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More Than One Way Home

14 Sunday Jun 2026

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Ain’t no right way – Ain’t no wrong – Whatever road you might be on – You find your own way.
Keb’ Mo’,

We all have moments in our lives we will never forget. For me, many of those moments are associated with music. More than one way home. And now also the lads from Killeagh.

One summer, I was in my parents’ house with my sister who was ten years older than myself. Both of us had long left home and were just back for a visit. Mark Knopfler and Keb’ Mo’ were guests on a music programme on the telly. I told my sister how much I liked their music and the songs they had played. The next day at lunch time, she came back from town with two records: one by Mark, the other by Keb’.

I had never ever seen Mark or, indeed Dire Straits, live. But last Monday, Keb’ Mo’ played in Dublin and I managed to get two fourth row tickets, right in front of the stage.

He was brilliant. He is not only an extraordinary musician, he is also funny and completely understated. Full of energy at almost 75 years of age.

For me, though, it was much more. It was one of those moments, when tears come to my eyes. Memories become overwhelming. People long gone appear right beside me. That love, that caring feeling, that feeling of being loved, being care-free, not having to worry about anything is there again, stronger than ever. Those two magic albums my sister got me. It was back, present with me last Monday.

On Thursday, I had a dentist appointment. (Not one of these anymore, where the dentist tells you all is good, and ‘just keep brushing your teeth’…:) There is always a paper in the waiting room. That day, I was reminded that there is another world out there. A world I don’t seem to be connected to anymore.

One of the (longer) headlines read:

“Did that woman need to eat an entire pizza during a showing of Devil Wears Prada II? I do not believe that poor comportment indicates poor personal values, but could she not have waited until afterwards?”

Well, I don’t think that I will ever find out the answer to this important question. So important that it made the front page of Ireland’s most important broadsheet.

But it brought a big smile to my face. I agreed with Fiona McRedmond, the author of this headline in last Thursday’s The Irish Times, that there is a time and a place to do certain things. Or not to do them. Right?

Which brings me to another of Keb’s classics: “The Old Me Better”.

I liked the old me better, I was a lot more fun
I liked the old me better, didn’t take crap from anyone
Well I’d sleep all day, party all night
Did whatever I wanted whatever I liked
You made me a brand new man but I liked the old me better

I do things now I would never have done as “the old me”. I lie awake all night. I don’t party anymore. I take a lot of crap from too many people too many times. I don’t have that much fun anymore. – I’m all with Keb’: I like the old me better.

The new me has learned to be happy with and about much less. That’s a lesson Pádraig taught me. He is happy with and about very little. As always, a trailblazer. Minimalism, seeing the essential, not being distracted by all that noise around us – this is what we should all focus on. The rest is wasteful and destructive.

Last night, Pádraig brought me and a friend, and his sister, along to see Kingfishr in Malahide. This was definitely not about bringing up old memories like Keb’ did. This was about the new. The upcoming. The energy and pride of the lads. The beating on the chest. The “boys roar for to rattle the air” energy. The “bury me with my hurley” pride.

They’d go rarin’ and tearin’ and fightin’ for love….

It was a fantastic evening.

There were moments when I felt like the old me: when I didn’t take crap from anyone, when I’d sleep all day, party all night, did whatever I wanted whatever I liked. I thought: Well, there ain’t no right way home. We’re finding our own way.

And when our time’s at an ending, when our days are no more. Please bury us with our hurley by the River Dissour.

Killeagh, la, la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la. La-la, la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la.

Brewster

30 Sunday Mar 2025

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The only limit to our realisation of tomorrow will be our doubts of today.
William Brewster

There were lots of doubts, those days almost 12 years ago. Back then, we were not sure at all whether there was going to be a tomorrow.

When I went back to Brewster on Cape Cod last week, it felt unreal. In a different way ‘unreal’ as it had felt back then, but unreal.

Was it really here that we spent the most terrible weeks of our lives? In this hospital, in this cafeteria where the organ donation team was waiting for us one day (we kept them waiting until they left), in this chapel with a book full of desperate prayers, in the ICU, and the ICU waiting room with its coffee machine supplying endless amounts of the dark, watery drink? The harbour where we walked around while they were cleaning Pádraig’s room and where, one very early morning, we decided to bring Pádraig home, no matter what?

And Brewster Main Street, Route 6A, where Mr Couto’s car hit Pádraig’s head just before he reached the now closed Bramble Inn on 2019 Main Street, recently taken over by the Spinnaker Restaurant, where he was working during that summer. The Brewster Police Station, whose officers were investigated by the Massachusetts Attorney General’s Office who were considering criminal proceedings against them. The plaque we put down into the ground at 1990 Main Street where the accident happened. And signs everywhere around Brewster urging drivers to ‘share the road’ with cyclists and to keep a minimum of 4ft of a distance from cyclists when overtaking – put up following Pádraig’s horrific accident.

That day, that accident, turned out to change not just Pádraig’s, our family’s, and his friends’ life – it changed the lives of all the people attending and benefitting from the An Saol Foundation he inspired, the organisation carrying the name and the logo he came up with when he started his podcast to promote the Irish language in the digital world.

We have a vision of tomorrow. Of a world where nobody with a brain injury will be written off, locked away in a care facility, and be told they aren’t worth the investment it would take to make life and living with their injuries possible.

The only doubts we have is the sincerity of the health and the political systems when they say that they will not leave anybody behind and that they will support our work.

That day in Brewster was devastating. Every day, I can nearly feel myself the hit on the back of my left head when Mr Couto’s truck hit Pádraig’s head with speed. It is as if I could feel my own head hitting the tarmac and going unconscious. Last week, I could see the accident happening on this narrow road were two cars can just about pass each other with absolutely no space for a cyclist coming in their way.

Mr Couto’s irresponsible, if not criminal, driving and the Brewster Police Department’s irresponsible, if not criminal, accident investigation we cannot change.

But it is up to us to accept our responsibility to help those who are still branded ‘hopeless cases’ to have the best possible quality of life, being part of society, not segregated, being with us, not put away in some care facility.