Friends,
We wanted to write, to you that would have wanted to be with us in Donegal for Mum’s wake and funeral but could not make it.
While the darkest days of our lives, the two days from Mum’s last breaths to laying her to rest had beautiful moments and poignant reminders of the arc of Mum’s life.
I got carried away writing, to share some of the stories we shared at the wake and funeral. Dad suggested I add an emotional health warning, and that you grab a cup of coffee to read. Enjoy a few moments thinking of poor Mum.
You can see her local Death Notice here, and a short Donegal Democrat obituary here. Mum is buried in Clar St. Agathas Churchyard (we have not added details to this site yet).
Per the Death Notice, if you have the instinct to donate in Carmel’s name, Mum requested donations to Donegal Hospice (scroll down on front page to PayPal link) or care of any family members. The Donegal Hospice oversaw Mum’s final palliative care at home, and Mum wanted to see them supported.
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Mum left us around 3.35pm on Wednesday 9 October.
This was just three days after we celebrated Mum’s 70th birthday on Sunday 6. Keara had made a delicious carrot and walnut cake, and Mum enjoyed a slide show of pictures from her life that Pete had put together. The photo below (omitted for privacy) wonderfully captures the spirit and warmth in Mum’s eyes, despite the cruel ravages of that grim disease on her body.
And, this is our last picture of the tightly-bound team that ran Mum’s nursing at home over the previous weeks – headed by Dad’s obsessed care and love as ever, with the expertise of Pete (nursing practitioner) and Keara (vet – turns out the pharmaceuticals and comfort management have plenty in common for humans) and me (and Daisy) catching balls in the middle and running mood management.
Keara and Daisy were based at home in Donegal for 6 weeks, and Pete and I were there for three periods over the four months that month was battling cancer. Daisy was a special blessing in Mum’s last weeks, for Mum and all of us – learning to speak and loving repeating all of our turns of phrase. And Keara’s husband Tom made it from New Zealand that very day that Mum passed way, jumping right in to support us through the wake and funeral.
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In Mum’s last hours last Wednesday 9th October, Mum finally put herself first.
After an unsettled night though stable, Mum seemed to relax into letting go…where we all judged we had several more days together – and with wit and subtle signals that it was the time.
Less than two hours before she died, we had a chance visit from the Donegal priest Father Willie Peoples. Father Willie was passing by and knew from Dad that Mum was nearing her last days.
Father Willie had not been called in, though, and he worried it was the wrong house when he saw me at the door, Dad having run out to the shops. We’d been guided on a likely 2-3 days left after a morning visit from local Doctor (and friend) Barry Breen and the lead palliative care nurse, Liam, drawing on all their experience with dying days in cancer. Father Willie was freshly home from a trip to the Holy Land, landing the day before.
Though Mum’s voice had weakened to a whisper during the last week, Pete had helped Mum to sit up for Father on arrival. And, Mum had a new energy such that I could hear a few cheeky remarks standing several meters away!
After saying hello, Father reminded Carmel that she had helped him let a parish property some years before, and thanked her for giving her a good rate. Mum turned and corrected him, “No…I didn’t charge you anything at all!”.
Father then spoke of being at Mount Carmel in the Holy Land and knowing that Mum’s mother MB O’Sullivan had given her that name, Mum once again put him straight, that “No – it was my father that gave that name…!”. Father Willie let out a big laugh, and remarked that he’d never in thirty years of anointing Parishioners had anybody answer-back so pointedly.
For me, in the doorway, the new energy was a little remarkable to be seeing.
Quietening down, Mum was anointed and Father Willie led a round of prayers. I led Father out, and told him I would let Dad know he had dropped in and keep him posted over the next few days.
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Looking back, there were a few poignant moments in the hour to come before Mum let go.
With typical humour between them, Pete had asked Mum what her spirit animal was. Mum’s voice had faded back to a weak whisper and Pete struggled to hear, making a few guesses to help her… “leopard, lion…” And then with a little frustration, Mum mustered energy to repeat to Pete…”a robin”. (This was her Dad’s spirit animal too, Mum would say).
Dad got home then, and in checking in on Mum, saw both eyes silently fill with two tears as she gazed at him. They ran symmetrically down her face. Dad got to wipe Mum‘s tears one last time.
Dad having then left the room, and with Pete holding her hand having decided not to leave her alone further that day, Mum whispered what turned out to be her last words, “I am going to sail away now”.
Just ten or twenty minutes later, Pete appeared at the kitchen door with a stethoscope around his neck.
We held Mum as her now heavily laboured breathing silenced into gentle last breaths.
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Mum was beautifully prepared that evening. Peacefully laid in a coffin of Donegal willow from Fanat in the North of the County, dressed for her last journey in a bright floral jacket with electric blue scarf.
Mum looked serene, calm as ever and very much at peace.
In the 24 hours that followed, more than 200 people streamed through Mum and Dad’s house, “Dumela” (Sotho for Hello, from Botswana days) – friends and family, members of the local community and tenants she had placed through her her business Donegal Lettings.
From a former deputy Prime Minister, to her heating oil serviceman, faces showed to pay a last respect and say goodbye. Some briefly, and others staying for hours. The Abbey Hotel sent platters of sandwiches, a restaurant sent pizza and the kindest of Mum and Dad’s neighbours brought a cooked stew, making dinner and breakfast for us over the surrounding days.
Uncle Mairtin led us in a decade of the rosary, late in the evening.
And then – though so so frail and fragile on her feet at 92 – word ran around the house that Dad’s Mum, Nana, had arrived. Heavily supported in walking through the hallway to the front room, Nana was utterly crushed in grief as she held and kissed Mum’s head in endless tears and saying thank you for how Mum had looked after her.
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The Donegal skies lightened as we woke on Friday 11th, for Mum’s last journey to the church where Mum and Dad were married, 48 years before.
From 9.30, Mum’s brothers and sister, and Dad’s family joined us to say a last goodbye in the broad light of day. And, for a final rosary.
Dad had arranged for 100 roses to mark our celebration of Mum’s life, each of the family members wearing one in lapels and the remainder laid out in St. Patrick’s Church, Donegal Town.
Mum’s rose-bedecked coffin led the procession of family cars the two miles into and through Donegal Town to St. Patrick’s church. Along the way, Britton’s pharmacy, the jewelers and numerous other shops had pulled down their shutters, staff solemnly standing outside to mark the goodbye – as was the case with the Donegal Tire Centre as we drove to the Church yard after the service for Mum’s burial.
It was so special to see a town mark a much loved local, our Mum.
Father Willie Peoples – who had anointed Mum in last rites less than 48 hours prior – led the 11am Mass with music led by local Church guitarist Brian O’Sullivan and singer Therese Campbell – a friend of Mum and Dads. We sang Morning Has Broken, All Things Bright and Beautiful, You Are Mine and the heart-wrenching Going Home.
Dad pointed out at the altar a second and very aged priest, telling us this was Father Anthony Griffin, who had married Mum and Dad 48 years before (on October 23rd).
Father Willie gave a beautiful mass. I adore his soft Donegal accent, and his homily was touching as he spoke of the mystery of life, and it being snatched from us, and told the tale of Mum’s wit just 48 hours before.
At the end, Dad walked to the altar with Pete.
Dad – though stunned in the disbelief of the last four months and the grief of the day – stood firm and largely composed as he delivered a remarkable eulogy “To Carmel, My Rose”.
Dad’s words shared the best of Mum’s life and character, their marriage and journey across continents, and our family. He extended the thanks that we so deeply felt to the Medical Teams and Nursing staff from the Oncology unit at Letterkenny Hospital, to the Donegal Hospice and Dr. Barry Breen, who works across generations of Mountcharles and Donegal town residents.
Dad’s eulogy is attached for you here, if you’d like to pour yourself another cup of coffee. And, a copy of the Hymn Sheet and photo that we had on top of Mum’s coffin during the service. I still can’t believe I am writing this…
We’re doing OK, in these new days while still so often pinching ourselves in the disbelief of the hardest truth.
That Mum is gone.
The love that you’ve wrapped us in with words from afar has meant so much. It really helps. And bear with us where slow to reply…
With Rugby World Cup tickets that had been planned for Mum, Dad and Pete took off mid-week for Japan to join some of Mum and Dad’s best friends for the Quarters, Semis and Finals. And Dad will be back in the first days of November.
To close, I had to share some advice I got during Mum’s last days, from a best buddy of mine who lost his Dad to cancer six years ago. “Enjoy every hour, because there will be an hour when you would pay anything for just one more”. We can all remember that, in moments with those we love so so deeply.
Wishing you health and good times with your families in the months to come, building to Christmas and 2020.
Kevin
