Slainte
If you had asked me what holidays I was dreading most, what holidays were going to be the worst to get through, I would have said the exact ones you would expect. Christmas. Mike's birthday. Father's Day. Our wedding anniversary. (I'd have been right, too - I've done two of those already, and they were awful.)
One that never would have been a blip on my radar was Saint Patrick's Day. Why would it? Saint Patrick's Day is my holiday. My family is pretty Irish (100% on my dad's side), so it's a way of life for us! I decorate the house, play Irish tunes, have a drink or two, and love every second of it. Mike liked to say he had "black Irish" in his lineage, and while I think he was a bit overwhelmed at first by my love of the Day (and my father's pub crawl escapades), he quickly grew to enjoy it, too. Mostly, he enjoyed the food. He LOVED the traditional (American) corned beef meal, so it was always on our table. Cabbage was one of his favorite vegetables, and he liked to hoist a pint, too. He'd call or e-mail me at work during the day asking about some aspect of dinner. "Mike, just put the cover on the stockpot/crockpot, and leave it alone," I'd say, but he wasn't good at that. He liked to fuss over a meal, and I also think he got lonely - so he'd find something to ask me. We were going to try Alton Brown's recipe for corning your own beef this year, actually.
Yesterday was my first Saint Patrick's Day without Mike. It was really rough. I cried at the drop of a hat - all week, actually. No "Danny Boy" for me, thank you. I barely made it through "Too Ra Loo Ra" and "I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen". (I sent my daughter into school singing the opening of The Wild Rover: "I've been a wild rover for many's a year, and I spent all me money on whiskey and beer....." No calls from the school. Whew!) I cried cutting cabbage. I cried making Irish soda bread. I missed those silly phone calls and e-mails. I missed him waxing poetic about the meal all week. I missed him picking out the best (to him) corned beef at the store. I missed him telling me how much he loved the "May the road rise to meet you....." poem. Mostly, I just missed him. He should be here.
It was also my first Saint Patrick's Day without my twin cousin, Kristie, who died suddenly last April. Kris loved Saint Patrick's Day - it was her favorite holiday. She'd have special, fabulous green nails for the day and wear her "'Tis Herself" shamrock-laden shirt. She was supposed to spend the holiday this year in Dublin, California with her mom....doing the big parade and festivities. Unfair doesn't even begin to describe it. I slept in her "Shenanigans" t-shirt that I inherited. I wore the shamrock apron she sent me for our 40th birthdays when I made my soda bread. I missed sending her a picture of me in it. I missed my early morning Saint Patrick's Day text (and responding back in kind). I missed her. She should be here, too, dammit.
I did smile a lot yesterday....I listened to Irish tunes, laughed with my colleagues, vented to my dearest girlfriends, and my kids had great days. (Though my daughter wants a leprechaun to visit our house? Huh?) I thought of Mike and Kristie celebrating in heaven, with my Suzanne and little Cora, my Uncle John, my grandparents, my cousin Adam - they have quite the crew up there. Thinking of them together, smiling and laughing down on us, well, it warms my heart. It really does. It doesn't make the pain of their loss less, it just makes it a little easier to get through.
The traditional Irish toast is "Slainte" (say it: S-lawn-cha), and it translates to "To your health." May we all be blessed with good health (and a wee bit of the luck of the Irish) as we warrior through our days.
"May you always find blue skies above your head, shamrocks beneath your feet,
laughter and joy aplenty, kindness from all you meet,
good friends and kin to miss you, if ever you choose to roam, ...
and a path that's been cleared by angels themselves to carry you safely home."
~ Irish Blessing
One that never would have been a blip on my radar was Saint Patrick's Day. Why would it? Saint Patrick's Day is my holiday. My family is pretty Irish (100% on my dad's side), so it's a way of life for us! I decorate the house, play Irish tunes, have a drink or two, and love every second of it. Mike liked to say he had "black Irish" in his lineage, and while I think he was a bit overwhelmed at first by my love of the Day (and my father's pub crawl escapades), he quickly grew to enjoy it, too. Mostly, he enjoyed the food. He LOVED the traditional (American) corned beef meal, so it was always on our table. Cabbage was one of his favorite vegetables, and he liked to hoist a pint, too. He'd call or e-mail me at work during the day asking about some aspect of dinner. "Mike, just put the cover on the stockpot/crockpot, and leave it alone," I'd say, but he wasn't good at that. He liked to fuss over a meal, and I also think he got lonely - so he'd find something to ask me. We were going to try Alton Brown's recipe for corning your own beef this year, actually.
Yesterday was my first Saint Patrick's Day without Mike. It was really rough. I cried at the drop of a hat - all week, actually. No "Danny Boy" for me, thank you. I barely made it through "Too Ra Loo Ra" and "I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen". (I sent my daughter into school singing the opening of The Wild Rover: "I've been a wild rover for many's a year, and I spent all me money on whiskey and beer....." No calls from the school. Whew!) I cried cutting cabbage. I cried making Irish soda bread. I missed those silly phone calls and e-mails. I missed him waxing poetic about the meal all week. I missed him picking out the best (to him) corned beef at the store. I missed him telling me how much he loved the "May the road rise to meet you....." poem. Mostly, I just missed him. He should be here.
It was also my first Saint Patrick's Day without my twin cousin, Kristie, who died suddenly last April. Kris loved Saint Patrick's Day - it was her favorite holiday. She'd have special, fabulous green nails for the day and wear her "'Tis Herself" shamrock-laden shirt. She was supposed to spend the holiday this year in Dublin, California with her mom....doing the big parade and festivities. Unfair doesn't even begin to describe it. I slept in her "Shenanigans" t-shirt that I inherited. I wore the shamrock apron she sent me for our 40th birthdays when I made my soda bread. I missed sending her a picture of me in it. I missed my early morning Saint Patrick's Day text (and responding back in kind). I missed her. She should be here, too, dammit.
I did smile a lot yesterday....I listened to Irish tunes, laughed with my colleagues, vented to my dearest girlfriends, and my kids had great days. (Though my daughter wants a leprechaun to visit our house? Huh?) I thought of Mike and Kristie celebrating in heaven, with my Suzanne and little Cora, my Uncle John, my grandparents, my cousin Adam - they have quite the crew up there. Thinking of them together, smiling and laughing down on us, well, it warms my heart. It really does. It doesn't make the pain of their loss less, it just makes it a little easier to get through.
The traditional Irish toast is "Slainte" (say it: S-lawn-cha), and it translates to "To your health." May we all be blessed with good health (and a wee bit of the luck of the Irish) as we warrior through our days.
"May you always find blue skies above your head, shamrocks beneath your feet,
laughter and joy aplenty, kindness from all you meet,
good friends and kin to miss you, if ever you choose to roam, ...
and a path that's been cleared by angels themselves to carry you safely home."
~ Irish Blessing
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