The week that was...

I’ve just finished what was probably the most difficult and surreal week of my life.
My father was laid to rest after three days which passed in a blur of tea, sandwiches and sympathy. Hundreds of people came to our house, hundreds more called and emailed. It was wonderful to see how much a positive impact my Dad made on so many people’s lives.
It was a week which saw my children introduced to death for the first time. It wasn’t something I had intended to do, but we tried to make the whole process as natural and as normal as possible.
And the kids – mine, my brothers and sister’s kids – were like little rays of sunshine in what were some really dark days.
As we walked towards my parent’s house on the morning of the funeral my boys pointed out a rainbow which seemed to arch perfectly over their home – starting in the front garden and ending in the back. Granda made that, they said.
When I showed them Granda laid out in the wake house I heard Daniel tell his younger brother that the coffin would bring him to heaven. Caolan asked his older, wiser sibling about the logistics and practicalities of how exactly the coffin would fly to heaven his brother informed him that it had been fitted with special rockets.
The night after my father’s funeral the lights in the entire city went out for three hours. As we sat around in my mother’s kitchen talking by candlelight my boys told us the blackout was caused by Granda who may have fused the electrics while he was fixing the central heating in heaven, much like he often did at home.
And my brother’s beautiful newborn son made a guest appearance at the funeral. It was quite moving to see a child starting off on life’s path being part of the final journey of his grandfather. It was quite overwhelming, yet still beautiful, to be a first-hand witness to the juxtaposition of life and death.
And despite the sombre proceedings there were a few lighter moments too. I discovered that Bishop Edward Daly is a huge fan of this very column (I swear I shall never again take the Lord’s name in vain) as is President Mary McAleese, who wrote a beautiful personal letter to my Mum a few days after the funeral after she read about my Dad in this very paper.
While standing outside our house I saw my uncle, who had just returned from Las Vegas, lighting people’s cigarettes with a lighter shaped like a naked lady who shot a double flame from – lets just say incase the Bish is reading this – the area around her cleavage.
All in all it was the week from hell. My family have been living under a dark cloud for the past few months with my Dad’s illness. Some day soon the sun will shine through.