A man I never knew passed away the other morning. I wish I had known him.
I know his son-in-law since we were infants. In Infants. Baby Infants. I know his wife almost as long.
The Irish grapevine might get messages mangled more often than not, but if the message is important it spreads fast and clear. In matters of death, the Irish grapevine is 2.0.
As soon as I heard I picked up the phone. “Just heard the news. How’s herself holding up?”
Very shook. But she’s keeping busy. Things to organise. Ya know yerself.
“Was it quick in the end? Eh, I mean easy, painless”.
Well, he knew he was going. Just hours. He called us all together in the night. Family, friends, neighbours, the whole lot. Told the gang to look after their mother. My lads to look after their granny. Told us all he loved us and to look after each other.
“That must have been rough”.
It was. Yeah. Banshees all ’round.
Then the mother-in-law goes and puts a relic in his hands. “Here now, Patsy. Padre Pio is here with ya now. He’s going to take care of everything. You’re going to be right as rain again in no time with Padre Pio looking after ya”.
“Well”, says himself, “he’d want to get the fecking finger out then, wouldn’t he”.







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