Running to stand still

As another month passes I find myself busy, relentlessly busy. This isn't new. I've often been this way - it was cause of a lot of upset between myself and Liane. She always disagreed with me about how much I took on, how much I committed to and how many others I put ahead of us, ahead of her and maybe most importantly to Liane, ahead of me. I learned to control the desire to help with everything, to organise everything and to be at everything. I thought hard about what I needed from all this involvement and what I thought I was getting from it. Was it a popularity thing? Was I really that scared of missing out on something? Was I scared to stop and take stock in case I found something I didnt like? 

Somewhere and somehow I've drifted back into the pattern. The reason is easier, simpler this time - fear of being alone. But the solution is not found in careering around living life at top speed. Instead I'm in a permanent state of exhaustion - physically, mentally and emotionally. My brains tired. My hearts tired. My soul is tired.

So what to do? Well, I'm trying harder to make time for myself and to choose to spend time alone. I'm trying harder not to book something for every night in a week. I'm trying to sleep for longer and eat better food. It's a difficult process that doesn't come easily to me. It needs work.

Everything needs work.  

Repeat until trivial?

Another Dart journey spent fighting back tears hoping to avoid anyone I know. I can’t handle it today, quite suddenly too; I’ve had a good day on many counts. 

But todays not what I want to talk about. I want to try and get across an idea that’s been prickling at me a while, bubbling under my surface and looking for a way out. Well, here’s hoping I can give the thought the words and phrases worthy of it... 

A few weeks ago I stood halfway in and halfway out of my office. It was the middle of the day and during a class period, students tucked away in classrooms and corridors empty, for the most part. Myself and a colleague stood there sharing our respective grief through familiar tears and a volcano of rushed honesty and bitter truths. We got to the kernel of the conversation pretty quickly, a private thought being shared for the first time - “how often do I tell Liane’s story using the same words I’ve used before? How often can this language be repeated until it loses meaning, hubris and emotion?. Is that even possible? And if it is, how do I feel about it?”

I know it’s easier to talk about the broad brush strokes of her life now than it was two/four/six months ago. But how easy is it to discuss the fine details? The deeper and more important nuances. Are they private? Should I even share as much as I do? Everyone knows she hated small talk...

I keep reminding myself - there are no rules here. There are no guidelines. This is unchartered territory for me, just as much as it has been and is for others all around me. Strangers on this train are hurting from loss. Both new and old loss, raw or blunted, but loss; ever present loss.  How are they coping with it? Who do they turn to? What does their life look like now?

(Skip the/her/our La La Land song on the playlist before it gets me again. City of Stars no longer). 

I drifted. My mind is wide open today, my brain keen to help my heart express itself, the pain bringing with it a crystallisation of thought and a flurry of half-explored ideas. What I’m trying to convey in this post is a simple thought with a difficult thought process behind it... Is the discussion of Lianes life and who she was lessened by repetition? Or, is my mind unaccustomed to telling so many people so much so often? Can she, and I, become some sort of dinner table topic? Does it matter? Am I overthinking it all? I don’t know any answers to all this. I know I’m doing my best for her memory and for now that’s all I can do. 

So many questions PT. You left us all with so many questions... 

An oak in a park

Bootcamp. Or as I jokingly referred to it with Liane "public humiliation camp". In a bid to be healthier and to better herself Liane took up bootcamp maybe 18-20 months ago now. Perhaps more, I'm not certain. She attended a 2 night group call Fitness Forever based in Blackrock Park and grew to adore it. She'd come home flying high as a kite, loaded with funny anecdotes and wearing that post-workout glow, alive with energy. She even succumbed to activewear (a long-running joke of ours) and made new friends, young and old. 

After her death Anto, the lovely organiser of the bootcamp, got in touch and suggested we plant a tree for Liane in the park. I chose an oak tree, he sourced it and last Wednesday we met to plant it. In a windwsept candlelit park, looking on to the pond, 30/40 of us stood and thought of Liane as we planted the young tree with a small plaque. I was really touched by the evening - the amount of people who came, the chatter, the speeches and the planting itself. I think Liane would be equal parts chuffed and mortified about all the attention! 

The tree is in a place I will visit often. I love the idea that I can come and talk to Liane and focus my energy on something that will grow over the years. On the plaque is a Roal Dahl quote that I hope will inspire us all as life carries on around us...

"Somewhere inside all of us is the power to change the world"

Light in the darkness

I've had a recurring thought since the early hours after Liane's death - there is positivity to be found in the toughest of moments. At times, maybe even often, this thought can sound churlish or perhaps insensitive but I believe it to be true. 

There have been so many occasions over the past 6.5 months when at my lowest ebb someone gets in touch or something goes my way. I received a book in the post last week - with no note or anything - that is a story about facing adversity and being strong. I get cards every week from across the globe - some silly, some deep and others kind. I've had strangers contact me opening their hearts for my benefit. Hugs, clinches, texts, emails, notes, dinners, drinks - an endless list of people giving their time up for me. I've never felt more humbled. 

At some many turns on this road I've been helped, my burden eased and my elbow steadied. Simple humanity. Raw kindness. Love & decency. In the midst of all this pain there is to be found hope and a way forward, even when the room is dark and the path lonely. 

Beannacht by John O'Donoghue

I was sent this poem by a stranger through the website recently. It touched me deeply. 

===

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

~ John O’Donohue ~

(Echoes of Memory)

Embracing the pain

Sometimes you feel it coming. Maybe all day, maybe from a moment in the middle of the day. Other times it’s a sucker punch in public or a sharp side swipe on your own. 

Today I knew it was coming from when I woke up after a fitful sleep, raw and unsure. I felt it in the handshake of a student who looked me in the eyes and told me what my article (published in the Irish Independent yesterday - post to follow) meant to him. I felt in the quiet morning confide of a tearful colleague. I felt in on the bus journey towards home. I felt it in a friend’s house after dinner. And I felt the full force of the pain when I got home and put on Bon Iver, inviting the emotion to wash over me. 

Maybe she’s trying to talk to me. Maybe I’m trying to contact her. Maybe our souls are sharing a delicate dance of sadness and lost love. Maybe I’m just tired and lonely. Maybe it’s simple biological yearning. Whatever it is, there are times you can sidestep and there are times when you need to face and embrace. Tonight’s one of the latter occasions - let the emotion in, drink in the rawness of it, bask in the alone and let the pain flow through.  

Liane Deasy - you’re the world to me. X  

Written in black and white

Today I got home from 10 days abroad. There was a pile of post on the table where my mum had left it (she likes dropping in and filling the fridge the day I get home form holidays). In the pile was a large brown envelope with a logo that looked familiar. It was from the Coroner's Office. 

When Liane died they needed to do an autopsy to work out the reason for her death. 6 months and 2 weeks later I read today on the Coroner's Report that the cause was SUDEP - Sudden Unexpected Death from Epilepsy. After two pages telling me how healthy her organs and body were was the Coroner's finding. Reading it broke my heart, again. The finality and the fact that there's no reason for it. You can't prevent SUDEP if you can't prevent seizures. 

Another piece of paper for a file about Liane's death. Another piece of writing confirming the hardest fact I've ever faced. One more little brick of pain to add to the pile. 

Another star drifts away...

It is hard feeling such a profound sense of loss for someone I but read about and knew of second hand, but that is what I feel today. I heard over the photocopier in work first thing this morning that Simon Fitzmaurice had died yesterday. It was a shock. He's fought MND for years - a harsh and painful station. His wife Ruth has inspired me hugely - through her book, her kind words to me in private and her pure willpower, love and honesty. 

I feel some of her pain today but much like many people when Liane died am at a loss as to how to act. I'll be thinking of her and her children, of her friends and their families. I'll be sending my love and my empathy. I'll be hoping that the little raft we call life settles them onto a gentler sea and allows them to grow and to celebrate Simon. I'll be summoning courage and support and pushing it out into the world where maybe some of it will filter over to them.

And I'll be swimming - I'll be swimming with them in my thoughts and in my spirit. 

Safe journey Simon, tell Liane hello. 

Halloween

Today I'm off to Barcelona and then on to Paris. It's mid-term and I'm looking forward to a selfish trip away for me. I need to get away. Being back at work, busy weekends, the steady pressure of trying to keep together - it's a lot to deal with. I need to turn off. 

There are loads of occasions that are upsetting - I wrote about July and the weddings - but one that might not be obvious is Halloween. Liane loved this holiday. She loved scrambling a costume together from four different half outfits to become something mad-looking but unique. An evil clown or a bizarre pirate, never getting the outfit perfect but applying so much imagination and effort that it was aesthetically fascinating and well, endearing. She loved scary films of the corny dated variety. She loved young kids coming round to the door in Glasthule and asking them for a Trick before their Treat, her gentle demeanour warming up the nervy children. 

Last year one of Liane's best friends asked us to babysit her little girl for the night. We brought her house to house, met new neighbours, acted like parents, got mistaken for parents, got treats, made up tricks and generally had a pretty perfect night. I don't remember having that much craic, just simple honest and heart-warming craic, in years. We'd dressed up our house, left out sweets and met tonnes of cute kids.

It felt like what we'd be doing every October for the years ahead, her hand and my hand carefully holding those of our dressed up and wild little child...

Clinging on

Sometimes it feels like I’ve just one finger grabbing on to a thin ledge - holding the whole show together. The pressure builds and the finger slips a little before somehow a second reaches up to share the load. I still don’t fully understand where my strength comes from. I’m hitting hurdles, falling over obstacles and crawling across deadlines. One foot forward then slowly the next. It’s like a war of attrition only the further I go the little bit stronger I get. 

The past week has been difficult for many reasons - Lianes six month anniversary, another wedding, the tiredness that followed it and some pressure at work. Maybe the most difficult was the smallest thing - two phrases than came into my head that were so her and so part our every day life. Those little jokes that are the cement to your happiness, the glue to your togetherness.

"Hasta luego pego" & "deal mcbeal"/"ally mcdeal". Both mean nothing and everything. The fact I'm typing them through tear-filled eyes gets the idea across. I can hear her voice in my head singing them both to me. The first a little goodbye and the second a fun agreement, both backed up with a grin and the tone of someone smiling... 

Oof. This ones a tough one. 

Half a year...

Liane died 6 months ago today.

How is that even possible? What have I been doing all that time? How much of my life has she missed? How much of the life we had planned together have we missed? If she were here where would we be on that path?

I think of the plans we had, the dreams we'd nourished, the home we'd lovingly built and all that potential of our paired future... I think about all that a lot, especially lying in bed at night. It seems like such a waste for it to be gone, just like that, taken away. I feel so sorry for everyone and everything Liane loved who/that doesn't get her love any more. I miss her smile, her warmth and her touch. But more than that her strength, her reassurance and her encouragement. She guided me more than I ever knew. 

Today will be a blur. It started with a beautiful swim in the forty foot surrounded by friends and love. It was dark, cold, windy and yet serene. The sky was full of stars, the sun slowly edging up over the horizon and the mood warm. We played Don't Worry Be Happy and stood in a semi-circle facing out to the ocean weeping, smiling, hugging. It was another sad but beautiful moment to join the ever-increasing folder in my memory bank.

The podcast was released - I spoke about it on an earlier post. I had a listen which was odd and upsetting. I'm glad I did it and look forward to the feedback. I'm at work now, on lunch and after the afternoon I will head for the airport. The day will finish in Donegal preparing for the wedding of friends. Two wonderful people starting down their road tomorrow - a wedding Liane would have been so excited for. 

I'm scared to look too far forward. I'm dealing with each hurdle as it arises and getting through the worst of it in one piece. I'm working hard at life at the minute and learning, growing and hurting. To think any further than the next couple of weeks is frightening, but what will the next 6 months bring? To me? To my family? To my friends? Hopefully less pain, hopefully less pain. 

Meeting Róisín

A couple of months ago a friend of mine emailed me to tell me that she had been in touch with the producer of Róisín Ingle's podcast (Róisiín Meets) and that they wanted to get me on to talk about Liane, about my grieving process and some other topics. I read the email a couple of times and thought "I'm actually ready for this" but let it sit. I just wanted to be sure. 

Last week I went in to the Irish Times office, met the producer - a lovely woman called Jennifer Ryan, walked through the bullpen of reporters and into a small recording room where I met Róisín for the first time. I was daunted, nervous and uncertain. Quickly my fears were allayed as her generous and kind nature instilled in me some calm, even comfort. As an interviewer Róisín hit the perfect spot between keeping me moving forward and teasing out the deeper questions, and answers. I felt ready to open to her and to talk freely about Liane, my feelings, my thoughts and our lives together.  I left 40 sweaty minutes feeling relaxed and confident.

Today the podcast went live. I listened to in a mate's car sitting in 8am traffic after a lovely swim with a big gang. It was a tough listen, my own words making me well up frequently. The love we shared is something very special and I'm glad it came across.  I'd love her to hear and see all this. My life has changed so much - I feel I'm becoming more the person she dreamt I could be than the person I was. The person missing it all is her and that will hurt forever. 

On the 20th April this year, Mark Earley’s life changed completely. His wife, Liane Deasy, died suddenly in her sleep at their home in Glasthule Co. Dublin, from nocturnal epilepsy. He was away in Australia at the time. Soon after Liane’s death, Mark began a blog called There Are Words, which he says is an attempt for him to understand her passing, to share his grieving process and to find something in such a tragedy. Liane loved sea swimming and Mark has found solace in it since her death. He speaks to Róisín Ingle about that in this podcast. He also talks about Liane and the kind of person she was, how the loss of her is still so raw for him and what he does to try and get through it. https://therearewords.com/

Sadness

I was walking home from the Dart yesterday looking on Spotify for French music to play at a themed dinner party. I ended up on the Amelie soundtrack, an old favourite. It made me pause, the wind swirling around me - leaves at my feet, and think clearly of Liane's face. I could feel her with me.

For the second time in as many days my face crumbled, my hands reached for my eyes and I cried, in the middle of the street. The piano washed over me and my brain and heart despaired. Music is such an emotional force. I shuffled home and lay on the couch, not sure what to do. I listened to the same song again, drank in the sadness and let the emotions come.

What else could I do?

Another week...

Sometimes I say yes to more than I can handle. I want people to know I care, I "need" to be involved and I really do want to be kept busy so I end up doing things like meeting someone at 4pm knowing I have to be somewhere else (not nearby) at 6pm. I plan multiple, often relatively unachievable, meetings or events in small timeframes. (I call it time optimism). Liane curbed that instinct - she helped me to say no to things; moreover she made me want to come home more, both on purpose and subconsciously.

With that gone I am busy again. Maybe too busy, or maybe busy enough. Certainly very tired a lot so leaning towards the too busy side of things...

I just felt like sharing what I got through in a short space of time this week. It was frantic but it also felt good being around people and achieving things. I want my friends, and anyone else reading this blog, to know where and what I am at. So here goes.

  • I poured my heart and Liane's story out to Roisin Ingle for her podcast, Roisin Meets. It will be out on Friday October 20th. It was a daunting, challenging, enjoyable and satisfying experience. She put me at ease and let me talk. She asked questions gently and responded kindly. I left feeling I covered most things but left some things out in the adrenaline rush of it all.
  • I saw Blindboy of the Rubberbandits talk. He impressed me hugely with his open honesty around his opinions and experiences regarding mental health. If my students learned half of what he taught me in those 45mins they'll be better people for it. 
  • I met with an employee of Epilepsy Ireland to talk about what they do, where the money fundraised will go and if I can help further. Im going to be writing a piece for them and maybe talking on the radio about my experience and about Liane 's life and death.
  • I hosted a dinner party for 5 friends. It was lovely. 
  • I helped organise and supervise a 12 hour Sleep Out for TY students in my school. We spent the night out in the rain and have likely raised over €5000 for the Peter McVerry Trust charity.

Reading all that makes me tired. It was too much. I got to the weekend and was exhausted but full of love, inspiration and determination. I just need the balance Liane gave me...

A gentleman and a genius, with a huge heart

A couple of months back I received an email from Muriel Thornton, wife of Kevin Thornton, one of the best chefs in the country. I'd worked with Kevin a few years back. His son went to the school I work in and he'd come in and done a cookery demonstration as a fundraiser for a charity trip I was involved in with students in the school. Liane was in attendance that evening. The recent email was asking if we were looking to repeat the fundraiser - Muriel was emailing, out of the blue, to offer their help - and to check in to see how I was. They hadn't heard about Liane. 

Telling people for the first time is hard. It's hard for me and it's hard for them. Not just the news (as if that isn't enough) but the emotions, the tone, the words, the atmosphere - I often don't know what the person at the other end has been through or is going through. Everyone has a tough time in life - as Blindboy of Rubberbandits fame recently said at a talk I was at (post about that to follow) - "Life is full of inevitable pain".

So in my reply I told Muriel about Liane's death and I asked if her and Kevin would be willing to work with me for Epilepsy Ireland. I received a lovely email in return - heartfelt, kind and open. From it came a Cookery Demonstration night - Kevin came in to the school and put on a 2 hour show. He cooked 5 dishes including tuna three ways & an incredible plate of duck and showed us how brilliant a chef he is. Watching him work was breathtaking - the speed of it, the know how, the style and skill. There was so much going on at any given time both in terms of what was being cooked but also regarding the interaction with the crowd. Kevin is an entertainer - he's funny, charismatic, creative and smart and had the crowd in the palm of his hand. He's also inspiring - the speed at which he works - a manic pace - and yet coupled with a deft precision. I was blown away, much like two years ago. Mid-cooking he also found time to ponder about life, about the importance of giving and the transience of human existence.

I spoke on the night about what it meant to me - somebody I am only getting to know offering his time, his skills, his food and his heart to Liane's fundraising. It is humbling. It makes me want to give more of myself to others. It inspired me and for that I will always be thankful. Another piece in the jigsaw that's slowly building around me...

 

ps photos from the night are online here:

  • https://www.flickr.com/photos/gonzaga_college_sj/albums/72157686140952922
  • Read all about Kevin's latest business venture: Kevin Thornton's Kooks 

Five forty-five AM

During the week I had the most vivid dream about Liane I have ever had.

As with many dreams the exact details are blurry but it took place in a car with foggy windows and rivulets of rain running down the panes. I was in the front seat on the right hand side and she was behind me. We were talking over the seat, face-to-face. She understood that she was dead and that the conversation we were having was a rare chance to communicate. We got lost in each other's eyes, neither of us able to get words out to express what we were feeling. It was so very REAL. As in, she looked exactly as I remember, she felt the same as I reached out and took her hand but perhaps most difficult, she knew she was gone. She knew I was alone. She understood. 

"Tá mo chroí bhriste" I said. Those were the only words I said. I've no idea why - I'm not an Irish-speaker. I mean, I studied it, I love it as a language and have often wanted to re-learn it but why those words? Do they even make sense? I've never used them in my life. Her eyes welled up. Mine too. And then I woke up, in floods of tears. My brain realised it was a dream and I broke down, huddled into my pillow with my phone telling me the time was a quarter to six in the morning.

30mins until my swim.

30mins of broken sleep and heartache until another day starts, pushing me further from her. 

I wanted so desperately to remember each part of the dream but it was so upsetting. It's taken me four days to be able to process it. Think it through. Write down my thoughts. Share it. It seems like an intimate share, like something other people might hold on to but more and more when I wonder what to write here I really think that if even just one person reads this and it helps them then the share was worth it. 

What I'd do to speak to her once more...

"Do you see her?"

A simple question, asked by a close friend (of both mine and Liane's) out of the blue. "Do you see her?".

My mind span.

My heart leapt.

The familiar throat constriction and my two eyes full of tears. I couldn't reply. For the hundredth time since April 20th I sat looking at someone unable to talk. Luckily the company I was in understood immediately and we let the moment drift away for another day. 

Have I seen her? I have. I've seen Liane in two very different ways.

In the literal sense, I've seen her hair in a crowd. I've seen her style of clothes - those warm autumn colours and natural greens/blues. I've seen other people with her walk, her gentle bounce. I've seen her jackets pass me by on the street. I've seen people holding each other like we did - one taller than the other, hands connected and waists lob-sided. I've yearned for her so hard my mind plays tricks on me as I go about my life each day. 

In the ethereal sense (not sure if that's quite the right word but it'll do for today) I see her her mostly in our/my house. She permeates the place like a warm smell. Her belongings, my belongings, our belongings. She's in the teacups and the art on the walls. I see her in the random lidless tupperware and in the wine stained table. I see Liane at the Forty Foot - all shivers and grins. I see her hunched over a coffee and a paper as I walk slowly past the Alliance Française. I see her tucking into a Guinness at Grogans and not shying away from a full plate of food in the Corner Note (somewhere I'm utterly terrified of revisiting).

I see her in a decade of memories across a city we loved in and lived in together, side by side. 

So yes, I do see her.

And it hurts because it's not real. For all the belief systems, the hope, the pure stubborn yearning...the hard truth is that she's gone. I won't be with her again. My eyes won't connect with hers like they did. And that, well that, is really difficult. 

Another hurdle cleared...

At times writing this blog is tricky, in fact, quite often I find it tricky. There are lots of reasons - a pressure to express myself honestly and clearly, the worry that it could offend/hurt someone close to me in some way and maybe most of all, the fear of not doing someone as special as Liane justice through my thoughts and words. 

Today it is tricky because I want to write about how I felt at a wedding I attended over the weekend. I'm conscious that weddings are about two people - the couple getting married. They aren't about the families, the friends, the staff or anyone else in attendance. They are about two people in love declaring that love publicly, surrounded by those closest to them. That's why this post feels selfish. I don't want to take the focus off the wonderful couple from Sunday, but I need to process and I figured this might help someone else some day so here goes...

I'd thought very little before the wedding about how I'd feel at it. I love my cousin dearly, she's like a second sister to me, so my focus was on her excitement and the natural build up to the big day for her. I don't know whether it was through naivety or self preservation but I simply didn't
prepare myself for the occasion. It wasn't until I was sitting in the middle of a full row at the ceremony watching the smiling bridesmaids saunter down the aisle that I realised what I was about to sit through. That familiar tight throat began...

Our wedding was a day I'll never forget. The feeling of love and happiness in the room was so very special. We'd carefully planned the readings, the music, our vows and all the small details. I saw the same on Sunday - a ceremony crafted out of love, respect and warmth. It oozed happiness and joy and brought me straight back to Clifden on that day in July, over two years ago now.  I sat there listening to the celebrant talk about the beauty of marriage and what it meant to have someone for the rest of your life. I heard my cousin and her lucky man share touching vows about living long lives together. And I sat there, sandwiched between my siblings, my heart torn in two, my face scrunched up and the tears pouring. It's the hardest thing I've done in months. 

All that said, would I change it? Not for the world. I wanted to be there. I chose to be there. I could've not attended but the fact is I wouldn't have missed that wedding ceremony for the world. And, the positive out of it (aside from being there to share their day)? Well it's another obstacle faced and overcome. It's another experience that was difficult but that will give me strength. I've been to that part of my pain and I've embraced it and got past it. That stands for a lot for me right now. That makes me stronger.