Maybe it is lyrics or maybe I read it somewhere – when there is a young death that person is forever young. What is young however changes as I get older. It was teens but is now late thirties and sometimes someone older will comment that a fifty year old was very young when he or she died.
When they pass their face is a time capsule, it is not an old wrinkly face but a young and buoyant one. It is not what i associate with incense and funerals in my youth all those heavy winter jackets and smells.
Mairead was one of those people that formed a glue between many different groups. Folks that I would not really have much in common with were connected by a common denominator- Mairead. She was wild, but in a kind cosy sense. I love to hit the hay at 9:30 now. Back in my twenties it was not that early but when Mairead and our friends would be headed for an early opening pub or later nightclub I would be in bed. In a hoop. She had a zest for life in a way, that I have not met many like that since.
We all drifted as the years moved on, like all do. But it was when she got her first diagnosis and when I started to get more and more into health and wellness did we re connect – albeit online. All of a sudden we were liking our shared enthusiasm for magnesium bath salts, Yoga, plant based lifestyle and Wim Hoff .
I followed her like thousands of others in her cancer journey. All the ups and downs, treatments and journeys to far flung places and people.
And like many others felt a deep sense of shock when our mutual besties messaged to say she had passed. Shock in an overconfidence that she was just going to pull through again like every time she had done before.
Luckily I was able to go and say good bye to her last Wednesday. Luckily I was able to hear stories from her nearest and dearest and she her final resting place which is quite beautiful being overlooked by green hills. It reminded me of stradbally, where I will derive memories from the most.
Overwhelmingly the only way I could describe this sense of grief for the loss of a woman that I had not seen in person in nearly 10 years was a sense of imprint on my heart. Like a chick is imprinted to its mother she had somehow managed to imprint herself right here in the left side of my chest.
It created the most somber feeling exiting strokestown on the N5 early Wednesday afternoon.
The priest giving the sermon mentioned that Jesus died at a similar age, and that lots of people expect to live to 90 or a 100. People do not expect that someone like Mairead can die in her mid thirties. Even with her diagnosis I had no doubt that she could scrap all the way.
Thinking about fairness would make one angry, thinking about sadness is unfair to her and what she brought to the world. Thinking at all hurts my head.
Either way, we both loved to write and now I write about you Mairead. All on the pulpit talked about you attending this great gig in the sky.
I hope if you get a moment you can give this a read