The last post I published was February 9, over two weeks ago, and I’ve been working on this post virtually ever since. Thing is, my dad’s memorial mass was held February 10. I had planned on a small write up, but things kept going sideways, or I would get distracted by having to parent the kids, or I would sit here staring at a paragraph for 30 minutes only to delete it.
So it’s been a while since I’ve posted, but not for lack of trying.
Dad passed away in Ireland on the 30th of December. I was fortunate to be there, holding his hand as he passed away. We knew it was bad and I got over there as soon as I could. My sister Patrice was already there, having flown over a few days earlier. She knew something was up, but we didn’t know quite what the extent of things were.
Stage 4 lung cancer.
How the hell did it get to be so…. dad hardly ever went to the doctor, he didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to bother anybody.
Not smart.
Dad went in because his back was hurting, and bad enough that it got him to go in to a doctor. He was taken and admitted to a hospital about 45 minutes away for testing. He was not released to go home. This was around the 18th or so. It would be a couple of days later when we learned of just how severe things were.
I got there on the 26th, and he was lucid at times, mostly in and out of consciousness. At one point he saw me, my sister and our brother Eoin, and he thought he was in Seattle for a moment. Then it hit him what was happening was serious.
“Oh shit. I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
“Yes, dad, it’s not looking good.”
“Oh well.”
After a couple of days there, dad was transferred “back home” to a hospital just up the hill from his house in Ballycastle. And it’s termed “hospital” but it’s more like a mish-mash of different care services for people with different conditions. This was on the 29th.
That evening he had a number of visitors, including a couple that I had not seen in 35 years. For about 30-45 minutes he was awake and engaged, was able to sit up in the chair on his own, etc. He tired out though, was placed back in the bed and fell asleep.
He would wake up a few more times, some more lucid than others, but nothing that extensive. He had trouble breathing that night and it was obvious the next day we were looking at hours. I got a playlist of Irish music on my phone and had that playing in his room most of the day. Dad really loved the music. When I visited him on my own back in 2010 every pub we went to he would ask when the live music was starting.
More family arrived, some from Ballycastle, some from Belfast, and he was able to pass fairly peacefully late in the afternoon surrounded by family. Dad would get transported to family for the wake, he would be cremated and placed in the family plot.
I was unable to stay for the wake and service in Ireland, unfortunately, and upon my return there was almost no question as to holding a service here. There were a number of family members that unable to make it to Ireland to say goodbye to dad, let alone all the friends he had here.
Scheduling the service was more bothersome than it should have been, not because the parish was uncooperative, mostly because I was being picky. And because this was going to be a memorial mass, not a funeral mass, there wasn’t the rush to get the service scheduled and planned – I had time so I used it.
The service was set, with two of his grandchildren set to do readings, his brothers and sisters here in Seattle to bring up the gifts and my cousin David the remarks of remembrance at the end. A number of little things kept coming up in the planning of the service as well as the reception afterward. Which reading to select. How many people are we expecting so as to get a decent head count for food. Drinks. Are there enough cups for both coffee and the beer. Will a microphone be available. What time will the hall be open to get things set up.
With so many things to juggle it was inevitable that something would go wrong. The morning of the memorial mass and reception Laura and I accepted that something would go wrong, but in true “Pat” fashion it would all work out. All of the anxiety I had melted away as I accepted this inevitability.
My cousin Sean, best man at my wedding, drove over from Spokane for the event. I was in the reception hall beforehand helping get stuff set up when he arrived. One of the greatest things about Sean is his lack of fear, and his absolute steadfast support. If there was anything I needed done, at any point in time, I knew I could ask him. If somebody backed out of doing a reading during the mass I knew that I could ask him to step in on a moment’s notice, with no preparation, and he would not hesitate to step in and do whatever was needed to be done.
Showing up with my mother was a really nice surprise, my cousin Becky. I had not seen her in a few years and had no idea she was coming.
There was a large number of people at the memorial mass that I recognized, many I had not seen in decades. While I tried to greet as many as I could, there were so many I couldn’t get to as I was busy being the lead family member for this event.
Of course something did wind up going wrong.
Approximately 10 minutes before the mass started the pastoral assistant comes up to me and said “The remains are here.”
“What?”
“Did you know the remains were coming? They are here.”
“What? No.”
“Okay, good, we’re on the same page.”
Suddenly we’re doing a funeral mass, not a memorial mass.
This meant getting out the holy water, incense, and changing around a number of the prayers. Everybody, including the priest presiding over the mass, who does not like performing funerals on Saturday but did so as a favor to me, personally, had no idea there would be remains present making this a funeral mass.
For the non-Catholics reading this, the difference between a memorial mass and a funeral mass can seem small, but it is significant and requires a bit of preparation.
It would seem that Eoin, after dad was cremated, had his remains split, with half going to the family plot and took the other half home.
Almost nobody but Eoin (and his wife) knew this.
As predicted, something went wrong, but also as predicted, it worked out.
Unfortunately my brother Patrick couldn’t make it over for this service, but he along with my brother Kagan were in Ireland for the wake and service. (I had returned home before they arrived in Ireland.) Kagan did make it, of course, because he lives in the area, and it was really nice to see Sean make the trip over to help celebrate dad’s life. What wasn’t expected was my cousin Becky coming up from California.
Becky is just a few months younger than me and her brother Sean just a couple of years younger. throughout my childhood we spent so much time at each other’s houses or in close enough proximity that they are more like siblings than cousins to me.
Neither Becky nor Sean knew each other would be there. There was a moment just before the service started where Becky and Sean saw each other and realized the other was there. It was a fantastic moment that I wish I had been able to catch on camera.
From left to right: myself, Eoin, Patrice, Kagan, Sean, Becky
The service itself went well, August, Dela and Ciaran helped out as altar servers. the family members all did their parts well, even those who don’t attend mass regularly.
After the mass the reception went off as planned. There was a large group that attended both the mass and reception, we had plenty of food, drink, music and reminiscing. Truly, it was a great celebration of dad’s life and the impact he had on the people around him.
We miss ya, dad.