“His hands were gentle, and his hands were strong…”
The day before Colm died, he asked me to bring him down to the oratory. That previous week, he had spent a lot of time down there. On this particular day, he was insistent. So I wheeled him down and told him I’d be back in a bit. A bit passed, and I went to get him. When I opened the door, he greeted me with a huge smile. A smile that indeed triggered a memory in my subconscious.
That memory took place when I was 13 years old and we had just moved into Hempfield Close. A warm Saturday greeted me as I awoke and I decided to go into Charlie Cullen’s for a magazine and some fizzy cola bottles. To reach Cullen’s, the Breen’s house was en route. I could hear a worn, bur contented voice singing “In…
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