Cian Patrick

Cian Patrick

Earlier today, we celebrated the Mass of The Angels in Kilmovee Parish Church.

It was in memory of Cian Patrick Hunt who died on Saturday, October 6th, in his fourth day of life.  Sadly in the past four years, Cian Patrick’s parents have lost two other babies so there was an added sense of loss in today’s gathering but strength too, in a church filled to over-flowing.  It was wonderful to see so many people there, to offer support and prayer to this family.  I asked the parents if they’d mind my sharing here the words used at today’s Mass.  They said that would be fine so I hope these words offer some comfort to those who might have been there today and see them again and perhaps to parents out there, who may well have had a similar experience.  May God offer strength to one and all and, may Cian Patrick together with all infants who have gone before us, hold us in their hearts and prayer.  May they know too that they remain firmly rooted in our love and memories.


Gifts Table – Photo taken of Baby Cian Patrick in hospital, Teddy Bear given by Irish Air Corps in memory of Cian’s helicopter flight from Castlebar to Dublin, candles in memory of Cian’s deceased brother and sister – gifts from Féileacáin (group offering support to bereaved parents of infants), a cap knitted by volunteers in the Coombe Women’s Hospital and a blanket given to the parents by hospital staff.

Like all of you, I was deeply saddened when news emerged that all was not well for this little boy and his parents.  Like all of you, I had looked forward to rejoicing rather than weeping, saying hello rather than goodbye, holding rather than letting go.  Like all of you, I was aware of the losses endured by these young parents in 2014 and 2016 and hoped – believed that 2018 would tell a different story.  Not one that would allow for any forgetting of previous events, but one that would offer hope and joy, peace and gratitude.  So, like all of you, I was and am heartbroken.

In baptism ceremonies, we meet the baby and parents at the door of the church, it’s a sign of welcoming and of entering a new home and beginning a new journey alongside the family home and family’s journey.  I’m the one who goes to the door to meet the family and we take it from there.  Last Friday was different.  Instead of me going to the familiar door of this church, I walked into the Coombe Women’s Hospital and, instead of me walking towards the family, David came to meet me.  He told me things were not good and I was amazed at the strength of character displayed.  He asked me if I’d baptize their son and, of course I said yes. Again, in the baptism ceremony, I usually ask the questions, but this too was different.  “Have you ever done this before?” Amy asked me, and, in truth, I hadn’t.  Neither had I cried before baptism.  I know that some of the nurses saw me cry.  They offered me tea and asked repeatedly if I was alright.  I appreciated their kindness and was not totally shocked by my tears.  I’d have been more shocked if I didn’t cry.  This should not be happening.  “Have you ever done this before?”, Amy’s question deserved an answer and I told her that I hadn’t, not like this anyway but that we’d do our best.  She smiled.  She wanted it done the best it could be done.

“What name to give your child?” I asked David and Breda.  “Cian Patrick”, they replied.  “What do you ask of God’s Church for Cian Patrick?”  “Baptism”, they replied.  “In asking to have your child baptized, you are taking on responsibility to show him the ways of faith, to let him know of God’s love, of Jesus’ presence in his life and of the gifts of the Holy Spirit.  Do you clearly understand what you are undertaking?”  “We do”. They did.  There’s no doubt in the world that David and Breda know what it means to be parents.  Repeatedly they’ve shown it through the years – not just with Amy and Seán but also with Sarah Anne and David Michael, whose memories are real and ever present and whose birthdays are celebrated with prayer, balloons and chocolate cake.  They know what it means to be parents.  Cian Patrick was baptized and, though none of us could hold him, the incubator was perhaps God’s hands around and beneath him – the stable of Bethlehem – a temporary home.  Cian Patrick was anointed with Chrism and the waters of baptism trickled down his forehead with the words: “I baptize you Cian Patrick, in the name of The Father and of The Son and of The Holy Spirit, Amen”.  I looked at Amy and Seán, I looked at Breda and David, I looked at Mary and Rita the two nurses in the room with us (Mary being his Godmother).  I looked at Cian Patrick who could not have been any more surrounded by love as he was at that moment. Amy, we did it well.  You and Seán were at your brother’s baptism.  I was proud of you all, heartbroken for you all but glad we were able to have this moment.  Precious Memories.

I was with David and Breda on Saturday when Cian Patrick was taken from the incubator and placed in their arms.  His journey continued and his time with us grew shorter.  I watched again the tenderness of parental love and marvelled at Breda as she took her son in her arms, I would think for the first time.  There wasn’t a hint of self-pity but, instead, the cradling arms of a mother.  Rita re-arranged the chairs and the parents sat side-by-side with their little son.  An hour or so earlier, we watched Amy and Seán play with their brother “Round and round the garden …. one step, two step ….”  They accompanied him on all his steps.  We sang too.  It was suggested I’d sing something and, when Seán was asked what I might sing, he said “The one you do at Christmas”.  On an October Saturday we sang “The Little Drummer Boy”.  I thought of Cian Patrick as the Little Drummer Boy, bringing his gifts to our crib but, later in the day, I thought more about it and realised we were, all of us, the Drummer Boy desperately wanting to bring gifts to Cian Patrick and He, THE CHRIST CHILD, accepting all we brought to him – from the Naval Helicopter Teddy Bear to the Green and Red cap and all else that surrounded him at that moment.

I thought of Michelangelo’s Pieta – that marble statue depicting Mary holding her son in her arms and at the rock of marble out of which that was carved and the artist’s ability to see what lay within and bring it to life.  I left Breda and David.  They deserved to be alone now with each other and their son.  When I returned, Cian Patrick’s short journey had reached its destination.  He died surrounded by love.  Though our wish is that he’d have lived longer, he could not have been loved any more than he was during those days.

David shared a short video clip with me.  He took it while Breda was holding her son.  In a wonderful moment, Cian Patrick’s eyes open and he looks steadily at his mother and smiles.  “That’s enough for me”, David told me.

“Then he smiled at me …… at me and my drum”.

“Then he smiled at them … at his dad and his mum” ….

There’s news and there’s gossip

There’s news and there’s gossip

Earlier this Christmas Eve I received a text from a friend – a classmate – saying that he wasn’t sending Christmas Cards this year but wanted to wish me peace and blessings at this special time.  I called him back and asked if he was getting mean in his old age.  I continued to slag him for a little while and then he said, “you mustn’t have heard that my mother died”.  I hadn’t.  He went on to say she died the beginning of December.  I felt more sorry than embarrassed because I knew he wasn’t trying to embarrass me.  He told me his mother had been diagnosed with cancer and died shortly after the diagnosis was given. Needless to say, I was sorry for him.

I told him I’d not heard and of course he knew that because, had I heard, I’d have been there for him over those December days.  The reality was the news never reached my ears and I was sorry about that too.

As I prepared for Christmas Eve Mass I thought about Ray, his mother Rosie and how easy it is not to hear news.  Gossip is all around us and seems to blow easily on the wind – easily and dangerously – but often the news we need to hear passes by unheard or untold.  I wondered does God feel that way sometimes, not least around Christmas and wonder how it is that this Story, this very Sacred story, can remain unheard and untold?

That’s the thought I brought to Mass with me just now and shared with a very full church.  I was so happy to see so many people there and wanted them to hear the NEWS that Christ is born but not to remain a baby.  He needs to become a Man alongside us and we need to hear his news, some not always easy to hear or understand but news nonetheless that calls us to be better people – decent people.

It’s the choice of this Season in many ways.  To hear and be shaped by the news or to settle for gossip. I know which we’re called to and I know how easily we can ignore or park that call.  I felt the church tonight was filled with people who want to hear the story and came, in many ways, in response to it but how quickly we can forget and go back to our old ways.  We need to be people of the Good News, tuned in to what is real and important in life, otherwise we miss opportunities to be better people, to be with people when they most need us.

Share the news.  Avoid the gossip ….

Happy Christmas and thanks, thanks for being my friends.  I’m sorry if I missed any important events in your lives and wasn’t there …  keep in touch, keep in focus, keep the News, the GOOD news in circulation, even when it might be difficult to hear, understand or accept.  If we need to hear it, let it be heard.

The Dutchman – a touch of kindness

The Dutchman – a touch of kindness

Thanks to Fr Seán Coyle who posted a comment on an earlier post and reminded me of this lovely song.  Seán thinks The Dutchman may have Alzheimer’s Disease (Liam Clancy thinks it’s more like shell-shocked). Whatever the cause, the old man needs a bit of patience, love and kindness and he’s not denied his needs. God bless all the “Margarets” out there who patch the old and torn with love-sewn threads.

LYRICS

http://www.allthelyrics.com/lyrics/tommy_makem/the_dutchman-lyrics-1130918.html#ixzz4Nu9VhzXC

The dutchman’s not the kind of man
To keep his thumb jammed in the dam that holds his dreams in
But that’s a secret only Margaret knows
When Amsterdam is golden
In the morning Margaret brings him breakfast, she believes him
He thinks the tulips bloom beneath the snow
He’s mad as he can be, but Margaret only sees that sometimes
Sometimes she sees her unborn children in his eyes

Chorus:
Let us go to the banks of the ocean
Where the walls rise above the Zider Zee
Long ago, I used to be a young man
And dear Margaret remembers that for me

The dutchman still wears wooden shoes
His cap and coat are patched with love that Margaret sewed in
Sometimes he thinks he’s still in Rotterdam
He watches tugboats down canals
And calls out to them when he thinks he knows the captain
‘Till Margaret comes to take him home again
Through unforgiving streets that trip him though she holds his arm
Sometimes he thinks that he’s alone and calls her name

The windmills swirl the winter in
As she winds his muffler tighter, they sit in the kitchen
And the tea with whiskey keeps away the dew
He sees her for a moment
Calls her name, she makes his bed up, humming some old love song
She learned it when the tune was very new
He hums a line or two, they hum together in the night
The dutchman falls asleep and Margaret blows the candle out

Daily Lenten Thought March 6th (Mother’s Day)

Daily Lenten Thought March 6th (Mother’s Day)

“Mum, we’ll get you flowers, arrange a meal for two
we’ll come round for a visit like we used to do
don’t say it’s too much trouble or a lot out of our way
for everyone is doing it, since today is Mother’s Day.”

“But I don’t need your cards or flowers or a meal for two
you’re welcome for a visit, today and all year through
to me, you are my child, a gift from God above
the truth that always matters, is our lasting love.”

“Oh, mum, don’t talk like that, read this lovely card
to find it in the card shop was nothing less than hard
shelves were tipping over, but this one seemed so true
and says all the lovely things, I need to say to you …..”

“Oh the card is lovely, the verse is lovely too
though, in truth the words I’d prefer to hear from you,
it’s not that I’m not grateful, I know you picked it well
but a kindly word from you, it’s joy I cannot tell.”

“The words are here today, as throughout the years
I’d speak them freely mother, but am afraid of tears
for I know you’ve given all, that my life may be
and I’m ever thankful, that you’re a mum to me!!”

“Ah now my child you’re talking, even through your tears
you’re always on my mind, always in my cares
so thanks for cards and flowers and all you give to me
I’ll enjoy the meal for two but sit down and we’ll have tea!!”

(VS 29/3/14)

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