“The prayers have all been said now”

by Vincent | Aug 25, 2009 | Reflections

This line from the Fureys’ song “The Old Man” always struck a chord with me and especially so today.  We gathered at 12noon to celebrate my mother’s Funeral Mass.  There was an overflowing crowd.  Around forty priests concelebrated the Mass and Bishop Flynn presided.  She’d have been in her element and I’m sure would love to have been sitting there, beside my father, to take it all in!  Thanks to all who joined us, physically and spiritually to remember and pray for her.  I’m putting the few words I used here so feel free to read them if you have the time and if you knew her but don’t feel any obligation to do so ………..

Vincent

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The following  passage from St John’s Gospel (19:25-30) was the text used for the funeral Mass.

Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala.  Seeing his mother and the disciple he loved standing near her, Jesus said to his mother, ‘Woman, this is your son. Then to the disciple he said, ‘This is your mother’.  And from that moment the disciple made a place for her in his home.

After this, Jesus knew that everything had now been completed, and to fulfil the scripture perfectly he said: ‘I am thirsty’.  A jar full of vinegar stood there, so putting a sponge soaked in the vinegar on a hyssop stick they held it up to his mouth.  After Jesus had taken the vinegar he said, ‘It is accomplished’; and bowing his head he gave up his spirit.

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An elderly couple lived behind me when I was in Carracastle Parish.  They were lovely but she was a worrier!  I remember visiting one day, taking Holy Communion to the husband when suddenly the wife said “What will happen me when he dies?”  I pretended I didn’t hear and hoped he hadn’t but she followed with a more direct question, “Who’ll bury me if he dies first?”  Before I got a chance to answer, he spoke with a voice that had spoken before “They’ll not leave you on top!”   They didn’t.  May they both rest in peace.

There’s a great goodness at work on a day like this, whereby we want to do what’s best by one who has died.  Today we’re doing our best by Mary.  We gather to remember her, to pray for her, to remind ourselves – as if reminding were necessary – that she is much loved and will be forever missed.  We want to see to it that all is done and done well for her today.  We want to ensure that she is not left on top but buried with dignity and in faith because her hour has come.

Fr Gerry Walsh, R.I.P. used to talk about that great story of the Road to Emmaus being the first account of Christian bereavement – where people walked, talked and remembered one who had died – were joined along the way by Jesus, though often not recognising him – who entered into their conversation, continued their walk and joined them in the sharing of a meal.  In the “breaking of bread” he was finally recognised.  I always liked Gerry’s idea and believe the Gospel I just read is the first account of Christian death.  We might spend a minute with it ….

“Near the Cross of Jesus” –  Cross is literally at the centre of those five words and is to be found at the centre of our lives too.  Where there is life, goodness and love often we find “Cross”.  It comes in many forms and brings varying levels of pain.  For mammy thankfully there was much love, great goodness and years of happiness but there was also “Cross” – her father died when she was very young, her mother reared the family  – later in life she lost her two brothers, John and Joe so she was left alone from her family of origin and I know she deeply missed her “own people”.  Sickness laid its hand on her many times – those surgeries that take away what might be called “woman” and there were heart problems too.  Her hardest hit came in late 2000 when her balance became unstable and her steps unsure.  There were falls to follow (more than Calvary’s three) and each took its toll.  She seemed to want to mind the walker – since she usually left it in the corner – and fell without it.  Amazingly she never broke a bone but she felt the pain and showed the bruising.  She missed the road – the driving – the independence – she was nailed to the Cross.  Finally Alzheimers called and her thoughts became unclear, her memories uncertain and her life utterly changed.  Yes mammy, you knew “The Cross”.

But thankfully near the Cross was found Bill – there was nothing ABSOLUTELY nothing he didn’t try to do to make things better for her. He, who loved to be doing his own bits and pieces let go of all and sat constantly in her presence, listened for her every sound and “ignored” her when she came out with those “Maryisms” that could pierce steel, or as Paddy Conheady joked recently about his daughter and my friend Maura on her wedding day “She could cut you to the roots!”  Yeah, people know what I mean – I remember the day I got my head shaved and came home.  I had started to wear contact lenses as well and she didn’t like them.  “What do you think Mary?”, I asked – the reply was direct “Between the lenses and the shaved head your face looks like an arse”!!  Yeah, she could say it as it was and Bill did her the greatest kindness of pretending he didn’t hear.  He was there though.  Totally there and totally for her.  He’d have made anything (and we really HAD to stop him) to help her but none of us could give her what she most wanted – good health.  Bill was there though “Near the Cross of Mary stood, sat, walked, linked – LOVED – Bill”  She knew you were there and so did we.  THANKS for that and so, so much more.

There were others there too.  Gerard, Kieran, Helena, Kate, Mary (her “Home Help”), Maudie Grady, The Shannons, Mary Margaret who came from Richmond to spend time with her and Jeanie Korves who accompanied Mary Margaret on that journey, Mick and Mary Staunton, Fr John Doherty, Fr Gabriel, Maureen O’Neill, Marian Hunt, Phil Molloy, Madge Taheny, John and Gertrude Crummy, Bridget Mary Lavin, The Caseys, Dwyers, Gallaghers, Goldricks (all her cousins) – and so many more who called to visit.   There was Ian and Haddar,  Thomas Sherlock,  Jimmy and Nora, Declan Sherlock of course, Hal and Evie and all who did their bit for her.  Especially near mammy’s Cross was Ronan, Bill and Aaron – three of her grandsons who spent countless hours with her and daddy – hours that were not what most young lads would be expected to spend.  Doing for her as best they could – All I can say is that you’ll look back on your lives and be glad you did all you did.  There was another “grandson” by adoption – Conor McKeon “The lad of the Tahenys” who through his friendship with Bill and Aaron became one of the “carers” too.  They spent nights in our house that just involved “being there” and listening out for Mary and Bill.  We’ll never forget you for that.  Likewise, Cathal, Aobh, Cillian and Bronagh – you meant the world to her and so also to us.   To all, who stood near mammy’s Cross and I know there are names I’ve not mentioned here but you know who you are – whatever you did, be it help her walk up the church here when she came to Sunday Mass, call in at home and bring her and daddy out for a drive or for a bite to eat, call to visit for a while, phone her, send a card or a letter, light a candle or say a prayer – whatever you did, whoever you are, know that it’s deeply and forever appreciated.  I’m personally grateful to all in Monasteraden and Ballaghaderreen Parish who have asked me down through the years “How is your mother”? Your interest and genuine concern was a real comfort to me.  I’m thankful too for the friendship and support of Fr Dermot and Fr Gerry in the presbytery, Bishop Brendan and Bishop Tom – for James McDonagh’s constant support and the many priests of our diocese and beyond who were her friends and mine.  Like those named in the Gospel passage – you stood by Mary’s Cross.  For that and for all your thoughts, prayers and kindness may you be forever rewarded.

Mary didn’t want to be sick.  Certainly she didn’t suffer silently.  I remember saying that to her one time after attending a Funeral Mass where the priest talked about the one who had died having suffered greatly and in silence – “She never complained”.  “I won’t be able to say that about you Mary”, I told her.  In fairness, she laughed ……  She hated being sick.  She’d have coped with the surgeries.  Cosmetic appearance was never high on her agenda but being able to move was.  She loved that freedom.  Loss of that freedom was the heaviest burden she bore.  Like Jesus, she was “thirsty” and thankfully we tried to quench that thirst.  There are no regrets today.  Mary was never offered “vinegar to drink” (daddy did overdose her on Wine Gums, Jellybabies and any other sweets he could bring to her every evening in the nursing home).  It was lovely to see him attend to her like that.  He offered her a sweet as Jesus offered her Eucharist.  She gladly accepted both and was nourished in the receiving.

So today, it is “accomplished”.  Mammy has died.  Our hearts are torn and our tomorrow unsure but for today, it is “accomplished” and we gather so that she not be “left on top” but buried with love and dignity.  Our prayer is that she joins all those she knew and loved who have gone before her and that, having joined them, she prays for all of us left behind.

POSTSCRIPT!!

The Cardigan:

At the end of the Funeral Mass I wanted to thank some people who had helped in special ways – people like Declan and Eithne McGarry and their staff in the Oakwood Nursing Home.  Others who travelled from England for the Mass and all who had come along to support us. I wanted to thank the people of Cloonloo and Moygara who had been my mother’s “world” for most of her life.  I hoped to thank anyone that maybe I’d forgotten to thank or mention earlier.  I also mentioned Linda Shannon who is my cousin’s wife.  Linda visited home a lot and often did little jobs for my mother that others mightn’t have been able to do. 

There was one, in particular, I mentioned.  Mary Margaret sent my mother a cardigan last year.  It was very “feminine” and my mother didn’t always relish that particular attribute in her clothes so she asked Linda to take the cardigan and to make it bigger by pulling and dragging it and whatever it took!  Linda agreed and did the necessary.  So far, as they say, so good!

Bishop Brendan was ordained at the end of January 2008.  A few weeks later he joined us for Sunday Mass in Monasteraden and for a cup of tea in the school after Mass.  When we were leaving I asked if he’d come home to meet Mary and Bill and he graciously agreed.  We travelled to the house and I knew they’d be delighted to meet him.  I hadn’t told them this might happen.  He was well received by Mary and Bill and was lovely with them.

What has this to do with the cardigan?  A good question.  Well, Linda did what she was asked to do and somehow managed to make it bigger than the makers intended.  It looked particularly fetching on the day.  Just one small problem ……………. BILL was wearing it 🙂  I couldn’t believe it.  I walked in and there was my mother dressed in her typical v-neck pullover and my father wearing a woman’s cardigan, complete with jewels and little additions that were not meant for his shoulders!!  I feared the bishop might have some concerns about my father’s dress sense!!!!

Bishop Brendan with Mary and Bill in Moygara in February 2008

The "Sligo" Rose - sorry Sinéad McGill!!!

My mother laughed so much when she realised what Bill had been wearing.  It was a good moment!  God bless her, him and everyone! 

Fr John Finn:

At the end of Mass, I read an email that I had received from Fr John Finn. John is from Gurteen and is a priest in New Orleans.  For many years he has been a great friend to my family.  When he’d visit Ireland, he’d call to see us a lot and my parents always enjoyed him and his stories.  I loved the email he sent – not least for its closing line which seemed to sum up the way I felt about mammy’s sudden death at the end of a difficult illness and my hope that she could have stayed with us a bit longer.  I’ll close these lines with John’s email …….

My mother ………..

by Vincent | Aug 23, 2009 | Reflections

Mary

My mother died on Friday last, August 21st.  Even to write those words is difficult but there’s a truth in them that has to dawn.  I miss her.  We, my father, two brothers, their families and me – we all miss her.  May she rest in peace.

Shortly after I was appointed to Ballaghaderreen Parish in 2000 she became ill with septicemia and, as a result, her balance was badly affected.  She lost much of her independence from then on and life was never really the same. 

Before that, she lived for the road and loved to drive.  That had been part of her life with my father.  She and he drove to collect cars for servicing and delivered them back afterwards.  They drove to Dublin to collect new cars – heading off in the morning and home straight away.  Later on, as my brothers and I grew older we became her passengers and “drivers” and Bill stayed in the garage.  She loved the car and the road.  I remember once going to Dublin with her twice in the day (each run a round trip of about 250 miles) and then delivering a car to Glin on the Kerry/Limerick border.  She was in her element.

The chance to fly ... Visiting with Mary Margaret in Richmond, Virginia

Sickness took that away from her and the journeys became shorter and more laboured.  My father would go places with her just to reassure her she could still drive but it was getting difficult.  In more recent times, I tried – we all tried – to stop her driving and I know she thought we were wrong to do that.  In time though, she accepted it and the driver became the passenger.  It was still the road!

The balance problems took their toll and there were falls, some minor and some serious.  No brekages though, thank God.  Her worst fall was down the stairs, from top to bottom, about a year ago.  I thought she would die that night but no.  Mary bounced back as she often bounced back.  Alzheimers had set in and even though we didn’t call it that or maybe admit that to ourselves, it began to do its work.  Confusion, memory loss, frustration – sadness – moments of clarity, tears, fears …………. tablets, appointments, assessments ………….. horrible times for her.  Horrible for all of us, especially my father who didn’t fully understand what was going on and felt she’d get over it.  She didn’t.  She couldn’t and we couldn’t make that happen for her, no matter how much we wanted to.

My father did everything he could for her.  I remember staying at home one night and watching him help her in and out of bed several times during the night.  From about 3am she wanted to get up, thinking it was morning.  It was heartbreaking to see this and to hear her call him, not realising he needed to sleep so that he could help her the next day.  He never grumbled and kept a lot from us all about how hard it must have been.  He wanted her to have dignity.  We all did.

Sometimes I felt angry with doctors and medical services.  My anger was probably misplaced, since they were always there for her but there seemed, on occasions,  not to be an awareness of how hard it was to look after mammy, even to physically take her for a medical appointment or to a clinic was an ordeal.  Little appointment cards arrived in the post that seemed to suggest she could easily keep the appointment.  There was nothing easy for her – somoene who could once travel five or six hundred miles in a day, found a three mile journey difficult.  It was not so much the journey as the getting in and out of the car and the steps that had to be taken at both ends. 

On Decemeber 8th last, my brother called me to tell me they couldn’t get mammy out of bed.  She literally could not put a leg beneath her.  Strength was gone.  My father was worn to a thread.  Mary, the “Home Help” was finding it increasingly difficult to cope.  Our home was more like a hospital than the place I once slept, ate, watched TV and loved.  We talked, my brothers and I, and felt that if we could get some extra help at home, maybe we could cope.  I asked Declan and Eithne McGarry who run a nursing home here in Ballaghaderreen if they’d have a room where my mother could stay for a few days until I could get some help sorted.  They kindly made a room available.  Things seemed to be taking a turn.   I drove home to our house and asked mammy if she’d mind going to the nursing home for a few days.  I told her daddy needed a rest.  She understood and, with some help, sat into my car and we drove together to Ballagh.  I told her it was just going to be for a few days.  I told daddy that too and absolutely meant it. 

I got in touch with a friend who works with Alzheimers and he got a girl to contact me.  We talked about what might be done and, for the first time, I really felt there was a way that things could be easier at home.  Majella O’Donnell, the girl I spoke with, could not have been more helpful.  She said she’d come and talk with my father too.  She did talk to him and Majella’s presence and words were both helpful and appreciated.

Mammy got worse.  Within a week or so, it was obvious she could not receive enough care at home.  Declan and Eithne allowed space and time to my mother and, for this and all they did, we are so grateful.  Mary stayed in the nursing home.  It was local to us all and we could see her as often as we wanted.  We had hopes to bring her home regularly and her first visit was on Christmas Day. 

I celebrated Mass in the Nursing Home on Christmas Day and we hit out the road for Moygara.  She recognised nothing until we got to Monasteraden Church where she blessed herself.  We passed down by the house at home and her head never turned.  There was no recognition.  We went to my brother’s house for Christmas Dinner.  Daddy was there and so happy to see her.  She enjoyed it but there was no real sense of being “home”.  I left her back to McGarry’s Christmas night.  I knew things were changed forever.

There were a few more visits home but no real recognition.  She’d sit beside my father and he’d hold her hand and talk to her.  She’d talk as well but not as a conversation.  At least not “conversation” as we’d understand it and yet they were “in conversation” – one that lasted over sixty years, fifty-seven of them as husband and wife.  Words aren’t always necessary.

Golden Jubilee celebration December 29th, 2002

We saw Mary every day – sometimes a few times in the day and daddy went to her every evening at 6pm and waited til nearly 10pm.  It wasn’t easy but that’s where he wanted to be.  She always knew us “Ah, there’s my pet”, she’d sometimes say and I’d be a bit embarrassed but grateful that she knew me.  That’s what I dreaded most – the thought that someday she’d not know me and, worse again, my father.  I know that happens and the fact that it didn’t is probably my greatest consolation right now.

Cousins, neighbours and friends visited her too.  Like many, suffering from Alzheimers, she could talk to them about things from years ago – remembering people and details but recent past was a mystery.  We are so thankful to all who took time to visit our mother, talk to her, spend time with her and remember her.  The staff in the Nursing Home were kind, committed and ever helfpul.  We are all so grateful for that.

Knock Shrine, Co. Mayo

On August 21st, the 130th Anniversary of Our Lady’s Apparition at Knock Shrine,   I got a call from the Nursing Home to go down immediately.  When I got there my mother was in the arms of two members of staff who held a lighted candle between their hands and hers.  Mammy was dying – I tried to pray as she deserved, prayers of letting go but they were prayed through tears.  I feel sure they were heard though.  Then phonecalls to my two brothers, widened the reality – my mother – our mother was dead. 

I’m heartbroken ………. back where this blog post started.  Somehow I think that’s the way it’s going to be.  Circles of tears, smiles, clarity, gratitude, love, peace, hope ……………. tears.

Mary – thanks! “Sleep in Heavenly peace”