Bairbre CahillI remember a conversation in our house when our children were small about where they would live when they were ‘big’. Our youngest daughter even at the age of six was keen on New York, so that she could sing on Broadway. Our son, two years younger, announced that he would be living ‘here, in this house’. I reminded him that this was where his daddy and I would be living but he said “Ah no mammy I mean when you are you know what and you’ve gone you know where!” I was a wee bit taken aback at how calmly our son was contemplating our deaths so that he could get his hands on the house!
Children can be very straight talking. As adults, we can spend our time ducking and diving to avoid considering the reality of our own mortality.
This was brought home to me recently. I had been called for my first ever mammogram. I was not particularly worried about it and although I found the experience somewhat strange the mammogram itself was only mildly uncomfortable. I was glad to have it done and thought no more about it, until that is, a letter landed on my mat one Monday morning telling me I was being recalled for further assessment, in Galway on Wednesday morning at 9am.
I told my children that it was a routine event, lots of women get called back but nevertheless I travelled to Galway in a state of profound fear. Four mammograms, one CT scan and an ultrasound later I was told that I had a small cyst. It was of no concern but that is what had prompted the need for reassessment.
The sense of relief was huge. I nearly danced out of that clinic and down the road. I decided to walk to Salthill to work off my adrenalin and to see my aunt but, getting lost, found myself back at the Dominican Church at the Claddagh just in time for Mass. I had sat there the previous day contemplating the possibility that I could have cancer, facing the possibility of my own death.
I know it may sound clichéd but when I walked out that coast road to Salthill the beauty and vibrancy of everything that surrounded me seemed heightened. I was very aware that it is a wonderful thing to be alive.
I was also aware of the other women who had been in the clinic that morning and the reality that not all may have received good news.
In these November days as our Church year draws towards a close and autumn is transforming the landscape it is a daunting but worthwhile thing to reflect on our lives and the fact that some day we will die.
I am not suggesting we should dwell excessively upon it but it is worth asking if we are living the lives we want to be living. Are we being the people we want to be? If not, what changes can we make.
Ancient ring
Something wonderful has happened in the hills of Donegal this week. A huge Celtic cross has appeared in the trees near Grianán of Aileach, an ancient ring fort. It was planted by Liam Emmery, a forester, who died six years ago having been ill for the previous two years.
No one really knew about the cross but this autumn the dry weather has caused the trees to produce striking colours and so the shape of the cross stands out. It was first noticed by people flying over Donegal into Derry Airport. (You can learn more about it all here http://www.itv.com/news/utv/update/2016-10-24/mysterious-celtic-cross-discovered-in-donegal-forest/)
What strikes me most about this is that life is precious and death is inevitable but who we are and what we bring to the world is so much more than just the span of our days.