The Long Goodbye

I have no idea where to start, but right now, I can't think of anywhere better than the end:

He opened his eyes one last time. Then they were shut. Two hard breaths later and he was gone. Quiet and dignified -  he lived as he died. That was Louis O'Connell. My grandad. 

Born April 12 1931, it is fair to say that as hard as it is to accept he is gone, Louis' was a life well lived. Louis was 53 before I came along. Everything I have heard indicates that the latter period of his life was the one in which he was most content. A father of 4 - his only boy Hayden, and his 3 beautiful girls Siobhan, Ingrid and Michelle, Louis was an extremely well read man, who did well for himself in his career. He was a bank manager in 60's Ireland which, as a friend of mine said, was not far off being a priest in terms of stature back then. In a sense, he was a trailblazer. Long before I ever knew him, he had addressed an issue he felt he had with alcohol by joining AA. As someone who has battled with alcohol problems myself, I can tell you that in 2007 or 2017, it is acceptable to acknowledge you have a problem and seek help. There is no taboo anymore. Doing this 40+ years ago took such courage. To be intelligent enough to see you have a problem is the first step. To be humble enough to admit you can't beat it on your own is another. And to be brave enough to get help is a third. He did all those things and I am confident in saying that doing so enabled him to be the wonderful man that I have always known. I admire him greatly for that. Louis marriage was not a happy one and in an age when couples just stayed together because it was frowned upon to go your separate ways, he wasn't afraid to get out and start fresh. As painful as I'm sure it was for his children at the time, I believe that the life he went on to lead thereafter justified his decision. I have heard about how tormented he had been beforehand, but I never saw that. 

Of course, there is only so much I can tell you about Louis life because the first three quarters of it took place before I got here or before I was ten. I can tell you about who he was to me. In childhood, Louis was always friendly but somewhat distant. By his own admission, he was 'not good with emotions', and he was not the most physically tactile nor affectionate. But I always liked him when I was a kid. He had a devilish grin and would always have something nice to say when he saw you. At birthdays and Christmases he was too cool for presents - he'd simply shake your hand and when he took his away there was a crisp bill in yours. We always liked that! My abiding memories of him from my childhood are with my cousin Ciara(well, she's more like a sister really!). Ciara lived with her mom and Louis for much of the first ten years of her life and was the apple of his eye. They were inseparable. Often times I would go out on an adventure with them. These are some of my happier childhood memories.

In retirement, Louis developed a big social life through three very distinct circles. As the years went by, AA went from being something in the shadows to a huge network in Dublin, with meetings nearby every day and Louis being so long around knew everyone. He became a fantastic artist later in life, a marvellous painter, and ran his own classes in Sutton and Howth for decades, passing on his knowledge. Golf was his other major passion and Clontarf Golf Club was his other major social circle. I always maintained a good albeit distant relationship with Louis to that point. But in 2007, things changed.

When I decided that it was time to address my own problems with alcohol in January 2007, I approached AA with trepidation and fear. I was welcomed with open arms, and I will never forget the people who went out of their way to offer help right from that first meeting in Sutton. Specifically I remember two people, who I won't name, but I know that the reason they approached me was because they knew who I was and more importantly who my Grandad was. They regaled me with tales of the help he'd given the when they were new. As time went on in AA, I heard countless more of these stories. I don't know that many people would be privy to that information but it's important to me that's known. He helped a lot of people. 

My friendship with Louis grew from that day. I bumped into him at a meeting and I suggested maybe we could go for a coffee some day soon. And we did. And so began our tradition. Every month or two on a Wednesday I would meet him in the Country Club in Portmarnock. He would ask about my life and my work. He always seemed happy that my brother and I worked in insurance, I guess because in his day it was a 'proper' profession, a bit like banking. He would tell me about his life and his friends. He always spoke with particular warmth about Jimmy Barrett(had to say his full name!) and Bart, and in more recent times Paula and Theo. (I hope I have all those names right). He would ask me to help him with things, electronics mostly, buying a printer for X or a TV for Y. I'd buy them for him and he'd pay me back. Or I'd fix his TV, his internet, his phone etc. He never smothered me in AA, preferring to keep a watchful eye from a safe distance, something I appreciated. Other members would tell me he'd been asking after me, but he would never ask me too much. I was even more impressed with his reaction when I left AA. Having spent 35+ years in 'the rooms' at that point, I was sure he would disapprove of my decision and the fact I'd come to the conclusion that alcohol had been a symptom for me rather than a problem in and of itself. But I was wrong. I was too fearful to broach the topic myself. One day he very casually asked me was I drinking again. I said I had the odd pint. He told me that it was a case of 'to each his own' and if I felt ok to do so, go ahead. AA would always be there if I needed it. Thankfully, I never did. I was 25 at this point and it meant a lot to me that he trusted my judgement like that. I never forgot it.

4 Generations of O'Connell's on Louis last birthday. 

In the past 4 or 5 years as my life has changed, our friendship has mostly been based around my children. As if to put an exclamation point on the incredibly full life he has led, Louis had 6 great grandchildren, 5 of them girls, in the past 4 years. It was just his lot in life to be surrounded by beautiful women I guess! He had so much love for Carra. He would always comment on her personality and that always gave me such joy. Carra is a demanding, independent, and boisterous child and I get the impression sometimes people, particularly older folk, don't always appreciate some of those characteristics. But he loved her character and said as much. In the past 2 or 3 years as I have finally seen him age (he looked 80 going on 65 for a great many years!) it occurred to me how valuable the time he spent with this newest generation was because, sadly, none of us lives forever.

The past 4 months have been sad ones, saccharine tinged moments aplenty. From the moment Louis was diagnosed with cancer early in September, whenever I would speak to him, I felt like, as they say, 'he knew'. Even when early prognosis was good and there were plans to try and cure him with surgery and chemotherapy, he never seemed to put any stock in those ideas. 'He knew'.

Breakfast in Howth

Louis, Carra and Oliver in September

There have been good times. Speaking personally, if nothing else positive comes of this, I have developed a wonderful friendship with my cousin Camille who has come to stay with us and visit him a few times. It's amazing how much you might have in common with someone and you never knew it! I will cherish the breakfast we had in Howth a couple months ago, before Louis was very ill, when he was still full of life. MT and I, along with Camille and her other half Steve took our kids out for a bite followed by a walk on the pier. Louis took such joy in his great grandkids and seeing the bond Carra and Oliver had seemed to really touch him.

When Ciara came home from the States in October we were able to put all 6 of his great grandchildren in one place at the same time with him, which I'm sure meant a lot to him. Then just this past Tuesday, which seems a lifetime ago, he specifically asked for me to bring Carra in to see him. You could see he was struggling to get about anymore. But he lit up when he saw her. She spent an hour playing Hide & Seek, and Eye Spy while he sat and watched. When it was time to go, he gave her a bearhug the likes of which I've never seen and a huge kiss on the cheek. He knew.

Louis and 5 of his 6 great grandchildren. He looked proud and happy that day.

Last night, even though it seemed he was stable and would have a few more days, I felt compelled to say my goodbyes. Maybe 'I knew' as well. Since it became apparent he was dying, I have had this weird recurring thought. At every family occasion I can remember, Louis always did the speech. And what a public speaker he was. I just kept thinking 'who's going to do your speech?'. I tried to imagine what I would say if it were me. And I decided that rather than wait until he's gone, I should tell him all these things. I tried my best, and I am so grateful he was conscious while I spoke. In truth, I struggled to get the words out as clearly as I'd have liked. These are the things I wanted to say to him:

From a young age, I can remember lots of turmoil and drama in our family. My parents were dramatic and that gene doesn't skip a generation, apparently. But I observed many years ago how unflappable Louis was. How level. His highs were not dizzying and his lows not despairing. And above all else, it was his dignity, his class. He carried himself how I believe a man should carry himself. I never heard him shout or yell. He was calm, measured, classy. That is the one trait I admired most and have attempted to emulate my entire adult life. That grounded nature and the dignity with which he carried himself. I have tried to be like him in that way. 

I remember his sadness and the feeling that just a small bit of the life was taken out of him when he lost his eldest daughter Siobhan in April 2010. He opined to me that he missed her all the time. Louis never said something unless he meant it and I knew the pain was excruciating for him, more than he'd let on. For years he cut a wounded figure, a proud old lion limping along through adversity. But his quiet dignity remained. Always.

Lastly, I wanted him to know that I don't quite know how our family moves forward without him. Louis was the patriarch of the O'Connell clan. He was the constant. Omnipresent, he was 81 when I got married and no longer liked to travel, but he was the only family member who made the trip to Florida to be there for me. That was Louis. No fuss, no song and dance, no drama. But he was there for you. The conscience of the family. In one way, this day was always going to come and I knew that. And in another way, I just felt he'd be there forever, hovering just out of view but always around. His presence has always loomed in the background of my life, quiet enough that you would not always actively notice, but not so quiet that you would ever forget he was there. I will miss that so much. I will miss Louis. 

For Christmas 2013, Louis painted a really beautiful picture of he and Carra which he framed and gave to me. He was working on the same this year before he got sick. I love these paintings and this is how I choose to remember him. 

Congratulations on a life well lived Louis. I love you and I will see you again one day. 

Louis and Carra

Louis and Bayley