No Regrets

Goodbye to a legend

My family and I said goodbye to the head of our family last month. My beloved grandmother Kathleen was a real gem who will never be forgotten. I wanted to put a little piece together to pay tribute to her, to attempt to put down in writing just how much she was loved by all of us. It can often be an overused term, but for our family my nanny’s death truly signifies the end of an era. Catherine (Kathleen) Walsh was the Queen Bee, a solid gold Dublin woman who lived in the Liberties/Rialto area for most of her adult life, having grown up in Pearse Street. She departs leaving a life’s legacy and a generational footprint for all to envy. A razor sharp mind which even in her final hours showed no signs of any bluntness. A highly intelligent woman who could converse with you on any topic. She was a stunner in her youth with film star looks. She also loved to sing. She was the whole package.

She had 5 children, the eldest Seán, who sadly lost his battle with cancer 17 years ago is no longer with us, the next eldest is my mother Donna, then Damian, Alison and Anne. She also had 13 grandchildren (myself the eldest) and 17 great grandchildren, a colossal contribution and legacy to leave behind. Not only did she endure the crippling heartbreak of losing a son, she also buried her husband — my grandfather Seamie — not long afterwards. She then faced a further family tragedy a few years ago with the loss of her grandson, Stuey, who died far too young at only 30 years of age. She faced her own mortality on more than one occasion and even survived brain surgery when she was in her 50’s. Even through all of this anguish she remained steadfast and positive.

She had superhuman strength and courage and bounced back from illness time and time again. On several occasions since the turn of this year, a year in which her health declined steeply, she still defied the odds and confounded doctors every time she left the hospital to return home. All of us had a feeling — an unspoken fear — that her most recent admission into hospital may well be her last. It turned out to be the case and proved to be just one fight too many. The stays at home were becoming shorter and the hospital stays longer. However, even to the end she was a fighter. She hung on tightly to life for 5 days after the family were called for with only pain relief to sustain her. She was a warrior, but also a lady. One with impeccable honour and dignity and I truly loved her beyond words.

With my grandmother’s passing I don’t only mourn the person she was, but also the loss of my first hand link to history. The stories from a whole generation of Irish people never to be delivered by those lips again. She could talk for hours about the past and had an incredible memory. The local histories of our people were always told best by the elders and she had countless anecdotes to relay, especially when she knew you appreciated them. The people of her generation are the people who lived those stories, they were there at the birth of the republic and built the country from scratch after centuries of colonialism. A people who despite having very little in material wealth, all had big families because they knew something inherently, something we are now largely forgetting and losing as we are consumed by the commercial rat race; that family and love are the things we need more than anything else to sustain us as human beings.

People with family members of similar age will I’m sure feel they can relate. They are our connection to the past and when they leave us we lose so much. They struggled and sacrificed making do with the very little they had in order to raise their children through difficult impoverished times into adulthood. Times when the pawn shop man was as familiar to them as the priest or the butcher. They scraped through some extremely tough situations, helped by neighbours when in need and in turn helping out themselves when the roles of fortune were reversed. They worked hard and somehow managed to get to the other side of the many challenges they faced. They were strong, resilient people. They were our people. People we would simply not be here without. If you have any still living, hold them tight and make sure to spend time with them. It won’t last forever and you need to make the most of them while you have them.

I am so privileged to have got to know my nanny as a person as I grew into adulthood and I count myself tremendously blessed and lucky to have been given such a rare gift. She was taken into hospital for the very last time just after my 44th birthday and she never ever forgot one of the previous 43. She even gave money to my mother to give to me for my most recent birthday back in June. She still insisted and she would go mad if I tried to give it back. I will always cherish sitting over a cup of tea with her in her home in Maryland just off Cork Street discussing a plethora of different things. From complex adult and real world topics to simply chats about what the kids were up to. She was always interested. Not only did she know all of her great grandchildren by name, she also knew everything about them.

Even people from outside the family would be shocked at how she would remember the names of their children and how she would always ask after them. She was a truly remarkable woman. In those visits where we would chat in her living room, just the two of us, she still somehow in those moments, managed to effortlessly make me feel both like a man and paradoxically at the same time, still just a little boy again having a chat with his grandmother. These are the things I will miss the most. We were very close. Her living room was a sanctuary from the big bad world. A place where I could escape the noise. Pressures of work, financial pressures and the sadness of watching the ongoing turmoil unfolding in the country I love (the country she also loved) would temporarily evaporate as we spoke.

The week she died was a whirlwind for the family. After we were called for, most of us spent the days after by her side as much as possible. My cousins and I were there at any chance we could get. My mother and her two sisters literally did not leave her side supported by their husbands. They had minded her on a daily basis the whole time she was sick and for much of her old age, particularly since my Grandfather’s death. Their constant care ensured she could remain in her own home. On a few occasions during the week, my father, my uncles and I slipped around for a pint in the Bird Flanagan taking the short walk from St. James’s Hospital so we could easily get back in time should my nanny’s condition have deteriorated. We met some of the old friends and neighbours from around Rialto and the Barn, all asking about how my nanny was. All nostalgia and all so lovely, transporting me back to another time. A time when I was shielded from the trepidation of the outside world. Largely by the love of family and very much so by her. She was so well liked by all, that all inquiries regarding her wellbeing were absolutely heartfelt and sincere.

With my Grandfather on their wedding day

One of the days (they all rolled into one) as we were sitting there in the pub chatting away and reminiscing with my father and uncles, the racing was on the TV. It was Royal Ascot and one horse immediately caught my eye. It was called Miss Kodi, the name of my youngest daughter’s teacher who I had a meeting with on the coming Monday. I rarely gamble but the coincidence forced my hand. I suggested that we all threw down a fiver to place the bet for a bit of interest. It romped home and we got a return of over €100 for a meagre initial stake. The next day there was not much change in my grandmother’s condition so the men once more decided to vacate the hospital for “a bit of air”, allowing my mother and aunts some alone time with their mother.

We stuck the winnings from the previous day into a glass and put it on the table as a kitty for a few bets with the bookies money. We decided just to go with names again for luck. My uncle Damian was making his way back from Australia where he lives so we unanimously agreed that ‘Great Barrier Reef’ was the first horse to go for. It won easily. There were a few small losses on each way bets for long odds outsiders but overall we were well up by the end of the day. Two other names that came in for us were ‘Emerald Harmony’ (She was a very proud Irish woman and the whole family sings) and ‘Map to the stars’ which was the last one to run that day, chosen by us because she was about to embark on her journey out to the heavens. It of course won and we all began to wonder if our lucky streak was luck at all and not divine assistance. The nags given a little extra wind at their backs from the other side by my Granda, Seán and Stuey. In these type situations the veil is thin and the spirit world is at its closest. The cynic in me tells me it’s a mere coincidence of course and that lucky gambling streaks are not hugely uncommon, but the childlike romantic within me wants to believe differently.

My nanny always said that she wanted her funeral to be a good old fashioned ‘hoolie’ of an Irish wake. She would not have been disappointed. All her children and grandchildren delivered and played their part in the most memorable day, giving her the most beautiful send off filled with love, honour, passion and respect that she so richly deserved. A piper — as was her wish — played her into the church, my father and uncles (her only living son Damian and son-in-laws) carried her in. Her daughter Anne, who sings professionally, sang all the hymns of the service with Anne’s daughter Michaela singing my nanny’s favourite Irish song ‘Carrickfergus’. They both sang brilliantly and did her proud. How they held it together I’ll never know. Alison had everyone in the church laughing with funny stories about her as she read through the gifts being brought up, as did my mother with the eulogy. The great grandchildren (my own children who were the only ones old enough) joined in on the readings to mark an extraordinarily moving service. She left the church to her other favourite song ‘No Regrets’ by Edith Piaf, this time carried out by all the grandsons, myself included.

As we drove past the house in Maryland with the funeral cortège on the way to Mt. Jerome in Harold’s Cross we were blown away by the touch of class organised by her neighbours in the community. In true blue inner city Dub fashion, the neighbours all along the road hung purple balloons on all their gates and as we passed my grandmother’s house we were all moved beyond words to see 3 balloons hung in a little cluster together. One green, one white and one orange. It was magical and her neighbours Trish and Charlie in particular deserve a special mention for always going above and beyond as neighbours. Always checking in to see if she needed anything or even just for a little chat. Those things make all the difference to elderly people living alone. They were so kind to my nanny and for that our whole family will be eternally grateful.

I needed to regather myself fast after such an emotional experience as I had one more job to do before I could relax and allow the tears to flow naturally as they came. I had to remain as focused and stoic as possible as I had to play and sing the final song for her at her graveside. I had previously sung ‘The Parting Glass’ by Liam Clancy only a couple of years prior at my cousin Stuey’s funeral mass so there was a further layer of grief to keep at bay, especially as his parents stood there by my side. I somehow successfully managed to blank my mind and deliver the best rendition I could possibly give under the circumstances and stayed strong for my nanny to honour the pride she always had in me. A pride she would never shy away from sharing with random strangers.

After she was laid to rest we gave her the party of parties. After we’d all been fed, a good family friend and well known cabaret singer around Dublin (and the rest of the country) Tommy Carey did a karaoke for us in which all the singers in the family participated. All of her children and almost all of her grandchildren and even great grandchildren sing, so we all showcased our talents on the day, making for a beautiful day. All of the old neighbours and friends who were not family members all vocalised just how moved they were to see such an outpouring of pure love. People will be talking about it for years as one of the great Irish wakes. No one can escape death, it is the saddest part of life and it comes to us all, but we Irish do death better than most. We have an amazing ability to at the very least try to make it somewhat bearable by shifting the focus onto the person’s life rather than their death. The Irish funeral ritual is unique in the sense that people come from all over, friends and family alike, not merely to mourn but also to celebrate the most important and precious gift of all. Life.

We would love our loved ones to go on forever but sadly it’s not possible. One of the many great paradoxes in life is the longer people stay with us the more they are missed when they are gone. The longer they live the more you convince yourself they’ll be around forever. I can’t describe in words the emotions I went through during those few days and although heartbreaking, it was such an incredible week. Writing it all down on the page while it’s fresh in the mind makes it permanent and immortal. She is immortal. She lives on through her progeny who will always keep her in their hearts. Although we communicate through words, words are rarely adequate to express such deep human emotions. The feelings felt in such moments could never fully be explained in such a mechanical way. It comes from somewhere else, a place beyond human comprehension and ingenuity. Beyond the technology we have constructed in the form of language. The only language that could convey just what my grandmother meant to me cannot be spoken. It is one fashioned out of pure love. A love I know was reciprocated tenfold.

Being at her bedside with all the family around sharing tears and laughs and singing songs was exactly the way she would have wanted to go out. She would have loved it and it was great to get to say goodbye properly. Her very last words to me — as I arrived from home on her final day fully awake — as she grabbed my hand were; “Ah here he is now, me oul’ compatriot”. I will take those words to my own grave. Although the contents of this piece of writing are quite melancholic, it brings me comfort to write it all down because as time passes details are forgotten. Also, the family will have it forever to read back upon should they ever want to embrace a loving memory.

In the moments after she drew her final breath there was a sense of finality and an unspoken agreement that all of our lives had now entered into a new chapter. The page would now turn on a new part of our family’s story, one sadly without the one who was always there. The perennial matriarch who comforted us all when we needed to hear it most. I know the course of time will gradually dissipate the grief that currently burdens my heart and the tears will turn to smiles recanting all the precious memories, but right now it’s raw and such changes are a while away yet. The best time to write your feelings down is when the pain is at its greatest. It captures closest the moment in time when the feelings were at a maximum. A time when the love and loss were both so strong that true emotions, emotions that cannot be fully explained or understood without actually feeling them personally, can almost — only almost — be communicated through words. My go-to coping mechanism over the past few years has been the empty page. A blank canvas upon which to pour your aching soul atop of. My grandmother deserves a piece written about her far more than some of the trivial things that have troubled me in recent times. Things I have given my undivided attention to that matter very little to me right now.

The current gap in my heart is only equivalent to the loss of the unconditional love for me that has now left this world. A love that I know my grandmother had for me and now that her soul travels across time and space, traversing the astral plains it is a little harder to feel that love in this earthly, mortal realm. I no longer have a direct line to that love. All I have right now are memories of it, but she loved so purely and completely there is enough of a surplus of residual love left over to sustain me through the grieving process. Again, I know how rare it is and just how lucky I am to have still had a living grandparent at 44 and even though she made it to 90 years, living a long full life, it’s still so painful. Such a privilege provides me with no solace at this moment. She was a constant. She was always there. We thought she would be always there. Forever.

But nothing lasts forever and the lives of all of us whose presence in this world she is directly responsible for will irrevocably change from here on in. We will all need to find our own way of coping with a world without her in it. When we all went back to the house after leaving the hospital we all instantly looked over at the empty chair that would never be again be sat in and her little slippers underneath, never again to be worn. We all cried in unison because we knew something implicitly, that this was indeed, the end of an era. Her home was now just a house, bricks and mortar. Never again would you be greeted with her warmth upon entering or receive the offer of a cup of tea (which she always put far too much milk in for my taste but I’d dare not utter a word). I will even miss going down to do little odd jobs around the house for her. All changed forever, overnight. Things will never be the same again.

Life is a transient process, we are all only passing through. While we are here as we struggle and toil to make ends meet and to raise our children up to be better versions of ourselves, the best we can hope for is to leave our mark. If I could leave a fraction of the impression on my future grandchildren (please God) that she left on me I will have succeeded spectacularly. In the end all that’s left of us when we leave this world are memories. Thought patterns in other people’s heads. The thought patterns in my head and I’m sure inside the heads of all our family — will only be full of positivity. As we leave this mortal coil I don’t think that’s any more than any one of us could ask for. When I think of my nanny I just think of goodness. She was an absolute diamond of a woman, who in all my 44 years never raised her voice to me once. Even my father always said he could not have asked for a better mother-in-law and never had a crossed word spoken with her in all the time he’d known her.

A ‘seanfocal’ phrase in the mother tongue perhaps captures it best, ‘Ní bheidh do leithéid arís ann’ (There will never be your likes again) and when that comes to our matriarch, that comes as close as words ever will.

I love you with all my heart Nanny. Always and forever. You were an absolute legend.

Goodbye and ‘No Regrets’.

A chat from 2 years ago I recorded to look back on: