god blessed the irish
right now i am too tired to go into full detail but thursday morning i got a call from my uncle that poppa joes time was coming to an end and that he could not get in contact with neither of my parents nor my cousins shannon and robyn. i pulled out all of the stops and called my parents schools, picked up my brother, called shannon and robyn, and went to the hospice to be with my family- not just the twomeys but the mcgraths and twomeys
one family no name attached
when i got into the room... i dropped to my knees by the bed an prayed-- holding my grandma's hand and asked everyone to join me in a hail mary. for about 15 minutes i knelt there one hand on my grandma and the other on my poppa and cried and prayed and made promises with God. for the 1st time in my life, nothing mattered but the horrible suffering my poppa was going through. i prayed all day until 6:30. he slept the entire day but woke up once in awhile to see who had come-- he mumbld lost words often but there was one time where he woke up-- didn't look lost or anything-- and looked at us all and said "did you say the rosary?" in the clearest of voices... a voice that didn't even sound like the gunshot-in-the-voicebox-throat-voice i had grown to know as his. we all dropped down to our knees and said the rosary immediately. it was good seeing people there... it was good being with those who had a common interest
loving joe mcgrath
friday i refused to get out of bed. i must have lied there for hours, crying and praying, hoping and wishing, asking that the pain in my heart and the physical pain of my poppa would leave
friday evening around 10, my poppa passed on in his sleep to meet God in heaven.
i didn't cry
i couldn't cry it was as if my heart wouldn't believe that one of the wisest and most intelligent people had left me with questions still unanswered.
saturday i went to work and was called a selfish bitch fo going to work. and today, sunday i was asked if my family even cared about my grandfather. i couldn't respond.
i knew the reason why i was at work and why i was "happy"--if you can call it happy-- and why i was forcing myself out of bed everyday.
my poppa joe was, among the millions of things, a humble faithful man to God. he saw death as a celebration of life. if he saw me depressed and wearing all black everyday-- i would have learned nothing from him. i must celebrate the life my poppa had and the time i was apart of it.
so my promise to my Poppa Joe and to God is to celebrate my life and help others to clebrate theirs.
and i promise, poppa joe, to say mt rosary.
one family no name attached
when i got into the room... i dropped to my knees by the bed an prayed-- holding my grandma's hand and asked everyone to join me in a hail mary. for about 15 minutes i knelt there one hand on my grandma and the other on my poppa and cried and prayed and made promises with God. for the 1st time in my life, nothing mattered but the horrible suffering my poppa was going through. i prayed all day until 6:30. he slept the entire day but woke up once in awhile to see who had come-- he mumbld lost words often but there was one time where he woke up-- didn't look lost or anything-- and looked at us all and said "did you say the rosary?" in the clearest of voices... a voice that didn't even sound like the gunshot-in-the-voicebox-throat-voice i had grown to know as his. we all dropped down to our knees and said the rosary immediately. it was good seeing people there... it was good being with those who had a common interest
loving joe mcgrath
friday i refused to get out of bed. i must have lied there for hours, crying and praying, hoping and wishing, asking that the pain in my heart and the physical pain of my poppa would leave
friday evening around 10, my poppa passed on in his sleep to meet God in heaven.
i didn't cry
i couldn't cry it was as if my heart wouldn't believe that one of the wisest and most intelligent people had left me with questions still unanswered.
saturday i went to work and was called a selfish bitch fo going to work. and today, sunday i was asked if my family even cared about my grandfather. i couldn't respond.
i knew the reason why i was at work and why i was "happy"--if you can call it happy-- and why i was forcing myself out of bed everyday.
my poppa joe was, among the millions of things, a humble faithful man to God. he saw death as a celebration of life. if he saw me depressed and wearing all black everyday-- i would have learned nothing from him. i must celebrate the life my poppa had and the time i was apart of it.
so my promise to my Poppa Joe and to God is to celebrate my life and help others to clebrate theirs.
and i promise, poppa joe, to say mt rosary.