My brilliant aunt would give me an alibi
Although I’m an atheist, I do believe in God...mothers. My aunty Norma is fierce, funny, brilliant, and brave. She’s always my champion, even when I don’t deserve it. Unconditional love, the really special kind — like if I ever need an alibi, I’m safe in the knowledge Norma would lie to authorities for me. And have a go-bag ready behind the sofa. Love you, godmother, and thanks for EVERYTHING.
— Esther McCarthy
So glad we jumped
Fifty years ago, love was in the air for us.
High on love, we jumped out into the blue-unknown, Our parachutes opened and entwined.
Remember the thrill, the madness of love, The certainty of youth, oblivious to fear...
And oh, the view, as we floated on high.
Exotic lands to discover, Crosswinds to blow us off course sometimes, Rainbows after storms, But love, always, to make the view glow.
Fifty years on, our parachutes still hold, Entwined, though frayed and worn, As we begin our final approach.
So glad we jumped, my love.
Here’s to a soft landing!
— Johanna Fitzpatrick
Wild boy
You were barefoot with another girl.
I was dressed up with a matching boy.
You sparked my interest.
Wild boy.
I kept an eye on you.
— Roz Crowley
Mum puts us first despite dementia
Our mother with advanced dementia still says how well we’re looking, tells us we should ‘go now, because you have work tomorrow’ and never lets us go without saying she’ll pray for us that night. She does not always know exactly which of her three daughters I am, but she still knows I’m her own. That’s love.
— Jill
A cheesy Valentine’s to my daughters
Valentine’s Day for you two is all about the cheese. With parents who refuse to go out to a restaurant on a night where it’s all tables-for-two and hold the romance, we’ve always celebrated at home.
Traditionally, we make fondue together, melting handfuls of grated Irish farmhouse cheese in an old-school fondue pot over a flickering, blue meths flame. Eaten by candlelight, this is the perfect meal with all my favourite dates, everyone bickering over that delicious crust at the bottom of the pot.
As you grow up and away, I hope you don’t get sucked into the idea that Valentine’s Day is only for one significant other. May you never be without a sister, friends or family on hand for a cheesy Valentine’s Day dinner.
— Caroline
Sharing a bowl of crab claws with my granddad
One of my earliest memories is of walking along a west Kerry road with my granddad. He used to walk with a stick so his pace was about just about right for three or four-year-old me. We were spotted by a neighbour who had just cooked up a feast of crab claws and he rushed out with a bowl of them for us to eat.
We sat on a stone wall by the side of the road. My grandad used one of those stones to smash the shells of the claws and together, we devoured the sweet salty meat inside.
I often think back to that day, sitting with my grandad, my feet dangling off the wall, and licking the crab off my fingers. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so accepted, so present, or so loved.
— Sharon Ní Chonchúir
I gasped in awe and delight on seeing my baby sister
“You are going to have a new brother or sister soon,” announced my mother when I was about six years old. I was spread out on the carpet playing with my baby dolls. The news left me totally unimpressed.
The taxi drew up outside the house some weeks later. I rushed out to greet my mother, who was carrying a small white lacy bundle in her arms.
I lifted the lace covering to have a quick look at my newborn sister. I gasped in awe and delight on seeing the tiniest doll-like pink and white baby, with a rosebud mouth, fair downy hair and miniature hands with perfect fingertips.
“Her name is Lucinda,” said mum, all aglow with happiness.
That was 80 years ago. Lucinda now lives with me and looks after me. She has been an angel to me all my life, loving and caring in every situation.
Lucinda has learning difficulties due to brain damage. Since the day I met her, I was under the magic spell of her charm and beauty. She has enhanced my entire life with her sweet ways.
— Cecily Lynch
To my 16-year-old self
I am sorry for being hard on you all these years, so let me make you squirm by telling you just a few things I love about you.
I love that you are easily duped because it means you approach everything with an open heart. You are sensitive and emotional. Please stop apologising for being those things because, spoiler alert, they are your superpower.
I love that you google noughties reality stars on the regular to make sure they are OK. I love that you deliberately buy marmalade with peel and then proceed to manually remove the peel, knowing all the time you could buy marmalade without peel and save yourself the trouble.
Mostly, I want to tell you don’t have to change yourself, for anybody. If somebody doesn’t like you, they are not your person, and that’s OK. Like, clearly they’re in the wrong here.
And leave your eyebrows alone — your mother was right about that one.
— Julie Jay
Friends since junior infants
We were both five years old and in junior infants in an era before sat nav, internet or mobile phones.
Home from school, you’d told your mum you’d made a new friend in class. You weren’t surprised when my mum’s car pulled into your driveway moments later. Though we lived several miles apart, she’d easily followed the map you’d had the savvy to draw in my copybook. Decades later, I love that evening catch-ups are still our thing, Karen, whether commuting or otherwise.
— Eve Kelliher
Time for a brew
It’s the little things that show love the most, like the ways you make tea and coffee for loved ones. The first cup from the pot for her, always, the weaker the better. One sweetener for him, two if it’s a large mug. A dash of almond milk for one brother, coffee for another. Milky for your sister, and the last inch of your own tea as a treat for the dog. And the one you haven’t made in years but you still hear his instructions like a whisper from another room: “A good drop of milk. Perfect, thanks love.”
— Denise O’Donoghue
Doctors said I might never be a mother
It’s been 21 years since I was diagnosed with cancer. When the chemo shut down my ovaries, the doctors told me motherhood might never be mine.
Today, the four daughters I share my life with, the children I feared I would never hold, are my love story.
— Vickie Maye
Finding love after divorce
I never expected to find someone after being blindsided by divorce in my mid-40s and left to raise two young children. The days of meeting someone in a bar or through a friend seem long gone, especially when you’re older, and in my experience dating apps are full of players. However, I met someone through a reputable dating site almost two years ago and we are still together, albeit at a slow to steady pace. No interest in marriage or cohabitating but we enjoy each other’s company, meals out, long walks, and nights away. From my point of view, it’s a win-win — all the romance without any of the domestic chores.
— Karen
Love from a wolf
As children we played games with him — our big Alsatian. “Peekaboo,” we’d shout from behind our father’s Ford Cortina, then run, the car our shield, him chasing.
As we shrieked louder, ran faster, his excitement built. We’d see it in his flashing eyes, his panting mouth, rippling through his massive legs — excitement edging into wildness.
We’d stop then, while he still could. But once, in the quiet semi-darkness of an outhouse, I crouched close, leaning my head against his side, crying for some childish upset. He stood silent, patient and still — his great body a bulwark for my sobs.
Years on, I recall it — love from a wolf with empathy.
— Helen O’Callaghan
I know looks aren’t everything but...
My (latest) true love is hardworking, helpful, and draws admiring looks.
It makes sensible decisions and is a source of well-being for me.
It isn’t a drain on my household finances and doesn’t take any more of my time than I’m happy to give.
And anyone who’s ever had to cater for a picky eater will appreciate this — it eats all it’s offered and also looks after its healthy snacks.
I know looks aren’t everything but if they come as part of the package then isn’t that so much better?
Meet my Venus Flytrap plant, Axl Rose II. (Just don’t ask about its predecessor, RIP.)
— Caroline Delaney
Daffodils dancing in the harbour breeze
Daffodils nodding in the People’s Park, twinkling kisses on the cold bank step. A missed bus, a Crunchie, that Friday feeling.
Daffodils lining up in a Killarney spring, celebrating new life within. Morning sickness with a five-star view.
Daffodils dancing in the harbour breeze. Two boys, dog, duck, never alone.
That Friday feeling, that springtime joy, daffodil-bright, still there, first date to married state.
— Deirdre O’Shaughnessy
We said our final goodbye to the sound of AC/DC
When I think of you, I think of fun, of a child-at-heart, of someone who brought a smile to everyone’s face. One of my fondest memories of you as a child is when you held off joining the older cousins at the pub to bring me and my little brother to the sweet shop to load up on bon bons and jelly snakes. It was probably the most expensive bag of pick ‘n’ mix I ever got. It was fitting, therefore, that just when things were reaching peak heaviness at your graveside three months ago, and the tears seemed like they’d never stop flowing, AC/DC’s Thunderstruck started booming through the sound system as we said our final goodbyes. “That was Robbie,” we said, as our tears dried in favour of laughs. Thanks for always reminding me to have fun.
— Nicole Glennon
My nana is the strongest woman I know
At 91 years young, my Nana is the strongest woman I know. A proud Limerick lady, she is never afraid to tell it like it is — and never fails to make us all laugh in the process.
Though I don’t remember it, I took my first steps with her. Those steps came after many attempts at standing me up in front of the sitting room door, encouraging me to walk towards her. Or so I’m told. But one thing I know for sure is she has been my cheerleader ever since.
Thank you Nana for everything you do. In return, I promise to always sit through as many Judge Judy episodes as you can take.
— Maeve Lee
Love from a five-year-old
I was eight months pregnant and all I wanted to do was sleep on that wet Sunday afternoon. To keep my five-year-old entertained, I put on CBeebies, took out his box of Power Ranger toys and stretched out on the couch.
He kept asking me to play with him over and over. My patience wore thin: “Stop — I just need 10 minutes’ sleep,” I cried out.
He didn’t say a word but went into the kitchen and returned with a piece of paper and a pencil.
“Could you write a note for me,” he asked.
I’d given up on getting a nap and reluctantly agreed.
“Mum,” he started, “you don’t know how much I love you.”
I dissolved into tears — and hugged my big-hearted son, thanking him for the lesson in unconditional love.
— Irene Feighan
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