Saint Patrick's Day

How ironic that I should learn of Patrick's death on this day. He died yesterday, not quite making it to "his" day. We used to joke about this day, and how he loved singing 'Oh Danny Boy' in that lovely tremulous baritone. I know his voice must have been wonderful when he was young. I arrived home and checked my email, only to discover that my greeting to Patrick had to be set aside for the business of dying. Leaving what was so familiar into the unknown. Patrick had been frightened of dying. He fought it with each breath. I watched his body rapidly deteriorate over the course of this past year. I would sometimes wipe his chin or the back of his hand when I would sit with him at dinner. "Patrick," I would say, "you always inspire me to use good grammar."
At this he would grunt and smile. "That's good" he would croak back. Patrick never tolerated the use of improper grammar within his range of hearing. His range of hearing remained surprisingly good right up to the end. If a nurse would ask me "How are you doing?" and I would reply "I'm doing good." You could absolutely count on a deep voice challenging from across the room - "YOU'RE DOING WHAT?"
"I'm doing well, Patrick."
"That's better."
Patrick had been a priest in his younger years. All of the brothers in that family were priests. Mom and Dad no doubt were proud. But something happened to Patrick, and he lost his faith. He was so cynical in his final years. My sister said that she was able to pray with him, shortly before he died, and that he became peaceful, and death took him with no struggle. Maybe he made peace with God yesterday. I hope so.
I know that Patrick had been a handsome man in his youth. His features remained proud and strong, even as his head bowed almost to the tray on his wheelchair toward the end. He would always try to lift his head, and if he was too weak to say anything, he would nod in my direction. Oh Patrick. So much death lately. I'm watching my grammar, still.
Tonight I made corned beef and cabbage, and boiled red potatoes, but nobody came.
I walked the dog, and one of the cats, and now I think I will just call it a day. I am weary down to the soul of me. I have accomplished much this month, but I am tired now. I am feeling old and ugly and I hate that. It will pass. Maybe I'll make tea, in honor of Laura, and listen to some music for a while. Maybe I'll pay the insurance bill online. Maybe I will do absolutely nothing until tomorrow.
It's very quiet here.

Yesterday marked another passing as well. Yesterday marked the passing of one year since Sarah May has belonged to me. This was a good marking, a good passing. God has done great things. All has happened in His generous time, and under His loving hand. Now she stretches her wings and takes off for another country to use what she has learned since January. But she is anxious to have me see her return and graduate. This is a very good thing. I am thankful for this blessing. I love being a mom.