It’s amazing how some memories are with you for life and how the actions of adults can effect children in such permanent ways. I have a particular memory of being a very young child round about 1970 or 71. It was a beautiful and sunny day and there was some event taking place that I was not allowed to attend for whatever reason. This event would probably have been a trip to the Lough Derg for a swim or something and I’m guessing that I was not allowed attend as I may have been recovering from a recent flu. So my father was taking my sisters of on some great adventure and I was to be left behind with my mother.

She proceeded to spend the next while organising a small table and two chairs out on our porch at Clonlisk. On the table she set up lemonade, orange, cake, buns, apple tart, sweets and chocolate. I remember paper in different colours, napkins and toys. We duly sat in the sunshine and spent some time enjoying this feast she had laid on. We spent the next hour or so laughing and joking, she told me stories and later she took me walking up by the old school house. There we talked, picked berries from the hedgerow and kept our dogs from going into mischief. When I was a child, there were nine of us living under one roof so moments like this where you had one parents attention were rare. She referred to that afternoon as our special picnic. Maybe she had pre-planned it, I never knew. It was certainly something very special and I doubt the sort of thing you could pull out of a hat. I can still remember vividly how she made me feel that day. I felt warm, protected, loved and so happy. Those feelings were relatively rare for my and my sisters when we were kids.

Today, I visited my mother’s grave as I do most Sundays. She is dead almost two years now. As if fitting with her tragic life, her death too was particularly tragic. She died alone with her cat in a small house fire. I have no idea why I visit the grave, I never really feel connected there in any particular way. I read her name on the black marble over and over. I talk a little to her and eventually mosey on. It’s at that moment that I always remember her waving goodbye to me.

Her death changed my life in ways that I still don’t really understand. It certainly exposed my shortcomings to myself. I think of her often – most days in fact and those thoughts are always sad. In remembering my mom today, I have a few regrets. Isn’t that what they always warn you about?

To the best of my knowledge, this is me in my moms arms at Clonlisk, this would have been taken in or around 1967.