And there, afresh, cousins playing.
Second cousins test the gaming
from the edge. The smallest one
offers sweets to the tallest one,
a voucher to join the fun.
As we were at funerals,
the leveller of youth
brings the young to run
and settle chasing rules.
A man who knew he was but mortal
cast his mark in a concrete portal.
Timmy would have been
clasping a bunch of nettles
to make young ones scream
at the prospect of the pointed petals.
Guilt swept over me:
Did we have more of him
through nature's chicanery
than his six grandchildren?
And how lucky they are
that they could possess
even a micro part
of his loveliness.
A man who knew he was but mortal
cast his mark in a concrete portal.
No Kilmichael or Seán South
and later his favourite niece, by marriage, said
with sorry eyes and shaking mouth
that this was the first death
of someone she cared about.
He would be again alive
if it were that the deceased
could be to themselves revived
by family kissing cheeks.
And there, adults, cousins saying
about the second cousins playing
and those of them now fully grown
and those with children of their own.
How we must call. Wills and cans
exchanged, unsettled plans.
A man who knew he was but mortal
cast his mark in a concrete portal.
(Explanation: My uncle, Timmy Walsh, passed away on 01/09/2015. This poem is about his funeral. When I looked at my children playing with my cousins' children I was reminded of when I was a child at the funerals of much older relatives.
Timmy was my uncle-in-law but I can safely say I'm not the only one who considered him right up there with our biological uncles. He was the loveliest man. We have memories of him chasing us with nettles when he and our aunt, Rita, would call to visit. Our entire neighbourhood of children would descend on our house when they'd see the Walsh's car coming up the road, they were all there for the chase and the bags of jellies Timmy would dole out afterwards. He used to also call out whenever he was driving a trailer for work and would take us and our friends off for a spin in it. Today, that would be impossible, it's illegal. There was one day that I remember a man in the car behind us blowing the horn to get our attention. He had a camera and we all waved for him. What I wouldn't give to track down that photo now.
I have many memories of Timmy but two popped into my head when I heard the news of his death:
1. Being very young and seeing my mother wearing lipstick. She never did and never has worn make-up so I questioned her about it. She started laughing and said she had been heading out the Walsh's door with Timmy and Rita earlier that day when Timmy told Rita to give her a bit of lipstick because "women should have a bit of lipstick on." She and Rita had been in stitches at him but she put a bit on anyway.
2. Being in the Walsh's house one day when Timmy and his eldest daughter, Mary, arrived back. Mary was a little annoyed at Timmy because he had just scratched out 'Tim Joe' in fresh cement up the road. When I suggested it didn't matter Mary said, "it's not like nobody will know who 'Tim Joe' is"!
That last memory is one meaning of the "concrete portal" reference but I also mean that he lives on through his descendants and the memories of the rest of us.
RIP Timmy, 14/01/1941-01/09/2015.)
