Faith the only antidote to cruel death
Liamy MacNally
Westport has had more than its share of sadness in recent weeks. Cruel death is descending in an almost daily dance, partnering the young and the old, the righteous and bold. It is no respecter of position or place. Every week there are funerals through the town as another cherished soul is laid to rest after the final lap of honour through the streets.
Shops and businesses close their doors and dim their lights when a cortege passes, limping its way to Aughavale - a nod from daily matters to eternal matters. Traffic is stalled with diversion options on McGreevy’s Bridge and at the Clock. Tom Jennings, Barry Talbot and the Gardaí assume point duty roles silently, respectfully and with honour – guardians of a grieving community.
The weather – regardless of the living or the dead – also plays its part, being blustery, cold and wet. One person commented, “Even the elements are agin us.” There is a lot of truth in it.
The strange thing is that death affects the living. Those who have gone on their final journey have no more pain. Their journey is in hope, shared by all of us. Those left behind feel that rotten piercing sting of death. St Paul can claim that death has no more power over us and tease the reaper with “Death where is your sting?” For those who are sweeping up after death’s visit the sting is very real, very raw and very sore.
It is also a pain felt by a community. We are lessened when we lose people from our midst. Our death-march steps behind a family in mourning are small but significant. They are a declaration of love, support and a willingness to travel that road of pain with the bereaved. No words can really comfort just as no theories can ever explain but our being there is enough. We speak volumes by our silent presence, standing alongside the grief-stricken.
Martin Dunning and Marty Coghlan were buried in the past week, preceded by Karen Jordan and Claire (Molloy) Kavanagh. These are deaths of young people which have impacted on the town in deep ways. There have also been others who died recently in and close to the town, all of whom affect us as a community.
Martin Dunning and Marty Coghlan are already eyeing up the hounds of heaven. Naturally they won’t get a word in edgeways being the new boys on the block. All the greats are there before them – their fathers, Devers, McGreals, Leo, Mattie, Stuff and many more. You can almost hear the “It’s like this here lads” emanate while the two newcomers eye each other and smile, willing and able to go along with it all. Sure they all had great training for this!
Martin Dunning will marvel at his heavenly vantage point. No need for The Racing Post here! Marty Coghlan will still be able to communicate by simply raising an eyebrow and giving a nod. In a busy Asgard many is the conversation he had without opening his mouth! Both can now put in a word for all of us!
Marty’s neighbour, Karen Jordan, was laid to rest less than a week before him. She is a young woman, mother and daughter who left us too early. Her parents, Liam and Mary, have to walk a road they have already trodden with the death of their daughter Gillian in September 2008. While most of us can never know their pain we can share their grief, assuring them that we are in step with them.
Death strips us all back. It bares us to what is important. When all else fails faith is often the only banister we can hold on to. It can provide that little bit of support necessary to save a broken heart from crumbling. “A little faith can bring your soul to heaven but a lot of faith can bring heaven to your soul.”
Amidst the loss and heart-rending scenes of grief at Claire Kavanagh’s funeral Mass there was hope. Here was a young woman who prepared her own funeral. She revelled in her faith. What a witness and what a legacy for a young woman to leave. The words of her husband, Mark, at her Mass, were piercingly raw, touching, sincere and uplifting. Both travelled a road tunnelled out of love. They loved deeply and we are all privileged to be allowed to share in that journey.
Claire’s father Matt played a tune for her. What more could he do but what he does best? It echoed from every nook in his heart and our hearts joined his, feeling his loss, sharing his pain and willing him strength.
It’s as well we don’t know God’s ways. We keep on keeping on, hoping, in faith, that it somehow makes some sense.
