Sean was conceived in England, born in Ireland; he had one English and three Irish grandparents. He loved Ireland, and it suited him well … especially the relaxed, easy-going world of rural communities and small towns. He would have adapted wherever he might have found himself, but in this world he didn’t need to adapt … it was completely natural to him. He had its speech and its mannerisms.
The time he came along suited him too … the free and largely secular society that Ireland had become; the technology that allowed such ease of communication and enjoyment of computer games, music and other resources; the absence of a pronounced and problematic gap between the worldviews of his and his parents’ generations. All these factors, with his own sociable and inquisitive nature, conduced to an enjoyable and fulfilling life.
Sean and Clio had talked about getting married up on Sliabh na Caillighe (the Hill of the Witch) … the megalithic site we can see from our house, on the Lough Crew Hills. I don’t know whether or not this would have happened – and we shall never know now – but I do know that they loved each other very much. That would have been a day to remember … a day of revelry.
Pauline and I were in the local pub last night, at a surprise 50th birthday party for a neighbour. Many people talked to us about Sean. People are very good and kind. My mind wandered away from the music and fun, to visualize Sean walking through the bar with a smile on his face, greeting friends and acquaintances in his inimitable relaxed style. But he is gone, and he won’t be back.
We are getting on with our lives, as we must, but the ache remains.