The last letter I wrote to Nana, in February 2020, which turned out to be a year before her death in February 2021 at 93. I decided to post this after stumbling on this letter, and seeing how much it captured of our lives just four months after Mum died in October 2019.
Time moves along.
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Hi Nana,
I have been meaning to write.
A sunny, fresh Sunday morning in San Francisco. Another weekend in town for me, as I try to find a slower tempo in 2020.
I took this picture of an Orchid that I was given at a dinner last night – we enjoyed leftovers from a Chinese New Year’s party, including the orchids.
This gorgeous delicate plant is enjoying sun on my balcony where I have been growing some potted herbs since Mum got sick. A small garden to wake up to each day, and to think of Mum as I take in a few minutes of fresh air and stretch. Somewhat of a ritual, most days.
I wonder how busy your weekends were, when you were my age at 44, with your cohort of children? Fergus a small boy at the stage I am guessing?
Anyway, I wanted to write and say that with our lives upended last year through Mum’s sickness and passing away, you are not out of mind!
I’ll often think as to how each day for you must be no small battle of spirit, and body and mind.
Mum’s death is still so hard to believe. I light a candle every evening next to a framed picture given to me by a great friend here, Julia Murphy. I took that pic of Mum in Yosemite Valley at Mariposa Grove, a forest of giant redwoods. It was five or six years ago. Dad was a little grumpy that day and we took off from the hotel to leave him reading the newspaper!
I texted the picture to Julia the day we got the news of Mum’s chemo doing nothing, and being stopped, last August. And Julia made that framed picture for me – I just love that shot and lighting the candle makes me smile, but with a lump in my throat.
I think we are all doing OK, slowly accepting and adjusting as we blink at the time between May and October.
And hardly an hour goes by where I don’t think about and feel immense empathy for Dad, and worry a little. I’ll think how Dad’s life, all of his hopes and plans for the future – that so centered around his devoted life with Mum – have been torn up and scattered on the floor as his autumn years deepen. (Well, he’s still in summer days against your longevity…!).
Given that, Dad seems to be mostly OK, in spirit and state of mind – mostly. I call many days of the week to say hello before starting work around 8am – around 4pm in Donegal. He still tears up and sobs from time to time. It’s always hard to feel I am responding in the right way, when I don’t go through the same gut-wrenching grief. But too it is a beautiful marker of their love, and Dad’s horrible pain and longing.
Before and after our break together for Christmas in New Zealand, Dad spent the weekend here in San Francisco with me. They were a wonderful few days. I have upgraded life to living alone again, after having a ‘housemate’ (as the Americans say) for a few years. So, I really enjoyed those days, and hanging out with Dad. He finds the long flights awful, but did seem less grumpy with the travails of travel than in other years. It’s funny, we’d end up chatting about living solo, how to batch cook, efficiency with different types of clothes and washing intermittency. Poor Dad.
I spoke with Keara yesterday, who is due to have baby Finn around middle of February (Keara has a lovely tradition of never sharing the due date!). She was in really good form, lethargic in the endless chasing and managing of Daisy’s giddy cuteness.
Keara and Tom were wonderful hosts for us over Christmas. There was something so very grown up about my baby sister having a house in which she hosted us all for Christmas, stepping into the maternal role in a way. It was really special to see, not least the time with Tom – whom I adore as a man – and Daisy in this very special era of building character and confidence and some ego and authority, and the word games she enjoys in stringing first sentences together.
They were generous with gifts too, and I was stoked (surfer expression!) to receive a fly fishing rod.
It was wonderful seeing Keara’s home over Christmas, a lovely small and cosy house with plenty of outside space, just over the road from a stunning long beach of fine sand. I loved seeing Keara and Tom’s abundant vegetable patch, their chickens and a huge garage – or shed – filled with bikes and all kinds of ocean craft from sea kayaks to surf boards to a small boat!
We were unlucky with the weather, Dad endlessly complaining that it was not much better than a Donegal winter – and it’s summer in New Zealand.
Our New Year was spent at an idyllic mountain chalet, charming in its rustic simplicity, and with the bonus of wonderful weather at last. I can tell that Dad missed Mum at every turn, and it’s hard to see him checking into a hotel room on his own. A few big blue sky days came our way at last – I bet you still smile at those when these arrive in Donegal. And then on New Year’s day the clear sunny skies were brought to an end by a thick fog-like haze of fire smoke, all the way from the East Coast of Australia more than 1,000 miles away. I am sure you have read about the Australian bush fires, but it was quite extraordinary to experience.
Pete is back at work now up in the northern part of British Columbia. Here is a picture of where he works! You can see, with a magnifying glass perhaps the US-Canada border at the bottom of the image below. Vancouver – where Pete lives – is just above the border line and inside the big Island. It is 1,000 miles or so from Vancouver to the red pin where Kitimat is situated, working in a large employee campus, full of cabins housing natural gas workers.
It was a busy first part of the month for me at work, after returning from New Zealand. I immediately traveled with work up to Utah (where the Mormons established themselves) to show investors around a massive greenhouse that we own in one of our agriculture and food investment funds, before taking the group to Portland in the State of Oregon (north of California) to see our Head Office there.
So, that’s all the news from San Francisco.
I just felt like it was a little too long since saying hello, and you were on my mind. Glad to write a few words and send a hug. I hope this wasn’t too long, and that you are still finding moments of joy awaking each day and living another day of life’s blessings and appreciating even the smallest things. Each day, we’re so lucky to simply wake, when you look at the turn of ill health to which Mum and so many others have fallen.
I’m always so so proud to talk of my Nana in Ireland, at 92. If longevity is genetic, that’s a good one to have too. Stay strong, day by day.
A big hug, much love, and perhaps I’ll random call you soon!
Kevin
