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A Harvest Bow for my father on his Birthday
One winter Sunday in Phoenix, I woke to the high-pitched scrape of steel on steel, my father in the kitchen sharpening my dull bread knife because “for God’s sake, it wouldn’t cut butter.” I stayed in bed. A brand new widow, stuck in the past because I knew my way around it, I allowed the familiar sound of the long metallic strokes on each side of the knife to transport me back to the kitchen of our house on the Dublin Road a lifetime ago, daddy testing the knife to make sure it was sharp enough to carve the Sunday roast or the Christmas turkey. Like changing a tire or…
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an outrageous act – the day before Obama won again
Just this week, ten years since I first published this post, the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals published a decision on the Texas v. United States DACA case, agreeing with the original judgment on the case that DACA is illegal but renewals for existing DACA recipients will remain open. For a decade, the Obama administration’s DACA program has provided protection from deportation for hundreds of thousands of undocumented immigrants brought to the US as children. It was never supposed to be more than “a temporary stopgap measure,” but Congress has failed to enact permanent protections leaving young people in limbo, unable to plan their futures with certainty and stability, the threat…
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After death of a spouse, Aging, Being a Widow, Bellaghy, Castledawson, Death and dying, Dennis O'Driscoll, Derry, Dispatch from the Diaspora, FInal wishes, Funeral, Grieving, Keeping Going, Loss, Love, Memoir, Milestones, Mourning, Northern Ireland, Northern Ireland Culture, Postscript, Rituals, Seamus Heaney
Epitaph . . . for your birthday
Epitaphby Merrit Malloy When I dieGive what’s left of me awayTo childrenAnd old men that wait to die.And if you need to cry,Cry for your brotherWalking the street beside you.And when you need me,Put your armsAround anyoneAnd give themWhat you need to give to me. I want to leave you something,Something betterThan wordsOr sounds. Look for meIn the people I’ve knownOr loved,And if you cannot give me away,At least let me live on in your eyesAnd not on your mind. You can love me mostBy lettingHands touch hands,By lettingBodies touch bodies,And by letting goOf childrenThat need to be free. Love doesn’t die,People do.So, when all that’s left of meIs love,Give…
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9/11, Anything can Happen, Billy Collins, Healing Field Tempe, Memoir, Remembering September 11th, Seamus Heaney, Terrorism, Themes of childhood
severe clear – september 11
What I remember about the morning of September 11 is how blue the sky was above the Twin Towers on my TV screen. And, I remember the feeling of revulsion so familiar to me from growing up in a tiny country where every day is an anniversary of some atrocity. Until that morning, I had taken for granted the sense of security I felt as an immigrant who had traded in Northern Ireland for the United States. Foolishly, I had too quickly dropped my guard, almost forgetting anything can happen. I no longer felt the need to reassure myself that the sound of a car backfiring on the freeway was…
