Thundering Silence: On the Life of Liam O'Neill, My Friend

In the last twenty-four hours, following a phone call no one ever wants to take, I have learned that when your best friend dies there are few remedies. Usually when something bad happens I bury myself in work. By immersing myself into a fictional world, the hurt passes. But yesterday the words would not come.

Instead, I have learned that it is best to work on small things; things I can do mindlessly. I have learned I can strim the backyard. I can drive to town to shop for dinner. I can walk into the Church which is only half-open due to the virus that also killed my friend. I have learned that on the day of his death I can light two candles. I can sit at the piano and play three hymns to an empty church with only a few mistakes.

I have learned that I am very good at crying.

I can also think of him, and what we did together, and mutual memories.

Liam O'Neill was my friend. He was a filmmaker, director, and writer. More importantly, he was a good man; a good husband; a good father. We had some things in common. He was born in Chicago six months after my own birth (he always joked that I was the old man) only a few miles from where I lived. We both had to move to Ireland to meet. We were both Cubs fans. We had a mutual dislike of Trump. We both had a passion for film. He was much more knowledgeable than I will ever be.

I can think of how we met; of how I got lost walking to his Fredrick Street, Dublin offices. I ran into his wife, Annabel, who pointed the way. He optioned my first screenplay, even though the writing was poor. He did it, I think, out of kindness and - always the teacher - to fuel my enthusiasm.

We worked on many projects together, visiting Berlin a number of times, and Austria. We grew closer because work became only a backdrop for friendship. When I moved to Eyeries, we talked most days. When the phone rang, it was usually Liam. We used each other as sounding boards, or talked of US politics, or vented to each other about life's less pleasant moments, or shared the memories of family members who had moved on.

Always, there was laughter or a joke. Always, there was support and kindness. And why not? We were mates.

Yesterday, just over twenty-four hours ago, Liam died of Covid-19. He leaves behind his wife Annabel, his children Ben and Ella, his family living Stateside including Una, Tricia, Catherine and Charlie, friends and colleagues all over the world - and me.

He leaves behind a life that is unfinished because it was stripped from him far too young.

Ireland is still under lockdown. I can't drive up to help Annabel and the kids, or say goodbye to my friend. I can raise a glass, however. As I hoist it, the sun sets, the silence cracking like thunder.

It is then I realize the phone will never ring again.

I miss him.

What Could Ever Be Wrong? Surviving the Crisis in Ireland

Today, like every day, I get up to thumb through the news. I read that more deaths due to Covid bring the total in the Republic of Ireland to 444. Over 12,500 cases have been identified. About 2,000 people have been hospitalised.

My thumb presses another icon. In my home of America, over 30,000 lives have been snuffed out due to the pandemic. 

I decide I can't look further. So I get to work.

Like many countries and people across the world, our village of Eyeries, as well as Beara Peninsula and the rest of the country, are under a government-issued Stay at Home order. Living here, it's easy to follow those guidelines because in many ways, I'm already isolated. Only 60 or so souls call Eyeries home. Castletownbere, 5 miles away, has a total population of less than 900, while only 6000 people live on Beara Peninsula. In the off-season, when tourists are absent (as they will for most of the year, I suspect), I can walk miles along the coast without meeting a soul. 

That said, life during Covid, even in the isolation of Eyeries, is marked by worrying disruption. So I maintain discipline to hold onto any sort of sanity. 

I write from 9AM until 1PM. The work - editing a novel that I will submit to a literary agent in the Fall - keeps my head full. For those hours, I think of nothing else except the story, and the words on the page, and which words don't work, and which ones do, and what I need to change or delete or add to tell the story in the best possible way. Hours can pass and I think of nothing else except the problems that plague the characters, and the world in which they live, and the conflicts they must endure. When I break I walk out back to take a breath, and for a moment all seems as it always was: a Spring day, the sun on my head, the distant island of Scarrif rising from the sea a few miles across Coulaugh Bay. 

Then I remember and get back to work so I can forget for awhile longer.

When I come up for air I think again. I feel sorry for so many of my friends back in the States. Politicians and the press - both sides of the division - war with words and pictures against each other, yet the stakes involve millions of lives. 

I think of our own government and press. Here, it seems easier. Ireland's total population is only 5 million or so: maybe that has something to do with it. Here, the government talks with one voice. I have not yet witnessed an Irish politician go after another to score political points. For that reason, perhaps, there is little confusion. We all know what to do and why. I have never heard a word uttered from anyone about any misunderstanding they might have about the advice and directives we have been given from the government. Most everyone is cooperating because we know the stakes are so high.

When I finish writing by closing the laptop, I might work in the garden. I'm painting the back of the house. I can't get more paint because the hardware stores are closed, so I stretch what I have. I concentrate on the brushstrokes that spread blue and white over walls and gates. I can forget with each brushstroke.   

When I finish for the day, I might take a walk with the Partner up through the village where we encounter few, and if we do, stand politely out of the way as we practice social distancing. We gab for a few stolen moments, glad to meet other human beings. Then we'll walk on, passing the closed pubs and the locked door of the village church, and I wonder for a moment about the people I know who I can't see right now: my cronies from the pub and the good mates I have there; the church choir I direct, many of the members older than me, and I say a quick prayer for their safety, and that we'll someday sing again. 

I think of my children and grandchildren in County Meath, and a father locked down in a Florida nursing home. But there is nothing I can do for any of them, not right now, except keep sane so I might see them, and as I think we amble down the hill again toward home.

Even later in the day, we may drive to Castletownbere to buy groceries and go to the chemist, which is still permitted. The visit is short; the once busy town almost deserted. We make our purchases and leave.

6PM. RTE is on the TV, minutes before the evening news, but before that, the Angelus. The devotional prayers play on both RTE radio and television, at Noon and again at six. While the Angelus is not unique to Ireland, the prayer has always resonated with me, even if I never prayed along with it. It resonates deeper with me today.

Sunset right now is about 8PM. After the news, I go outside to sit on the back deck and watch the sun go down. I'll pour a can of Guinness and, taking a sip, think that when things are back to normal I will never, ever again open a can of Guinness. I will always drink my pint in the pub as I always did before. I hope it won't be  too long until then. Canned Guinness is real shite.

The sun sets over a glittering Bay. As I watch it, for a moment I forget again. Then I'll remember and think, 

'How can anything, anywhere, be wrong on such a beautiful evening?'

Plenty, it seems. 


 2020 Edition of A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland is out Now!

As I write this, the world's people are facing into the strongest headwinds we have experienced in our lifetimes. This tome will not help. But if it provide a bit of humor, a bit of knowledge, a way to sit back and forget what is  happening for a few minutes... then perhaps I am right to include it here. Find A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland, 2020 Edition, here. 

A Little Light Bird Song to Make Ye Smile

There's not much to sing about here, or most places in the world. For obvious reasons. So we keep busy. In my case it means editing a novel (a heck of a lot of work), painting the back garden walls, trying not to obsess over the church choir I direct (wondering how the members are doing), and making sure The Partner is well.

But rather than extemporize about the present plight of nations and their people, how about a simple piece of joy? A friend of mine forwarded the following to me. I think you'll enjoy it as much as I did.

So without further fanfare, or even a bit of chirping, may I present the Bird Song Opera. 

Blessings to you all.

Tom

2020 Edition of A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland is out Now!

As I write this, the world's people are facing into the strongest headwinds we have experienced in our lifetimes. This tome will not help. But if it provide a bit of humor, a bit of knowledge, a way to sit back and forget what is  happening for a few minutes... then perhaps I am right to include it here. Find A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland, 2020 Edition, here. 

A Ministerial Emergency Broadcast: Irish Style Leadership

Last night, Taoiseach Leo Varadkar made an emergency broadcast on local television.  The subject: Covid 19.

Though he is not my favorite politician, I was proud of the man. Forthright, measured, honest - a true leader. His words were filled with darkness, but also hope. He reflects the compassion and sensitivity I have long found in the people of this country.

If you're part of the Diaspora and have not seen his RTE broadcast, see the link below. 

His warnings were grim.  

• The HSE, Ireland's health organization, anticipates up to 15,000 Covid 19 cases in Ireland
• Ireland will experience more deaths
• The country is on an emergency footing, and will action what the government thinks right to protect the nation
• Economic conditions will continue to worsen. To support the vast number of people who will lose their jobs, as well as bolster health and social resources, Ireland will borrow billions of euro. The necessity to borrow, and the need to eventually repay it, will affect the Irish economy for generations

And yet, Varadkar came across as very much a human being. As he said, "Never have so many asked so few for so much." 

He is correct. And his words made us realize that we must all do our part.

We are fortunate to have a man of his character in office. I can think of other world politicians who could learn from his leadership and compassion.  

See his broadcast here. 

2020 Edition of A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland is out Now!

As I write this, the world's people are facing into the strongest headwinds we have experienced in our lifetimes. This tome will not help. But if it provide a bit of humor, a bit of knowledge, a way to sit back and forget what is  happening for a few minutes... then perhaps I am right to include it here. Find A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland, 2020 Edition, here. 

Despite the World's Covid 19 Suffering, Happy Saint Patrick's Day to You All

It's been months since I've had time to write a post. I'm currently working on a novel, which is taking an inordinate amount of time. However, the present global situation calls for some thoughts.

Like many countries across the world, Ireland is also coming to a standstill. While this day, the 17th of March, is Saint Patrick's Day, the pubs are empty. Parades have been cancelled. The spread of this virus continues, with almost 250 people in Ireland now diagnosed with this horrible illness.

But Life Continues

Yet, it is still Saint Patrick's Day. To that end, let's celebrate the day of our national saint first with a little song, some Saint Patrick's Day Music to let you jig a bit.  If you're stuck in the house like I am, I hope this compilation adds a little joy. Wherever you are, I hope you and your family are safe. At the same time, I hope you can raise a glass to friendship and those you love, and perhaps toast all those things that are Irish. As my friends say, this too shall pass, and when it does Ireland will still be here.

2020 Edition of A Survivor's Guide to Ireland

Too, it being Saint Patrick's Day, and knowing the world must keep spinning 'round, you should know that the 2020 Edition of A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland is now available.

If you're thinking of moving to Ireland like this Yank, this little tome might help. And though any plans you may have will have to be delayed, I pray your dreams will be intact when the crisis passes. To have a look at this Kindle version, visit the 2020 Edition webpage.

Stay safe. Bless you all. And a Happy Saint Patrick's Day wherever you might be.

Tom