My aunt was washing the dishes and, I think, feared I might drop something so she left me the job of drying. Each cup and saucer, each spoon, fork or knife, was washed with a tenderness of touch that was something to behold. I knew that she knew these dishes to and from a depth, I most likely could never begin to understand.
“In my memory I will always see ….”
Turning around, I pulled the dish-towel from its neat and tidy “parking spot” on the handle of the cooker. I took a saucer from her and began to dry – she looked at me and then at the dish-towel in my hand; “Mama made that for me in 1946”, she said. I was holding a piece of material and she was living a memory. “I wanted a red and white kitchen when I was young”, she told me “and Mama made this for me”. She saw beyond where we stood and looked into, what someone called, “A room named remember” and I was happy to stand in it with her. She was standing on “holy ground” and that’s good ground to stand on.
I was reminded of this moment recently, at a diocesan gathering, when a woman spoke to us of renovating her old family home. She spoke of the many tussles she had in wondering what to let go of and what to keep. In a wonderful description, she spoke of moving various bits and pieces along the hallway, towards the skip and then pausing, leaving them in the hallway and pondering some more. It took a long time for the journey to the skip to be made, if indeed it was made at all.
There’s something being said to me in these stories about the sadness I feel – that many feel – when our church’s traditions are belittled and people hasten to the “skip” to throw there all the perceived shackles and trappings of faith. I recently heard a radio presenter saying to a guest who was discussing (in sincerity) the feelings of guilt he had around his parents and not wanting to do anything that would hurt or embarrass them – “Try being an Irish Catholic”! There followed a laugh and I so wanted to shout “Maybe you should – try being an Irish Catholic” because if you did, you’d see and understand something of the hurt and confusion felt by many who wear that badge with honour and humility, with questions and answers, in good days and in bad.
It’s difficult to see people trample on the floors of our “holy ground” with little, if any regard, for the hurt and damage they cause.
All that from a tea-towel! We need to remember, respect and re-imagine.
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” ….
The word “monumenalized” was used a number of times on Sunday September 23rd in Castleblayney as a statue of Big Tom was unveiled. The word seems appropriate as its meaning suggests that we “make a permanent record of (something) by or as if by creating a monument.” Undoubtedly that’s what happened.
The idea was first brought to Big Tom and Rose by their friend, Margo. She told us yesterday that Tom’s reaction was “You can’t be doing that”. Later she got a call from Rose, saying to go ahead. Rose had spoken to Tom about it and said that it “would be good for the fans”. Seemingly that was one of her ways of convincing Tom to do something he might otherwise prefer not to do. She knew how to talk to him!
President Michael D. Higgins addressed the gathering and, with some of Tom’s family, unveiled the statue. The statue is the work of Mark Richards who also addressed the thousands gathered for the ceremony. He spoke of the commission he had received and that he had explored different ways of presenting Tom to the people of his home parish and his countless fans. Originally he had considered a statue with Tom standing at a microphone or holding a guitar. In many ways, either of these were his preferred option but as the work unfolded and, having met Tom and Rose (God grant rest them both), a different picture emerged of a man who was accessible to all who approached him. Barriers then, even the tools of the trade, seemed out of place so he presented the idea of Tom just sitting and open to anyone who wished to approach him. There’s no doubt he got that right. He said he presented to models to the family and those involved in the commission, one of Tom with a microphone and the one finally made and the decision was unanimous – no barrier – the accessible and available Tom.
I was happy to be there for the occasion and grateful for the invitation. I was there with my brother, Gerard, a lifelong friend of Tom and his family. I felt I was there for my own family too, who valued Tom and Rose’s friendship through the years. It was great to see the town so crowded and in such high spirits as one of its own took centre stage (again) in a place and parish that meant everything to him. President Higgins summed it up well:
“Let it stand here in Castleblaney as a reminder of all that is best in our republic – our love of home, our capacity for solidarity, and our commitment to one another for friendship and for remembering what is best. Let this statue stand as an inspiration to practice those qualities embodied in the person of Big Tom. Above all, let it stand as a tribute to the remarkable life and legacy of Big Tom McBride.”
During the week my nephew and his wife welcomed their first child into the world! For months, like all parents, they had looked forward to this moment and it arrived in the early hours of September 12th. My brother sent me a text just after 3am and though I enjoy my sleep, I was happy to be awoken by the little beeping notification sound.
I was in Gurteen yesterday for a Wedding Ceremony and afterwards went to Cloonloo Church and Templeronan Cemetery for a quick visit. I got word that my nephew, his wife and their daughter were on their way home from the hospital so I waited for them to arrive.
It was a quiet homecoming, though my sister-in-law had brought some balloons and decorations to the house to mark the occasion and welcome the little one to her new home.
“Would you like to hold her?” I was asked and the answer was yes. I held her for a little while and hoped that, in time, she’d come to know me as someone who will love her and care for her as best I can. She won’t, thank God, be short of love.
As I was leaving, I looked at her in the little buggy and looked at her hands as they rested on the blanket. So small but so, so perfect. I took her hand in mine and then decided to take a photo.
Tabhair dom do lámh (Give me your hand)
I liked the photo when I saw it and felt it had a corner here. Maybe someday she might see it and know that I took her hand in mine the day she came home and, in the taking, commit with all my family to minding her and leading her, as best we can, along the road and future that awaits her.
Earlier I had placed my hand on the top of a young couple’s joined hands during the Wedding Mass in Gurteen. Their joined hands and the future they hoped for were blessed too.
There’s something about openness to give and take the hand and something about blessing.
Noticed these words recently, attributed to St Teresa of Calcutta. They speak of doing the right thing, even if it’s misunderstood, forgotten or resented. “Do it anyway”, she says. There’s something in it. Martina McBride has a song that speaks to the same message and, though it’s somewhere else in this blog, thought I might share it again. “Do it anyway”!
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