Anam Cara

Death is going to come. No one has been able to stop it yet! The Connemara people say, Ní féidir dul i bhfolach ar an mbás—you cannot hide from death. We fear it because we do not know how, when or where it will come, but come it will. Yet we still have great freedom about the way we approach it. We should not think negatively or destructively about it, but rather see the possibilities that are in it. Of course there is a lonesomeness in it. Of course there is fright in it, going into the unknown, but we have been given wonderful shelters about the belonging that is in it. It is not a dark end but the beginning of a path of new brightness. If we can learn not to fear death, we have literally nothing to fear.

Entering Death

I pray that you will have the blessing

Of being consoled and sure about your death.

May you know in your soul

There is no need to be afraid.

When your time comes, may you have

Every blessing and strength you need.

May there be a beautiful welcome for you

In the home you are going to.

You are not going somewhere strange,

Merely back to the home you have never left.

May you live with compassion

And transfigure everything

Negative within and about you.

When you come to die,

May it be after a long life.

May you be tranquil

Among those who care for you.

May your going be sheltered

And your welcome assured.

May your soul smile

In the embrace

Of your Anam Cara.

From To Bless the Space Between Us

POSTSCRIPT

In a revealing interview published in Dublin’s Sunday Tribune on Christmas Day 2005, John spoke with Suzanne Power about death.

One of the loneliest places in the world to be is at a deathbed where the one who is departing is haunted by regret for their unlived life. One of the greatest sins is the unlived life. If my own death were to occur tomorrow, what would be the peaks of my existence? The faces of my beloved, and of others I love and those who love me. The dark valleys of devastation; mountains; the ocean; the numinous music of words; the endless festival of the senses; the excitement and beauty of woman; the joy of music; memories of hard but satisfying days of work on the bog, in the meadows, building walls; conversations that still sing in the mind; the harp cello of the Irish language; the Eucharist, and the celebration of the body in love; being listened to when words were frail and suffering was sore; the return of the swallows to the shed; my uncle’s companionship; my father’s mystical sense; and my mother’s love and trust in my being.

AFTERWORD

On Saturday, January 12, 2008, John O’Donohue was laid to rest in his beloved Co. Clare. It was a day of celebration of a life, of lament for the loss of a loved one and of wild Atlantic weather. That evening I wrote the following words.

The Journey

FOR JOHN O’DONOHUE

We were promised a hard frost

But overnight a milder wind

Blew in from Fanore

And so we drove down ice-free roads

Through Kinvara and Bellharbour

A golden Burren sunrise

Heralded what you called

The wonder of the arriving day.

In Ballyvaughan a huge red sign

Pointed our way with just one word

FUNERAL

Around Black Head

The Atlantic’s mighty sweep

Welcomed the growing line of cars

All with a single destination.

We parked amid the caravans

And walked along the singing river

Remembering how you envied it

Carried by the surprise

of its own unfolding

We gathered in the marquee

And delighted in greeting friends

With laughter and embrace

As you would wish

And no—none of us could take in

The reason we were here.

The obsequies began

Eucharistic mystery

Music and memory

And laughter, always laughter.

Des Forde invited us

To pay our respects

There would be no hurry

We would lay you to rest

When we were ready

And so we filed past your coffin

And laid hands on it.

And no—we couldn’t take it in

We held your loved ones’ hands

Wishing we could especially mind Josie

Proud and frail and broken.

And then the final, final stage

To Creggagh

A great caravan

Snaking along that wild

And surf-tossed shore

That thrilled you so

A vicious south-easterly

Whipped us with icy rain

And stung us to tears

As we lowered you to lie

Face to face with rock

In a limestone valley

Your soul already freed

Face to face with God

On the eternal mountain.

Charlie Piggott played

Éamonn an Chnoic

As we huddled

Báite fuar fliuch

For the last farewell.

Home now

Through the dying day

Down flooding roads

Past sodden fields

With one more stop to make

At Corcomroe

To remember Easter dawns

When you blessed the elements

And sang the risen Christ.

A silence

And then past

Weeping Burren flags

And through the shroud of mist

Descending

Into the dark.

John Quinn

Envoi

Sometimes

A voice is sent

To calm our deepest fears

Sometimes

A hearty laugh

Will banish all our tears

Sometimes

Words will wing

Our dreaming ever higher

And sometimes

A mind will set

Our imagining afire

John Quinn

IN MEMORIAM