Abandon the idea that you will forever be the victim of the things that have happened to you. Choose to be a victor.
Seth Adam Smith

The highlight of last week was the arrival of a new client in An Saol who had spent years in hospital, a few months in the National Rehabilitation Hospital (NRH), and a year and a half at home with his wife looking after him. His life happened between bed and wheelchair. His wife had found An Saol. She and her husband were so happy to be among like-minded people. For the first time in at least two year, the man sat up on a plinth, outside of his wheelchair and outside of his bed. He’ll be standing soon.

There is a crack, a crack in everythingThat’s how the light gets in

This family joining us brought home to me again, if that was needed, the reason we set up the Centre and a demonstration of the urgency of its development. When the joy had settled, I asked myself:

  • Why did nobody in the hospital tell them about An Saol? – There is a Neuro nurse and a social worker who both visited our Centre.
  • Why did the NRH not refer him to An Saol? – They have referred patients previously, even ones who were much less affected by their brain injury.
  • Why did the HSE Disability Manager not send him to us? – HSE Disability Services in our area are fully aware of our services and they must have been fully aware of his needs.

First we take Manhattan…

Friday night was culture night.

We went to St. Pat’s College, now part of Dublin City University, DCU. We saw DCU’s president, Daire Keogh, the Artane Band passed in front of us, and – above all – we went to the Seomra Caidrimh where students played the most amazing Irish music.

Siobhán was in charge of the sessions. She offered tae agus brioscaí and, without any introductions, asked how Pádraig was doing. When I later asked her how she knew him, she said that she had studied in TCD but was a bit older than Pádraig. She had organised the Rith, a relay race organised in support of the Irish language, held for the first time in 2010 coinciding with Seachtain na Gaeilge.

Pádraig had told me about the run and the fun they had, stopping by in schools along the way, with whole school classes joining them for a while. Siobhán was cutting the ‘I love Gaeilge” stickers that must have been around for decades.

It was so heart warming to see that Siobhán remembered Pádraig as he remembered the Rith. It also brought a whole load of memories, feelings, and emotions with it that I was just about able to handle. It was one of those moments when I admire Pádraig most: how he deals with this is beyond me. But he does.

He is not a victim but a victor. Everybody knows.

I had forgotten to say that a couple of weeks ago we visited the Lough Rynn Harvest Festival & Vintage Day.

There were the usual exhibits: old tractors and tools. But also the almost exact Volkswagen Beatle we drove from Dublin to Madrid the day after our wedding; a real Spanish Churros outfit, a 20 euro Dublin millennium milk bottle, and, probably the most disturbing item, a famine coffin. The coffin, with a big black cross on top, had flaps underneath that were opened when the coffin stood over the grave. The body fell and the coffin was carried away to pick up the next dead body.

Last night, we went to The Point to listen to the RTÉ Orchestra playing the songs of Leonard Cohen. He would have been 90 years old these days.

They sentenced me to 20 years of boredomFor trying to change the system from withinI’m coming now, I’m coming to reward themFirst we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin

Here is what Tom Robbins had to say about Leonard’s voice:

It is a voice raked by the claws of Cupid, a voice rubbed raw by the philosopher’s stone. A voice marinated in kirschwasser, sulfur, deer musk and snow; bandaged with sackcloth from a ruined monastery; warmed by the embers left down near the river after the gypsies have gone. 

The voice is gone, but Leonard is still here with us. Everybody knows.

There is a crack, a crack in everythingThat’s how the light gets in