Shauna

Back when you were small, the littlest one in the house, you had long thick hair in plaits. A copper coloured curly mane Mammy braided for you religiously every morning. It got you through school, that diligent hairstyle. Knocked the wildness out of you and kept you on the straight and narrow with the nuns.

You were never that young one Sister Pius frowned upon with her fringe falling into her eyes. Or worse still, that other young one, who drove Sister Catherine mad, the way she insisted on sucking her hair. No, you were fine. Not a bit of bother.
‘A lovely mannerly girl’, they all said. The highest compliment a nun could possibly pay.

Once school was done, you couldn’t wait to loosen out those watertight plaits. Let your hair fall in fragrant waves all round your face. Every night we brushed and brushed. A hundred strokes of Granny’s copper coloured hairbrush. Laughing as we went. I loved you well then, Little Sister. The freedom you exuded, your reflection in the mirror full of light and life and joy.

‘Two giddy goats’, Mammy’d call us.
Out for the kill, don’t you know, if she caught us jumping on the beds.

We won’t jump on any beds tonight, will we, Shauna? Not after the day you’ve put down in the oncology unit. And me too, sitting beside you, not knowing where to look. The treatment will be severe, they tell us that straightaway. You’ll most likely lose your hair. They recommend looking into wigs.

You’re great, I have to tell you that, the steady way you take the news. Making it easy for them. The same lovely mannerly girl the nuns once loved.

But I want you to go mad now, I really do. I’d like to see you rant and rave. Curse and swear. Go on, tap into your wild side. Lash out like a lunatic, so I know you have the strength to fight this thing, and won’t give up ‘til it’s gone.

 

Once upon a time

There was shadow first and then there was light deep in the story of us. We started off with fleeting glances half hiding from each other. But one day you bucked the courage up to catch my eye and I felt suddenly strong enough to absorb your smile. The minute I beamed right back at you, that was our beginning.

We were close in no time. Holding hands. Whispering secrets. Exchanging affections. Shiny happy people, the same way the song says. We summered it out like this. Chatty and carefree. We wintered it out together too. Getting more committed every day.

We upped our game come Spring.

‘Let’s get married’, you said, catching me off-guard, one misty March night.

My delighted ‘yes’, opened up a whole new chapter for us.

Wedding bells and honeymoons and bonny babies round the corner. Hope and heart. Sunlight and soul. And the brightest of bright lights.

I can’t wait to star in it. Our story as it spirals on. Unravelling in delicious dimensions right before our eyes.

Thank you for the music

Although she’s old now. Her feet frozen. Her ankles swollen. Her knees throbbing. Her waist wobbling. Her shoulders stiff. Her head bent. Although the doctor tells her her dancing days are done, although her son frowns and her daughter frets, there is music in this world that still gets her going.
She’s at her best the days she hears it. When she lets the melody envelop her until she feels the sunshine of a smile rising up in her face.
She heaves up her heavy head then. Begins to beat her battered feet. Shakes out her shoulders. Has words with her unwilling waist. Coaxes her knobbly knees. Cajoles those anxious ankles.
‘Stand’, she commands all the creaky bits and rusty bolts of her.
They’re brave, those old bones, and obedient too, still doing their best to do what she says.
And so they somehow or other get themselves up on the floor. A mixed bag of abilities jollying each other along.
‘Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow’, she reminds them of the rhythm.
They falter at first. Bump into each other but in no time at all, the beat of it all comes back to them.
They set her off laughing in the finish at the good of their accomplishment.
Who’d have thought it? Bridie Burke dancing again. Her head, her hips, her arms, her legs motioning along to the sound of the music.
There’s a delight in it, that’s for sure, and a youthfulness too. All sorts of pleasures she nearly thought she’s forgot.
‘Thank you for the music’, that’s all she can think to say.
‘Thank you’!

 

A Gift

‘You’re a gift’, that’s what he said to her.

A gift. What a marvellous thing to be likened to.

‘A gift from God’, that’s what you are, he continued, ‘and don’t you ever forget it’.

He was lovely, Father Cusack. Saintly and serene. A permanent smile dimpled into his eyes. A warm pat on the shoulder. An honest handshake sending her on her way.

So, she needed to start thinking of herself as a gift. That was the message this holy man gave her. Stop feeling cursed and start feeling blessed.

What a revelation but what a responsibility too!

It was one way to live a life, she supposed. Decide to be the gift God sent you to be. Be yourself to the best of your ability, and give of yourself the same way people give gifts.

Tenderly;
Wholeheartedly;
Enthusiastically;
Hopefully;
Joyfully.

Don’t hold back on your destiny. Give and give and give but in the middle of it all, don’t forget to be a gift to yourself too.

Seek out the growth areas in your life. The spaces that give you the most hope and encouragement and vow to make time in the future for them.

There was a lot in what the priest said to her. A lot….

A Blessing

I see it in my mind’s eye all the time. The place just over the horizon where I was born to be. The place my heart sings, my spirit soars, and my soul feels most at home.

The place where there’s absolutely nothing wrong with sitting in a café corner on your own sipping a slow coffee. Or walking over the coast and under the cliffs. All day if you like. All day if you must. You can sing aloud to yourself if you want. Or chant a prayer or cry a tune. Nobody will notice and sure what about it even if they do?

There’s no harm in calling into the chapel either. Go on, trip in the door just as the evening light is fading. You’re welcome here, why wouldn’t you be? Follow in your ancestors’ footsteps. Sit yourself into the back seat. Bow your head and empty out for a bit.

And you never know, a voice from somewhere deep inside you might encourage you to light a candle now that you’re here, and say a prayer too before you go.

‘Bless me and mind me and keep me’, that’ll do, won’t it. Until the next time, that’ll do….

 

Sacred Space

Do you ever look, I mean, really look deep into the sky?

Beyond the cloud cover. Between the sun streams. Behind the blue gaze.

And, if you do, well, what do you see?

Spiritual shades, maybe. Golden glows. Holy honeysuckle hues. Lavenders and lilacs too. All kinds of calming colours.

Do you breathe deep then? Call this gentle spectrum towards you. Put sounds to it.

And if you do, well, how do you feel?

Like a small child again enthralled by a lullaby….

That’s how I feel.

The sweet sound of the symphonies stopping me up in my tracks. Causing me to catch my breath as I sense an old familiar hug going round my heart and hear a much missed whisper from the past.

‘You’re loved’, that warm voice tells me, the same sure way it always did.

And yes, I often do weep at the sound of it.

Well, wouldn’t you?

But, you know what, I count those tears as tears of joy for the glory of this magic moment for the gorgeous gift of this sacred space.

A Steady Steed

I remember you before I ever knew you. You were just an abstract imagining back then. I read your name in picture storybooks and saw your face flashing through Walt Disney films. You were a pet that I could care for; something more dependent than a cat and less transient than a lamb. I was 8 years old with a brand new Raleigh bicycle but all I wanted was a dog.

We finally got you when I was 10, nearly 11, truth be told, nearly then a part of those dreadful years between being a small girl and a big girl that we were to take on together. You came in the shape of the sweet little puppy I had always dreamed of you as and for the length of time that life allotted you, you were the best dog friend a girl could have.

Thinking back on it now, I remember the walks mostly. You and me and the walkman, a bag of crisps between us, off under the cliffs for the afternoon, or daffodil gathering in damp March, or blackberry picking in blowy September.

We shared cycles of time like that. Years of coming and going. The sun rose and set. The tide ebbed and flowed. I grew up and you got old. Birthday followed birthday. Summer trailed summer. Christmas caught up on Christmas until this year when you had just turned 12 and we went on what would turn out to be our last walks together. Scarcely round and round the garden in the end where though the snowdrops were blooming, my best dog friend was dying. Leaving me in the bleak mid-winter never again to witness another spring.

You went out like a shot in the dark in the end. Doing it all on your own terms as ever. I couldn’t believe you gone back then and even now months later still miss you more than you could ever imagine. For though I’m a big girl now with letters after my name, who can drink and vote and travel alone, whenever I chance to think on you, I’m small again. As crumpled and as crestfallen, as withered and as worn as any dejected out of place thing ever was.

Yet, I still hope for your sake that you’re happy now wherever you are. I hope you have a gang of friends. Your tail wagging, frisking about, laughing, your big brown eyes full of joy. I hope there’s a lot of walking and a lot of dinnertimes and a lot of bright dry picnic days. And I hope though part of me hates hoping it that you meet another little girl on a bicycle and that all she wants is a dog. I hope she’ll love you for she’ll need you. There’ll be times upon times when you’ll help. I know. I was that soldier. You were always a steady steed.

Best Friends

We were best friends back then. Our futures all mapped out. I was going to be your bridesmaid. Godmother to your first child. Best friends for life, that’s what we said, wasn’t it, though it didn’t exactly work out like that.

The older we got, the more our friendship faltered as we drifted apart from one another and chose to follow different paths. Then, one day, I looked up and down the road I was travelling and there was no sign of you anywhere. You had moved on at a faster pace. We weren’t friends anymore.

I was truly sorry. I hadn’t meant to lose you along the way. Though you were a bossy little biddy, who always spoke out first, you’d opened up all sorts of avenues for me.

You know, I had my first taste of foreign food in your house. Raw celery sticks dipped in natural yoghurt. Indian curry made from scratch with proper cumin powder hand delivered by exotic family friends. Sardines. Sweetcorn. Spaghetti bolognese. All sorts of stuff we never had at home.

You had a sweet tooth the same as me but while I always played it safe with toffees, you were adventurous enough to try marshmallows, and not just try them, toast them too. By the time you were 11, you knew how to prepare them to perfection to make your special edition toastie mallows.

I can still remember those sugary-laden specimens. The melt in the mouth texture that caught you full blast at the back of the throat and tasted like the sweetest of sins. I’ll never forget the day we overdid it. Drinking a whole packet of them down like honey so much so that they soured my stomach and put me off marshmallows for life.

You thought I was an awful baby, didn’t you?
‘Wuss’, you called me, the same day.
‘You’re too soft’, you said. You were always saying that back then.

You were right, you know.

You were able for much more than me, weren’t you? Intent on plotting out a whole lifetime for yourself – courtships, children, career – while I trailed along in your shadows.

Listening. Laughing. Learning. In awe of your ambition.

‘This is how you live life to the full’. Was that what you were trying to tell me back then?

‘Open your hands, your head, your heart. Put your arms around the world and ask for more. Take a risk that things might turn out sour. So what if they do, you’ll get over it, and you know what, there’s a good chance things will turn out sweet too, that all your dreams will come true. That’s worth rolling the dice for, isn’t it? Worth making plans towards.’

I sort of knew what you meant but just didn’t have your kind of vision. It got to the stage where I could never rise to the occasion the way you wanted me to. I don’t blame you for getting tired of me, for moving onto other cooler circles.

I know it’s a bit late in the day to be saying this now but I’m sorry for being such a stick in the mud. It’s hard to explain after all this time but I suppose I was afraid of the world in a way you definitely weren’t. Afraid he’d snatch my freedom from me and force me to follow his ways. The real fear I had was if I reached out to him, he might take a fancy to me, and silly as it might sound, I didn’t necessarily want to be bound to him for life.

And so here I am, all these years on, still meandering round the margins of existence. Taking a slow scenic route. Following avenues of interest that never seem to bring me anywhere in particular but make for an enjoyable way of living all the same.

 

The Little Mermaid

It was practically home, the beach at Cregg. A perfect place to make my mark. To take one first faltering step. And surer second steps. And third tremendous steps. And on and on until I was big enough and bold enough to break into a bound.

There was no stopping me once I got going. No mother could keep up. Nothing between me and the sea but a stretch of steady sand. I flew ahead. Never once looking back despite her warning calls. Getting faster and faster with every step. A symphony of seagulls egging me on. The sun winking down on me. The sea breeze teasing my hair. The sand kissing the soles of my feet.

I stopped short the minute I hit the shoreline. Stood still for a second, uncertain now of my surrounds. There was no need to worry. The sparkling salt water beamed my solemn reflection right back up at me. Made me laugh. Tickling my toes and whispering a hundred thousand welcomes.

‘Come in my little lovely’, the sea sang, opening its frilly sleeves out wide.
‘Come dance with me and play with me and sing with me’.
‘Go on so’, Mam said. She was there by then. ‘If you really want to’.

Take off on the brink of something that beautiful. Of course I wanted to!

And so on I went. Stepped right in. Embraced every salty shiver with a squeal. Put on a show for Mammy who was playing it cool. Standing at the edge letting on she wasn’t looking but watching me all the same. I jumped and jived. Spinning into the ripples that radiated round me. Completely at one with my mermaid self. Never so happy. Never so wholesome. Never so free.

‘Well I have to laugh at you’, Mammy said, wading in to join me.
Her shoes discarded on the water’s edge. Her skirt rolled up in folds around her waist.
‘The boldness of you’.
She caught my hand, a big smile on her face.
‘C’mon then if you’re so brave. I’ll show you how to jump the waves’.
‘1,2,3 whee’, we chorused‘,1,2,3 whee’.

Seamus Heaney (RIP)

Seamus Heaney.
The lunchtime news.
A car stops up to a man in wellingtons.
‘Begad’, he says,
leaving down his two buckets,
‘One of our own’.

Seamus Heaney.
A moment’s silence
In the wake of a lullaby.
Time to remember a man in a tweed jacket
standing side-stage with pens in his pocket.

Seamus Heaney.
No blubbering now.
Let him sign off singing
to the sound of spontaneous applause.
The last in a long line of standing ovations.

Seamus Heaney.
Back home to Bellaghy.
A man in wellingtons leaves down his two buckets
‘In the name of the Father’, he says ‘
and of His Son and of the Holy Ghost’.