Two weeks after my college graduation I’m moving to Europe. Waterford for the summer. Where my grandparents got married and had 6 children. Where my Dad lived for 20+ years. Where my parents were lucky enough to bring their 3 children back to throughout our lives. Where we buried my Grandfather on July 7th, 2024. Where I finally began to feel like I belonged in my own brain again.
July 2024
James Fitzgerald passed on July 5th, 2024, at 92 years old. My dads sister, Úna, was here in Boston with her two kids, sitting on my back porch when we got the call. They'd gone through a tremendous loss 6 months prior and this trip over to Boston was bittersweet to say the least. July 4th we spent an unbelievable night on the 54th floor of a Boston skyscraper, watching fireworks explode all over the skyline. And the next morning he was gone.
I stood in my parents kitchen unsure how to console my cousins who just experienced more loss in the last 6 months than anyone should in their first 16 years of life. I looked at them both and all I could get out was, "you guys are the strongest kids I know." I begged my dad to let me come for the funeral, it was last minute, expensive and he didn’t see why I wanted to endure all of that, “your grandfather would be horrified if you spent all that money to come over and watch him be put into the ground.” But I didn’t care. I needed to be there and I felt so extremely strong about it. I didn’t care what my parents had to say. The image of my cousin's faces when we stood in my kitchen that day was never going to leave my head and as much as my grandfather would have told us "not to fuss" over him, I wanted to be there for him. For my dad. For my baby cousins. For my grandmother, Mary. For everyone in my family.
And so the very next day I was there. It was morbid, yet peaceful. We held the wake in our family home that he built 60 years ago and I observed as people poured into the sitting room. My grandfather was my “grandpa”. Jim to his loving family, Da to his children, Mr. Fitz to everyone else in the city of Waterford. He was the epitome of a family man. One of 9 siblings. A devoted husband and father to 6 children, grandfather to 7. Beyond that he was a glowing presence in the life of any person who ever met him. I truly wish I could see his face to tell him I'm moving home. I’ll never forget when he told me he "hopes to God that he will be at my wedding some day," and I didn’t even bat an eye. He was like a gold ingot. I never thought about him dying. He was the sharpest, strongest, wittiest, softest, most stubborn person I’ve ever met.
So many people showed up. They showed up for him, told stories about him, wept for him. There is nothing like seeing a stoic old Irish man weeping over the casket of one of his dearest friends. I saw every perspective of this man imaginable. It was gray and raining the day his 4 sons and youngest grandson carried his coffin to Sacred Heart Church at the bottom of the street. I opened the front door before they walked him out, wearing my yellow floral dress, and my eyes met a whole crowd of people. Holding umbrellas, stood in the middle of the quiet street. And then I walked behind him as he left The Folly for the very last time.
We rented out the same hotel where we celebrated his 90th birthday, and headed there after the funeral. I’ll never forget the way people came up to me and told me how much he adored his family, or how much of a hard worker he was, or how he cracked jokes and cracked whips all at the same time. I knew this from the 23 meticulously labeled photo albums he had filled over the course of 50+ years. And from the way he spoke to me and my siblings. And the way any small achievement was never gone unnoticed, even from 3,000 miles away. But this was the first time I truly realized the gravity of his impact on those around him. People who weren’t even related to him gushed over his worldly presence and were in awe of how he seemed to raise 6 children who never strayed away from the devotion to family. I knew even more so why my dad was one of my favorite people on earth. It was because he had so much of James. All the special touches.
I was working through some tremendous mental struggles during this trip and without even realizing throughout the week I felt a bit better. Maybe it was being surrounded by family, all the distraction or feeling a bit more numb than usual. I had bigger things to clutch onto for the time being. And this completely catalyzed my life, or at least began the process. I promised myself that from here on out I would call my grandmother every single week and not let time and life get away from me because this family was so worth it and so special. I now talk to her almost every single day and I have never felt so lucky to have an 86 year old as one of my best friends.
I came home a few days after the funeral. I stood in my bedroom, sobbing to my boyfriend at the time, trying to express what I was feeling but unable to fathom it myself. A part of me thought I would get back to Boston and feel normal. That maybe the grief would stay in Ireland. A part of me was able to escape while I was there and I was now realizing that I hoped somehow I would get home and it would all be okay. I was grieving myself and my grandpa. But mental illness doesn’t work like that. Grief doesn’t work like that. Life doesn’t work like that. It was all still there inside of me.
So I planned another trip to Ireland, for January 2025. Something to grasp onto, even if it was 6 months away. Little did I know I would be going back as a completely different person. I am astounded. The difference between the girl who stood behind her grandfather's coffin in the Irish summer rain and the one typing these words is surreal. And now I’m going back again. Because it really is that special to me. I’m going back again for him. For her (me). For my family. And for my future family – to tell them that after the year I’ve had, I’m making one of the biggest changes I've ever had the privilege of making thus far. I'm moving home. And it’s the most serene feeling I’ve had yet.
Last summer I grieved my favorite place in the world. My favorite coffee shop in People's Park, my favorite pubs in Waterford, cliffside walks, mountain views...I never ever thought I would return feeling normal. I felt like I was too far gone and everything going on in my mind felt too real, too all encompassing to ever go back to who I was. Although, I could feel myself in the slightest bit while I was there, it crashed and burned as soon as I got home. I was grieving a dead person, myself, and a place all at the same time – something I never really expressed outside of my head because no one on planet earth would ever understand. It wasn’t worth trying to put into words at the time because I truly thought it would never matter. But it did. And it matters today more than anything, because as it turns out, things always change. A sentiment I held onto during some of my darkest days.
Wednesday, July 17th, I read a passage online from a stranger; all things mental health, life's ups and downs, love etc. One statement stuck with me so deeply I think the moment I read it is truly one of the reasons why I am where I am today; "But here's the good news. Your brain never stops changing. So you can change again from where you are. Perhaps not to who you were, but potentially to someone better." I've never grasped onto an idea so wholeheartedly, it refreshed my mind and flooded a new perspective through my brain. It matters that I was depressed, anxious, physically ill, a shell of myself. It all matters because I've changed, and seeing yourself change from who you once were is one of the most rewarding experiences in life.
So I’m leaving. And I don’t see it as something to grasp onto, because I don’t need that anymore. It’s an endeavor. It’s growth. It’s my dream. It’s happening because by some strike of luck I’m related to James and Mary Fitzgerald.
Love always,
xoxo Niamh Saoirse Fitzgerald
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