It’s been two years to this very day since Mum left us prematurely, suddenly and unexpectedly.
Today of all days it is somewhat easier than others to take time to acknowledge that she has gone from us but is certainly not nor will be forgotten.
This morning I was reading from the works of Patrick Kavanagh, one of the greatest Irish poets and novelists of the last century. He penned his words on the passing of his own Mum and there was something in his writing which inspired my thoughts and kindled my own memories of Margaret Campbell, an exceptionally fine woman and the best of mothers.
I do not think of you lying in the wet clay
Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see
You walking down a lane among the poplars
On your way to the station, or happily
Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday –
You meet me and you say:
‘Don’t forget to see about the cattle -‘
Among your earthiest words the angels stray.
And I think of you walking along a headland
Of green oats in June,
So full of repose, so rich with life –
And I see us meeting at the end of a town
On a fair day by accident, after
The bargains are all made and we can walk
Together through the shops and stalls and markets
Free in the oriental streets of thought.
O you are not lying in the wet clay,
For it is a harvest evening now and we
Are piling up the ricks against the moonlight
And you smile up at us – eternally.
May she rest in peace.