“And there a wreath of trillium and ivy
Laid upon the body of the boy
Lazy will the loam come from it’s hiding
Return his quiet certitude to the soil
So raise a glass to turnings of the season
And watch it as it arcs towards the sun
And you must bear your neighbor’s burden within reason
And your labors will be borne when all is done
And nobody, nobody knows
Let the yoke fall from our shoulders
Don’t carry it all, don’t carry it all
We are all our hands in holders
Beneath this bold and brilliant sun
And this I swear to all
And this I swear to all
And this I swear to all
And this I swear to all
To all, to all, to all”
Colm Meloy
Sometimes there’s something there, in you, in your consciousness, in your day to day , that you just can’t seem to hang a name on. It’s not necessarily annoying, but generally is, it’s making you uncomfortable , but you can’t seem to name or identify…
Tuesday.
I always like Tuesdays.
Mostly because they’re not Mondays, and because, at some point in my early life, my Mum told me to pray to St.Anne , on a Tuesday, before 11.00am , saying 9 Hail Marys, and something good would happen. I think they call it manifesting now. I do not consider myself to be a God-Botherer these days, and yet I do still pray , mostly when I’m out running. It can help pass a mile or so when Ray and I are too tired to talk to each other and run at the same time. Generally , without even thinking about it I start with a ‘Good Morning God..’, which blends into a prayer to St.Joseph, which Fr.Nolan drilled into us in first year in St.Macartan’s College, then there’s the Memorare, which is a prayer to Our Lady, that I first remember Nanny Bond swearing by, convinced that it had saved Uncle Brian at some point from kidney stones, and which she made me say repeatedly on the way to the Louth Hospital when our Stephen had broken his collar bone after I’d thrown him from my shoulders when I was giving him a piggy back and he kicked me in the ribs. Anyway, as part of the Memorare , you then say an Our Father, three Hail Marys, the short one, and then there’s a prayer to the Holy Ghost, another to The Blessed Virgin of Mount Carmel, and then the 9 Hail Mary’s to St.Anne, Jesus’ granny. Over my lifetime I’ve accumulated these prayers, initially to help me get good Leaving Cert results, to decide if I should become a priest, if I should leave the priesthood, to reunite me with my Soulmate, to get Radiohead tickets, to help George Bailey…
This Tuesday , two days ago, I met Ray for a 5 mile run, said my prayers, and popped into work, where I sometimes actually do some work. I did a minimal amount of work and went home to shower and change. I was taking the afternoon off to go to that Dublin to go to a concert that my friend Baz had invited me to. After my cancer malarkey I’d vowed to say ‘Yes’ to any invitation, and without even looking up who the gig was , I’d said ‘Yes’. It was a gig in Vicar St. by Colm Meloy, lead singer and chief bottle washer of The Decemberists. I had never heard of Com Meloy, or The Decemberists, and when asked on Monday and Tuesday what gig I was going to, I’d said Colm McEvoy. I had tried to get into the music, but it just didn’t sit right with me, but a night out with Baz, is always cool, so I just went with it.
As I was heading up that way I asked a friend if I could call in and say ‘Hello’. My friend was grieving , having lost her own Soulmate a few months ago. I’d been meaning to call. But sometimes you don’t. Are you actually helping, or intruding ? I also sometimes have to face my own ‘survivor’s guilt’, why did I make it through, when others, more worthy , did not.
I called in for a chat. Tears weren’t far away on either side. Through him, we’d known each other forever, we’d all lived together, worshipped and ‘Dad danced’ at Something Happens, the Hothouse Flowers, and The Stunning gigs, we’d been at each other’s weddings, godparents to each other’s children, drank bars dry in Annascaul, raced through bouncy castle assault courses,…and now … we have gaps, and great memories when we should be making new ones.
We did our best to have a normal conversation.
Counselling was discussed.
I recommended it. I said that I had gone for counselling, never knowing that I’d needed it.
It had taken my Soulmate and best friend to convince me that I needed counselling. I initially thought they meant marriage counselling and said yes, thinking that my Soulmate was the one in obvious need of help , but no, I was the one in need. I remember being terrified and arrogant at the same time as I drove to my very first counselling session. Terrified because I had no idea what to expect, and arrogant because I was sure that within a few minutes the counsellor, Margaret, would close her notebook, give me back my money and apologise for wasting my time.
She didn’t.
I met with her once every two weeks for 5 months and then intermittently whenever I felt myself slide a bit. I hadn’t seen her for a while and when I tried to make an appointment discovered she’d moved to Switzerland, but she referred me to another wonderful counsellor, Bridget, and I had another set of monthly sessions with her , and then intermittently…. Until she too moved to Switzerland. I chose to believe that this was just coincidental.
A number of years passed and as I had no counsellor, I got out of the habit of seeking help and without realising it found myself in a poor spot again. A great friend recommended a new counsellor and I saw her for a few months and got on great. And thankfully she has resisted the urge to move to Switzerland…so far. As I was referred to her by a friend and met her at her home I only knew her first name, Ann. This did not pose a problem as I made appointments via text. On my phone she’s in contacts as ‘Ann Peaceful’. Having known her for a number of years now I wanted to refer a friend to seek her help and was embarrassed to have to ask her surname. I told her what name I had for her in my phone and she laughed, at least I think she laughed, the line was poor and she was abroad, she mentioned something about triangular shaped chocolate…in the distance I heard a cuckoo clock….
Anyway, I told my friend to just go, take a chance, there’s nothing to lose and lots to gain.
I left and headed to Dublin.
Shockingly I was early to meet Baz for a bite to eat before the gig, and he was late, so I went for a wander in St.Stephen’s Green. There was a man sitting on a park bench, drinking a coffee , smiling at me as I approached. Standing on the bench , wagging her tail, right beside him was a gorgeous jet black Cocker Spaniel. As he’d smiled at me , I smiled back and said ‘Hello’ and petted the dog.
“She’s gorgeous. How old is she ?”
“Nine months.”
I tickled her under the chin. She was giddy, but she wasn’t on a lead, and didn’t even have a collar, but still, never left his side.
“Is she a Cocker Spaniel ?”
“Yes.”
“We had one, Kim, when I was a child. But she was a sandy brown.”
“ We had one just like that, she was 14 when she died, I’d been ill in hospital for a while, she died two weeks after I got home…” He caught his breath. “My wife thought it would be good for me to get another, but wanted a black haired one this time. Hard to get. Had to go to Kerry to get her. But she’s lovely.”
“What’s her name ?” I asked, still tickling her under the chin.
“Hmmm…what’s your name ?” He said looking at the dog , fondly. He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. “The illness I had, affected the brain, some things are muddled.” Opening his wallet , he pulled out a piece of paper, written in capital letters in blue biro was ‘Madie’. He looked at the dog.
“Madie ?”
The dog wagged her tail.
“Do you like Madie ?” he asked her. She wagged her tail.
“That name sits well on her.” I said. He smiled at me. My phone buzzed with a text, Baz had arrived.
”I better be going.” I said , patted Madie on the head, and exchanged smiles and silent nods.
I met up with Baz, we went for a lovely dinner and then set off to the gig.
It was a weird gig.
It was a weird gig for me.
I didn’t really know any of the songs, and the three I did were performed by a full band, but here was this guy on a stage on his own with a guitar. And I was thinking of grief, and loss, and a lovely black Cocker Spaniel’s name written on a piece of paper in a lovely old man’s wallet….
…and Colm Meloy sang of grief and loss…beautifully… and something lifted within me.
I still don’t know what it was that was annoying, and annoyingly out of reach, but the gig did me good.
On the way home I tried to look up the songs he’d played, and then it appeared…’Don’t Carry It All’.
He didn’t even sing this song at the gig !
But it , like the name ‘Madie’ on a nine moth old Cocker Spaniel, sits well with me.
“Let the yoke fall from our shoulders
Don’t carry it all, don’t carry it all”
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. For those in need of a lighter load, this is The Decemberists.
