesday, would advise further. Up to this point Dad had struggled to understand all that was being said. Being deaf in one ear, caused by an infection in his youth, and not being used to the various colourful accents of the medical staff, meant that either my sister Margaret or I had to ‘translate’ the grim news now being relayed.
Dad, voice breaking, whispered in a solemn tone of acceptance. Dr Muhamed turned and lent in, asking Dad to repeat what he’d said.  “I don’t want a biopsy” he repeated. Continue reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD →

Short Story

I CONFESS

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“Oh my holy God!” Fr. Padraig roared as he parted the living room curtains. “What the..?” he blessed himself as he reached for the phone and cranked the handle with religious vigour. “Marie, is that you, will you put me through to Jimmy Byrne please, it’s urgent”.
“Is everything alright Father” Marie asked, concerned by the sound of panic in his voice.
“Oh it’s awful Marie, I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s a crime, that’s for sure.” Continue reading I CONFESS →

Poem

fifteen?

your tree has grown and swayed aside
to hide our sun at dawn
its leaves of brown, cracked and dried
when your ray of life was drawn.

your stream of hope has reached its tide
replaced with earthly lawn
a salt of tears now long dry eyed
where once your sun had shone.

your flower book-pressed and slowly dried
your essence drifting on
it makes me ponder since you died,
where have the years all gone?

Poem

Dad

In time, there’ll just be shadows,
contoured prints on layered dry dust,
glasses bent on yesterday’s news,
your walking stick rested, un-walked, unused.

In time, there’ll just be darkness,
cracked light on curtain pulls.
An empty glass of Paddy downed, where
time stands still, your watch unwound.

Continue reading Dad →

Short Story

REMEMBRANCE DAY

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Kathleen dragged the stick through the damp sand. It was a craggy dry branch, the straightest she could find on the beach. The heavy sand caused it to snap in a spray of mouldy dust. She continued with the smaller half, still in her hand, until she’d completed a heart. The heart she decorated where the lines crossed with a small bouquet of bluebells. Removing her shoes, she scrunched the soft sand in the balls of her bare feet. Silver eels wriggled nearby, darting under stones for cover in shallow streams that cut through the beach, in their desperate escape to the sea. Continue reading REMEMBRANCE DAY →

Short Story

SHADOWS

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Jimmy laboured the pint of black. He sat, hunched over the stale glass, staring at the flat cream head. Maloney’s bar was dark with a low, smoke stained, wooden ceiling running front to back. Monday mornings never drew much of a crowd. It was near empty but for a few seasoned pursuers of ‘The Cure’.  Gay Byrne was pontificating from the crackling transistor radio tucked in beside the antique till.
He checked the green packet of ten Major on the bar again, still empty, he flung it along the counter. The thoughts of last night went around in his head. Moira had made it clear. They had been seeing each other for seven years.  “It was time to get off the pot” she’d said before taking the front door off its hinges. Continue reading SHADOWS →

Memoir

TWO MINUTE WARNING

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The car lay upside down, off the road at a notorious corner between Largy and Fintra. I was lying inside, on the roof, looking out the back window. I could see the moonlight over the bay through the rushes. I was totally disorientated. One moment we were driving along, excitedly chatting nonsense as usual, then, suddenly, there was dark and total silence.
The car was heading for the ditch on the right. Seamus managed to pull back and then we veered to the left, then back to the right again. I had a flashback of a day out when Frank Boyle had brought Seamus and I to the bumping cars in Bundoran. It seemed, slow motion like, to take ages before we hit and soared, tumbling a few times before coming to a rest. No one spoke. Continue reading TWO MINUTE WARNING →

Memoir

THE HOLY TRINITY

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“In the name of the Father, the Son and the holy Spirit, Amen” Fr. McDyer’s large hands moved slowly, sloth-like, in the familiar pattern of the sign of the cross. He sat at the top of the room, dressed in traditional black. His eyes closed, long disconnected from those around him. “In ainm an Athar agus an Mhic agus an Spioraid Naoimh.” The forty minute period was spent teaching a class of uninterested seventeen year old teenagers how to bless themselves, over and over again. Fr. Mc Dyer was filling in for Fr. Sweeney for our only religion class of the week. Fr. Sweeney was off tending to his flock of sheep, literally.
It was 1979 and Ireland was gearing itself up for Pope John Paul II’s visit later in the year. The country was at fever pitch. Continue reading THE HOLY TRINITY →

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