THIS week is another one of those weeks where we look back to this time last year and marvel at what has happened.
By March 14 2020 St Patrick’s Day celebrations had been officially cancelled and the Republic was in lockdown. Although the first lockdown in Northern Ireland came a week later, we knew that it had begun. Coronavirus was among us. We were furiously washing our hands and stocking up on hand sanitiser and toilet roll.
I remember a strangeness, a fear. Little did we know we would still feel the uncertainty that we felt that week a full year later.
While we waited to see what would happen, my 91-year-old grandmother had taken ill. Granny had fought so many infections up until that point, we wondered if she had much more fight in her. She did fight one last time, but sadly we lost her four days before her 92nd birthday.
Saying goodbye to Granny was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. She was such a big part of my life. I am the image of her. Throughout my childhood, I was her shadow. Every weekend, I went to stay at Granny’s. She was a great cook, and her house was always immaculately tidy and clean.
Granny was a character. She had a devilish laugh, wry and sharp wit, a wicked sense of humour, and was full of old sayings. She could wipe the floor with a stinging a one-liner, and when she laughed, everyone in the room laughed with her.
Although I had watched her grow old, I suppose I thought that she would just always be there, always a part of our lives. My parents cared for Granny in her final years. She became an even more integral part of everyday life than ever before.
In her last few days, Granny’s body began to shut down. I remember standing at her bedside, and one of her carers was at my side. I knew that the carer completely understood what was happening. She specialised in palliative care. I remember asking, "This is it, isn’t it?" "It is," was the reply.
Granny’s carers were fantastic. Our house was like Grand Central Station at times as they came in to help her – and help my parents. In the final days, they rallied round to help in any way they could.
Anyone who has had a loved one cared for in this way understands and values their work. Palliative care professionals help families in ways they will never know. In those last days, I saw the machine at work, and I will be forever grateful to them.
Then came the Marie Cure nurses, like angels who descended out of nowhere to provide comfort in the final hours. Their work can never be underestimated.
While Granny had a small wake, and a funeral mass, with the uncertainty that we were all feeling around coronavirus, we did not get together with family and friends after the burial. There was no tea and sandwiches, no time to let it all sink in. That felt cold and business like. I remember the fear of the virus making me extremely protective of other family members – afraid of handshakes, of hugs.
This experience made me fully appreciate how important our rituals around death are to how we deal with grief.
We went into lockdown days after, and the grieving process was delayed. There are times when I wonder if I have grieved at all, because I have not been at home as much as I would like to have been. Sometimes I feel cheated in this regard.
It’s true what they say, however well prepared you think you are, nothing prepares you for saying goodbye to someone you love, when the time comes.
Given how families have had to grieve over the past year, I am very grateful for having the chance to say goodbye to Nóra.
Over 2,000 people in Northern Ireland have now died from the coronavirus. Many of them were elderly people, many were grandmothers and mothers who were absent from their lives yesterday on Mother’s Day. These families didn’t get to say goodbye properly. I can’t imagine how difficult their grief has been to process.
A year on, we’re back in lockdown, but there is light at the end of the tunnel – hopefully a time when we can be with our families again is not too far off.
