” The ‘Wee Late One’ ” by Patricia MacBride

It’s a year ago today since my mother died.  She was in her 90th year and I was “the wee late one,” the baby of the family of six and because of that, I always liked to fool myself that I was her favourite.

The truth is each of us was special to her; there was her first born son, there was the son who gave her her first grandchild, there was her first daughter and their special bond, followed by the son who lived at home longest with her, then came the son who minded all of the rest of us;  and finally me, the baby.

In the last year, there have been many times that something small has happened in everyday life that I wanted to share with Nora, as we called her.  This stream of thought and an enjoyment  of how she’d react would flit briefly through my head before the awful, dawning reality that she had died hit me, and I felt the rawness of grief again.

Those moments are both sadness for ourselves and mourning for those we have lost.  The movie-reel that plays in our heads in those moments are the memory of the agreeable life we had together and of the closeness we once shared.

For all that those fleeting moments of recollection may seem trivial to us at the time, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.  It is moments of a life that won’t be forgotten.  The whole is profound.

All of Nora’s children felt that, and perhaps none more so than my brother Lughaidh a.k.a. the one who always minded the rest of us. That’s because he and we all  knew that in a few months’ time, those fleeting moments of reminiscence and sadness would also be about him when he would lose his battle with cancer. He spent his final months creating lots of memories with us all.

D’imigh sé ar shlí na fírinne ar an 3ú lá Mean Fomhair.  The literal translation of those Irish words is “He went on the road of truth,” and framing their deaths in those terms is one of the tools that I have used to help me cope on the inevitable sad days.

Another is the love and support of those around me.  A dear friend said to me: “You know, if you’re on a plane and the cabin pressure changes suddenly, the safety instructions are to fit your own oxygen mask before helping those around you fit theirs.  You can’t always be the one doing the helping.”

If you’re going through grief don’t be afraid to ask those around you to help you fit your oxygen mask.  But always remember too, there will be days when you can breathe on your own.