“As the hinge of memory rusted in willed self-preserving neglect, she decided it was easier to remember only what she had negotiated with herself to remember.” Kenneth Bush Memories can be painful. But I instinctively knew that, for me, it was better to feel the pain than to lose the memories, than to forget. I write … Continue reading Master of my Fate
While helping clean her room, I slide any change I find lying on the floor into my hip pocket. I admit to swiping it, fringe benefits, I say. The next morning, I return it to her (it hadn’t amounted to much) to make up her bus fare. I tell her about searching for coins down … Continue reading Every Penny
Farewell morning. Group photos at the front of the house, standing by the potted geraniums on the steps behind the buxom dahlias (flowers that are never knowingly under-dressed). Barb and I are dressed to match the flowers. I’m wearing a geometric print red dress, she’s in a botanical-printed short-legged jumpsuit. ‘When it’s short like this … Continue reading Scoosh In
That dream again. Haven’t had it in a while. Ken reappears and I don’t want to know him. He is Hopper from Stranger Things – not exactly Hopper, but someone a bit like him, although he is also very much himself too. He has been to a gulag, or some form of extreme confinement. He … Continue reading That Dream Again
There we were, out on the ocean, lilting and bouncing like the jig of the same name, quickly moving from high to low. Michael is skipper: deeply tanned face, hoop ring in one ear – a pirate look, without being too cliched about it. We’re in a RIB, a rigid bottom, inflatable around the rim, light … Continue reading Out on the Ocean
It is 1978. Everyone is talking about Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It has taken longer to get to Ireland. All films do. “Everyone says its brilliant,” my brothers say. “We’re going,” they say. I am interested, but not interested enough to beg to go along with them. I tell you this because, were … Continue reading Portrush, Harbour Diving Boards
A trip in the name of love. Booked on Valentine’s Day with the core purpose of visiting the family of the man I loved. Planted halfway through the trip, a wedding, a public statement of committing to love for life. It will be all joys and smiles and happiness. It will be warm and generous … Continue reading One About Love
“I think people are uncomfortable, so they say nothing,” she told me, “like people no longer saying his name.” Had that been the case with my husband, Ken, and with my dad, Barry, had my friends and family not been able to remember either anniversary landing on these days, speak either’s name, say something they … Continue reading We Should Speak of the Dead
“Tell Eimear what you did today.” There begins a slow review of the morning’s events interrupted by anything that distracts him (which is everything). There is Lala nose-diving off the chair, a quick play with new the train set, a run to the window to see if any birds are pecking at the fat-ball they … Continue reading How to Live Twice
I love Christmas Eve, the daytime, full of visits and last minutes chores, the evening narrowing towards quiet solitude. I feel content being alone on Christmas Eve, lighting candles, being quiet. I might switch on the radio, let the silence swaddles me like soft cotton blankets settling a baby for sleep. Silence brings thoughts, ideas, … Continue reading All Gone into the World of Light
My Edinburgh Press 