How the final months of the year, every year, are so hard to bear since Eva died on 31 December 2021.
November is the start of it, with her birthday leading up to her favourite time of year. What Christmas decorations will she want from Marks and Spencer? Send photos of what they have, she would say. Especially of their wee robins. Do they have any nice shoes? Send photos.
The favourite robins Eva’s Upside Down Christmas Tree.
Thus went our annual conversations for decades.
Then… nothing.
The roar of her silent voice, her unheard giggles, her unlived years and the puzzle as to WHY her final wishes were not fulfilled, simply and without compromise,as she had asked, remain as heartaches to those who truly loved and respected her unconditionally.
And so the turning of the year, with the evenings stretching out as the sun returns to our hemisphere, to warm our faces and our hearts with pleasant fun filled memories.
Brendan Kennelly is one of my favourite poets and my favourite poem of all time is
“Begin”
Begin again to the summoning birds to the sight of the light at the window, begin to the roar of morning traffic all along Pembroke Road. Every beginning is a promise born in light and dying in dark determination and exaltation of springtime flowering the way to work. Begin to the pageant of queuing girls the arrogant loneliness of swans in the canal bridges linking the past and future old friends passing though with us still. Begin to the loneliness that cannot end since it perhaps is what makes us begin, begin to wonder at unknown faces at crying birds in the sudden rain at branches stark in the willing sunlight at seagulls foraging for bread at couples sharing a sunny secret alone together while making good. Though we live in a world that dreams of ending that always seems about to give in something that will not acknowledge conclusion insists that we forever begin.
Our sister Eva just adored Autumn and the colours of the leaves. November is also her birthday month.
In her final weeks in November 2021 she was very lonely and very sick. We would WhatsApp, she in Australia and I in Ireland- and take a stroll in my local woods so she could enjoy the beautiful autumn colours.
AUTUMN LEAVES
The falling leaves drift by the window The autumn leaves of red and gold I see your lips, the summer kisses The sun-burned hands I used to hold
Since you went away the days grow long And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song But I miss you most of all my darling When autumn leaves start to fall
It has been over 1,200 days since our sister Eva died in a hospital room in Western Australia in December 2021.
It was bad enough that due to Covid and closed borders we were unable able to visit her in her final weeks and days.
It was bad enough that I had a message that I was not to contact her following her terminal diagnosis as it was ‘upsetting’ her.
It was bad enough that she felt lonely and abandoned in those final weeks, often crying in pain and aloneness.
It was bad enough that she had no visitors during that time, with the exception of a neighbour who did offer her support and comfort.
It was bad enough that permission for support from work colleagues was initially denied to her while she was in hospital.
It was bad enough that she was berated because her bedroom was ‘untidy’ and her stuff was thrown about the room. It was bad enough that she was challenged about her medical note taking as it could have been about her lack of care.
It was bad enough that she was told point blank that there was no carer available to her and that someone she thought may have been available to her absolutely refused to be in that role.
It was bad enough that we got an impersonal message to say ‘I feed her twice a day’
It was bad enough that she, with stage 4 cancer and in excruciating pain had to change her own bed linen.
It was bad enough that she spent time on her hands and knees, trying to get into bed, yet felt unable to call for help.
It was bad enough that when she was in bed at night and in agony and in need of help, she had nobody to call on for assistance or comfort.
It was bad enough that when overcome with grief at her diagnosis, she was ordered to stop cryng or an ambulance would be called to take her to the hospital.
It was bad enough that a terminally ill woman who longed for a cup of coffee following a clinic visit, was left standing in a shopping centre for ages as the person she was with went off looking for someone who had picked up a missing phone and needed to be thanked. She went home without the coffee.
It was bad enough that in her last days, those of us in contact with her by text from a distance could tell that something was amiss. A phone call to the house got the response that all was ok.
It was bad enough that her niece felt compelled to visit and found her in dreadful state mentally and hygienically and had to call an ambulance. She never came home.
It was bad enough that the other person in the house admitted afterwards, ‘I should have noticed….’
It was bad enough then that, following her death, we were advised that any input to her funeral service must exclude anything prior to 1984, as her funeral was going to be about ‘Me and Her’ and nothing before.
It was bad enough that the addition of her name on her parents family headstone invoked ire as she was not given her ‘proper’ title…the biggest honour of all ‘daughter’ was denigrated as she was ‘daughter in law of’.
It was bad enough that her ashes were allegedly taken to New Zealand where she had lived for a few years, to be scattered there. This was never her wish. Her only wish was to rest with her Mum and Dad. She had only visited New Zealand once or possibly twice since she lived there.
It was bad enough…MORE than bad enough, to be then advised that the ceremony by Dargaville church ministers and scattering of ashes was a terrible scam. That the scattered ashes were actually those of family pets.
How Eva would have been enraged by this. On behalf of her family, we wish to apologise to those who cared about her and who were deliberately mistreated and abused like this.
We wish to reclaim Eva’s dignity in this matter.
It was bad enough on the morning of the burial of her ashes in the family grave in Carrigart that we got a message from a distant family member that the ashes we were about to inter were also those of family pets.(These ashes had been given to Eva’s niece following her cremation ). Such a callous thing to do!
It was bad enough that the only communication about Eva’s ‘formal’ funeral arrangements were via our in-laws and peripheral family members. What would she have thought!
It was bad enough that Eva’s funeral took place to the grave of her in-laws, not even in her own country but in the UK part of Ireland. To a grave that she had never seen before, to a place where she had not visited for decades, to be laid alongside a man who deplored her marriage to his son as, a good Catholic, who disapproved of divorce. Eva was NEVER ashamed that her previous marriage did not work out, (why should she be???), but the father in law and spouse were.
It was bad enough that this happened, but then some of her ashes were ‘personally interred’ by the widowed spouse in our family grave.
A sacrilege that he even laid a hand on it.
And so after all this sorrow and abuse of her dignity and memory, today is the day the record will be set straight.
May our Eva rest in peace, in her own country, the Irish Republic, in her own County Donegal; with those she loved and who loved her, her parents, her brother , grandfather and cousin.
Tramore beach was her happy place. The sound of the waves crashing up from the beach will forever be background music to her grave.
Her greatest dignity was in being DAUGHTER to her parents.
Dignity means that she is worthy of respect, it means she is worthy of honour.
We owe her, and give her that.
NOTE all of the above can be corroborated by texts and emails.
The grief at her death has not abated, nor will it.
Life throws a lot of heartache and loss at all of us.
Over my decades on earth, I have grieved for many people that I loved – grandparents, beloved aunts and uncles, cousins, neighbours, friends, including those who chose their own time to leave; tragic losses of a one year old brother, a young nephew, a baby nephew, pregnancy loss, stillborns and of course, parents, and spouse.
Grief is not a stranger.
In Ireland, and no doubt elsewhere, death rituals that border on the sacred, are rooted in the deepest respect for the deceased.
Human remains, cremated or otherwise, are afforded the same dignity and respect as a living breathing person.
Our sister had one wish which was to rest alongside her mother, father and brother in our family grave in our home parish.
It was often discussed and forcefully reaffirmed that her only wish was to go home for burial and in several conversations with her spouse they both agreed that they would, separately, go back to their respective home family plots.
Unfortunately, the treatment of the remains and the memory of our beloved sister has been outrageous and continues to be the cause of much sadness and sorrow, even after this time.
It’s a heart scalding grief that has remained unspoken because of the shame and embarrassment of what transpired.
In the earth’s embrace, where shadows creep, I find myself here, in silence so deep, Not by choice, nor by wish, I lay low, In a place that I never wanted to go.
The soil is heavy, the air feels thick, Each heartbeat echoes, each moment ticks, Dreams unfulfilled, like whispers in flight, Now buried beneath the cold, endless night.
This ground is foreign, it lacks the sun, Where laughter once danced, now silence has won, I long for the skies, for the winds to be free, But here in this stillness, I’m bound, I can’t flee.
Memories linger, like ghosts in the dark, Of places I loved, where I left my mark, Yet fate has a way, of twisting the path, Leaving me here, in the aftermath.
So I’ll dream of the hills, where the wildflowers sway, Of rivers that sing, of bright, golden days, Though roots pull me down, I’ll reach for the light, For even in darkness, I’ll cling to my fight.
In this grave I did not choose to reside, A part of my spirit will never abide, For where I belong is a place I can see, In the heart of the world, where I yearn to be free.
Yesterday, as often happens, these little shoes were rediscovered on a wardrobe shelf.
A poignant rediscovery, as today, June 30th, marks the 65th Anniversary of the day they were last worn by our 15 month old baby brother.
Canice’s shoes, last unbuckled on this day in 1959,
65 years, just a brief moment away, as the terrible details of the tragedy spring to mind in a flash with as much clarity as on the day itself. The clothes he wore, the clothes my 11 year old self wore, the clothes my mother wore, covered in blood, my father standing crying helplessly – the first time I saw him cry.
Canice was fractious all week as he ‘grizzled’ through teething. But he somehow managed to ‘creep’ (the Donegal version of ‘crawl’) out of the house onto the street and under the wheels of a parked vehicle. How he manged to do that remains a mystery.
On March 25th just gone, the family grave was opened once more for the funeral of our sister Eva. The date chosen being the anniversary of our mother’s death. Standing at the grave on that day, I was very concious that our two youngest siblings were side by side, as I recall very well the precise position where Canice’s coffin was placed in that grave. Our parents, grandfather and a cousin also rest there.
Today however, as it approaches 3 pm, the time the vehicle moved off with our brother under it, I remember them all with love. I record this anniverary and thoughts in order to honour them all, as in the blink of an eye, perhaps in another 65 years time, they will pass from memory and will be names on a headstone.
On March 7, 2020, I said goodbye to my sister in Perth Western Australia at the end of my holiday. I had been staying with her during my almost annual trip down under to visit her and my daughter and my grandchildren.
She was looking forward to a holiday in Ireland and would see me soon. Donegal, where we grew up, she called her ‘happy place’.
Tra na Rossan. A local beach where Eva grew up and spent many happy hours.
Little did either of us know that this would be the last time we would physically be in the same place.
Covid happened, Australian borders were closed and then she got very sick.
That last hug has to last me for my lifetime. Three years on, it is still one of the most cherished moments of my life.
Photo courtesy of Rhonda.
Our lovely sister Eva Gallagher Croskery died on 31 December 2021 aged 65.
“For you were beautiful, we have loved you dearly More dearly than the spoken word can tell”
This walkers guide is the latest walking guide for our parish compiled by Caoimhín Mac a’ Bhaird.
This handy booklet, Carrigart-Walks and Explorations has details of 11 walking routes with distances. It is a gem!
The latest walks booklet from Kevin was published this year. – A labour of love, it is much more than a list of walking routes. It is a pocket guide to our local heritage and attractions.
The maps and photographs are excellent, and I really liked the notes on various hazards that might be encountered such as road traffic where the routes run along the main road, or the need for midgie deterrents in certain locations!
It is often true that we don’t always ‘see’ what we look at day after day, but Kevin has included great descriptions of the landscape features of this very scenic area, both nearby and in the distance, so you are not only walking, you are appreciating the wonderful scenery along the way.
This area is steeped in history, so you can learn about the lucrative seed potato exports days, the old ferry crossing between our parish and Fanad, a gun-running expedition on behalf of the Ulster Volunteers in 1913, the destructive sandstorms, or the origin of The Slate Row in Carrick. Not only that, the unique ecosystem of Mulroy Bay is included – who knows what a ‘Maerl bed’ is or a Couch’s Goby? Find out here!
Kevin authored ‘Danders around Downings and Rambles around Rosguill‘ a few years back. This is a mighty wee book, also of around 40 pages, with really attractive line drawings of places along the spectacular routes.
Concentrated on the rugged coastline of Rosguill, there is information on local archaeological finds, where to see long-gone ‘clachan’ settlements, and it has a great list of local place names along the coastline. Here you will discover the location of Frenchman’s Rock and the Little Frenchman. Who knew?
The walks are mostly either along the wonderful and epic Wild Atlantic Way, or afford great views of it.
Walking has grown in popularity in recent years. It is so good for health of mind and body, suitable for all ages and of course it comes for free. So if you fancy a wee short dander or a bit of a hike, or are thinking about New Year Resolutions, these lovely wee books will guide you on your way.
Both publications are available at McNutts Shop in Downings and at Galánta Gifts in Carrigart.
A SILVER VOICE FROM IRELAND 
