An Irish wake

Dahey's boss was also named Dahey. He had a lot of similarities, besides his heritage: the same number of siblings, they were from the same state, and they both lived in the same town for a while. Off and on, my Dahey worked with Boss Dahey since 2000.

However, on this beautiful day, we loaded Bubba up in the family truckster and we traveled about an hour from our home in RehabLand up the river to celebrate Boss Dahey's life at an Irish wake. His family rented a big hall, they had lots of food, and Boss Dahey was there: in a Chicago White Sox urn.

Boss Dahey lost his life at 52 recently because he had a hard head and procrastinated. His doctor told him he didn't like a mole he showed him in May and that he should see a specialist. Boss Dahey figured he'd do it later, but later never came. Boss Dahey was tough.

Right before the holidays, Boss Dahey had a seizure, which he had never done before. He was checked up, then sent home until he could see a specialist the next week. On the weekend, he had another seizure at home and he coded. His girlfriend saved him. This time, he didn't get to go home. He got stabilized, they ran tests, and then they told him. Boss Dahey had a brain tumor.

My Dahey called me from work when he had the first seizure. I knew it was probably something unusual. When he called me up at work, to tell me the boss had a brain tumor, I told him and his friends, they'd just have to wait until the workup was done. There are lots of brain tumors.

It turns out Boss Dahey's brain tumors were mets. From the nasty mole he procrastinated on. Boss Dahey had metastatic melanoma. When my Dahey  told me what the stage was (he always asks), I knew it was not good. He was Stage 4. Needless to say, this scared a lot of Dahey's coworkers.

Boss Dahey showed up a couple of times at work after he was diagnosed, but after two days, he went home. He was accepted into an NIH trial at World Renown Hospital.  His prognosis was six months. Boss Dahey made it to seven.

As terrible as everything was,  a lot of good came out of Boss Dahey's short time. He reunited with his family. He married his girlfriend. His friend from North Dakota came and visited him every time he could during that time (which was about four times). He settled his affairs and arranged this party we attended. The management at Dahey's work is being more flexible about letting staff leave early or take time off for medical appointments. They never realized that the macho attitude Boss Dahey exhibited made people afraid to take time off until the staff told them.

Boss Dahey bought Jameson whisky which he wanted used in a toast to celebrate everyone being together.  We raised our glasses in a toast to Boss Dahey. As we left the gathering, I thought of this Irish blessing:

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
And rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in
the hollow of His hand.

We left into the sunshine of a beautiful day, and the soft rain came just as we were rolling up to our house.

RIP Boss Dahey. Until we meet again...

RIP

Dahey lost a relative this week. It was one we never actually met.

R. was from the old sod, a place from which Dahey's ancestor had escaped (and occasionally returned) a long while ago. We met him through Facebook. One of his cousins actually met R. last year with her family. It was fun to see some of the family resemblance.

We knew he was a relative once we saw his photo, because he was a doppleganger for Dahey's uncle (so much so, it would have been fun to have a photo with the two of them in it). Dahey's dear departed uncle was one of those folks who traveled a lot and looked for his surname in the phone books wherever he went.

I'd suspect that's how he'd found cousin R.

An Irish blessing

May your neighbors respect you,
Trouble neglect you,
The angels protect you,
And heaven accept you.

Until we all meet again...

To our esteemed readers

Dear readers:

Thank you for stopping by to visit. It's been a crazy week. When you bury a relative as part of a large (we have so many kids/grandkids/nieces/nephews) that we can almost rent the entire hotel family, it gets a little crazy. Unlike most Irish wakes, Auntie Em didn't get to come to the party at the Hibernian hall after the funeral. However, she would have loved it.

Lots of food and drinks and even a little gambling going on at the bar in the other room. Since Auntie Em's state allows gaming in bars, it was fun dragging the kids away from their popcorn machine (aka kid magnet) before the state liquor commissioners passed by. Happily, the bartenders shut the door and the kids found the cookies.

The banquet hall was full. Lots of people came out in the middle of the week to say goodbye at the wake, the funeral and the luncheon at the Hibernians. Auntie Em's boss (a retired allergist who was younger) even showed up, which is something that doesn't always happen for folks who die in their nineties. Dahey and Bubba had a good time. Bubba with the other kids, Dahey with his cousins who he doesn't get to see nearly enough.

Dahey's family may start visiting in between weddings and funerals, but it remains to be seen. Sure would be nice to celebrate while we're all here to do it in the same room.

Again, thanks for understanding. It is deeply appreciated.

Sincerely,

RehabRN

My mother really was a saint

Momma had coal black hair and eyes just as dark against her Celtic skin. Yes, she looked like those black Irish ancestors sans the blue eyes that Granny had.

She suffered lots of stress in her life: getting married "late" (at 25), not having kids right away, and when she had them, she nearly died.

Momma was stubborn, though. (Dad loved her for that.) After nearly dying and losing her first baby, she kept going until the rest of us were born. She finally was where she wanted to be: a mother of four children, just like all of her siblings (except for her old maid sister Maisie). Granny was pleased with all 24 grand kids. Momma was her baby, and she finally had her own brood of kids. Gramps and Granny absolutely loved being overrun by little (and big) kids at their house.

But, the happiness was short lived. In the prime of her life, Momma found out she had a terminal disease, something she would not get now, but then, they didn't know how to prevent it.

Momma died in her 40s. We were very sad. One of Momma's friends ran a local newspaper and published a long, sweet unofficial obituary for her, which I still have here somewhere. I couldn't bear to read it more than once, so I put it away.

However, I cannot imagine being a child who would have to write this obituary. We had much sadness in our home, but we were loved so much, and so rich in comparison.

I mourn not for the dead lady, but for her children.

Wishes

I was just like you. I was born on a Thursday, too. We had the same hair and eye color. I grew up straight and tall and you saw it.

You knew I would get married, but you didn't make it to the wedding (and you told me you wouldn't).

We named our little boy a good Irish name you would have liked and used your name as one of his middle names (with his other grandpa's name), and I did it just right, so you wouldn't be reminded of the father who abandoned you so long ago. As the folks in the neighborhood used to say when he was a baby, Bubba was a buster (see #3 here.)

A decade has passed, and on this day, I still think of you.

Happy birthday, Dad.

Love,

RehabRN

One of me favorites...

Oh, the days of the Kerry dancing
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon.
When the boys began to gather
In the glen of a summer's night
And the Kerry piper's tuning
Made us long with wild delight!
Oh, to think of it
Oh, to dream of it
Fills my heart with tears!