My Life with Marie Gleeson: A year after my baby died, I took command of the LÉ Aoife

I’ve always felt like wherever Ciarán is he is looking down on me. That’s why I always want to make him proud
Marie Gleeson: They say you shouldn’t make any big decisions after such a life-altering event, but almost a year and a half later, I took command of the LÉ Aoife

Marie Gleeson: They say you shouldn’t make any big decisions after such a life-altering event, but almost a year and a half later, I took command of the LÉ Aoife

Losing my baby was the most painful day of my life, but as a former naval captain, I realise that every storm passes.

I often sign my book —  Be Like the Sea: Life, Learnings and Leadership from an Irish Navy Captain — with this same message.

That’s because no matter how bad things feel in the moment, you will get through it. Every storm I was at sea in was horrendously difficult. There were times when I thought we might have to abandon ship. In those moments, it didn’t feel like the vessel would survive the pounding it was taking. However, it’s important to remember that the wheel will always turn. You just have to put the bow of the ship into the waves and hold your position. Even if you’re doing nothing else besides holding on, it does come around. That’s not to say that being in the eye of the storm isn’t excruciating.

Even though my son Ciarán was only on this planet for six days, his short life changed mine forever. From the day he was born, he defied the odds, doing everything that doctors said he wouldn’t. We were told that he would be this miserably small baby and that he wouldn’t thrive when he was born. We were told he would never breathe unaided. Doctors also believed he would never make it out of the Coombe and into Crumlin Hospital. He came into this world weighing 8 lb 15 oz. Ciarán was beautiful, dark and strong with sallow skin. 

It’s difficult to believe just how inordinately proud you can be of such a tiny human being who can’t even speak but is giving it everything. That was the part that probably gave me the bravery. This acquired courage carried me through the years that followed Ciarán’s death on January 15, 2012. They say you shouldn’t make any big decisions after such a life-altering event, but almost a year and a half later — on May 31, 2013 — I took command of the LÉ Aoife. 

It’s strange because at this point I was barely able to make a decision about what I was having for dinner that night. I was close to leaving the Navy when I learned that one of the guys who was due to go to sea had to be rushed to Cork University Hospital after his appendix burst. I figured I was leaving the Navy anyway, so I might as well take the opportunity. There was also another motivating factor. I’ve always felt like wherever Ciarán is, he is looking down on me. That’s why I always want to make him proud.

There was a time when I might not have believed I could take command of a vessel like the LÉ Aoife because I was so preoccupied with perfection. I was a perfectionist before having Ciarán, but the grief knocked that out of me. During my pregnancy, I didn’t smoke or drink. I trained and ate healthily. I was a perfectionist who did everything right, but the unthinkable still happened. The reality is you don’t need to be perfect. You just need to get out there and do your job.

In some ways, commanding the LÉ Aoife grounded me and gave me back a purpose. I started to feel like myself again. The experience made me realise that even when you have been broken into a thousand pieces, you can still put yourself back together. Ciarán gave me the bravery and the courage that I needed to succeed.

There is a lot of pressure that comes with a mission like this. You are not only responsible for a multi-million euro state asset, but the lives of 40 people as well. There have been many other highlights from my career, including a major joint drug interdiction I was involved in off the southwest coast of Ireland in November 2008.

I’ll never forget receiving a letter from a mother from the northside of Cork who wanted to thank us for taking drugs off the streets. What we had achieved meant a lot to her because her family had been ravaged by drugs and she had lost children as a result.

Getting that level of grounded reality and recognition is better than any presidential award or distinguished service medal. It took my breath away, because I realise just how important family is. I have two daughters, Laoise, 11, and Muireann, who is 10. I’ve told them all about Ciarán, and they talk about him minding them from Heaven. We celebrate his birthday together every year by visiting his grave. Afterwards we’ll go to the ice-cream parlour before having some cake at home. 

Of course there are heart-wrenching moments. I’ll never forget the day Laoise came to me emotionally bereft. She told me that Muireann didn’t want to play soccer with her and that if Ciarán was still here, he would play soccer with her. “I just miss my brother,” she told me. At times like this, I wonder if telling the girls about Ciarán was the right thing. Not everyone can deal with the hurt and the pain, but whatever works best for your family dynamic is the right thing for you.

  • Marie Gleeson will be a keynote speaker at the Anam Cara Cork Fundraising Lunch, which takes place at the Maryborough Hotel on Friday, October 30. The charity supports parents after the death of their child. To find out more about the charity, visit anamcara.ie 
  • Marie released her memoir, Be Like the Sea, in May. It is currently available in all good bookstores.

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