All real living is meeting.
Martin Buber, I and Thou

Pádraig likes spelling out words. He doesn’t do it often enough. Not because of any fault of his own, but because we don’t give him enough opportunities to do so. Though we are trying.

When he does spell words, it is a simple but very powerful demonstration of the fulfilment and joy that communication can bring.

He does it letter by letter, selecting each one from an alphabet chart. Often, there are a few people standing around him, all trying to guess, after each letter, which word he is spelling.

Whether he introduces ambiguity on purpose or it happens entirely by chance, I don’t know. Whatever it is, it is a source of enormous entertainment. He couldn’t enjoy it more.

Last Friday, he finished his sessions at An Saol a little earlier than usual. We asked what he would like to do with the spare time.

So he spelled out H – O – and everybody shouted: “Going H-O-M-E!”

Big smile.

He continued. The third letter was not an M but a T, followed by an E and an L.

What on earth did he want to do in a hotel at lunchtime?

You’re right. What else?

L – U – N – C – H.

I might have told you before about another memorable spelling experience.

We had asked him to describe different family members in one word.

One description started with S – M – A – and everyone shouted: “SMART!”

He did not continue with an R and a T, but with two very different and entirely unexpected letters—and a huge smile on his face.

I’ll leave you to guess the word. But you now know better than to call it out before all the letters are in.

Those moments demonstrate what life is all about: enjoyment and fun in simple yet profound shared experiences, full of spirit and humour.

We need to look out for those moments—and cherish them.

Buber was right, of course: all real living is meeting—and sometimes that meeting happens one carefully chosen letter at a time.

And perhaps the same is true not only of words, but of lives: we should never decide how they will end before all the letters are in.

Last Wednesday, Hannah Leonard finally came home to her family. She had spent almost two years in hospitals after being hit by a car in Sicily while training for the Dublin Marathon.

This was not the outcome everyone in the health system had expected—or believed possible. It was made possible by Hannah’s will to live, the determination of her family, and the thousands of people who supported them.

Together, they made the impossible possible.

Lives can change in a split second.

We can’t go back and change the beginning. But we can start where we are and change the ending.

It’s up to us.