"There are places I remember all my life though some have changed, some forever not for better; Some have gone and some remain; All these places have their moments with lovers and friends I still can recall; Some are dead and some are living, in my life I've loved them all..." [-The Beatles]
Sunday, September 10th, 2017
I am headed to the Rock of Cashel and Kilkenny- cue more castle and history geek outs...It's a soft grey, drizzle and I am quiet. I wander through the ruins of the Rock of Cashel, and hold myself tight against the cold and the wind. I watch the sky as if I am trying to read tea leaves in a cup. But neither fortune nor apparition appear, and so I hold my gaze steady.
We reach Kilkenny and the rain has ceased for a moment. It is a subtle, reluctant sun, set against a marbled white and grey backdrop. I walk a circle around the city block. Tired. Again. And I decide that perhaps ice cream for lunch might revive me and so I pop into Murphy's and grab a scoop. I find a bench and finish my ice cream and I send a quick message to a friend back in the States. As I go to stand, I can't catch my breath and I sit back down.
My heart is at war with my body. It is something that I do not talk about, in part because I am still trying to understand it, as much as my cardiologist is still trying to gauge the depth and width of it all. There was a lot of discussion about this trip, a lot of debate and direction and pinky promise Jillian that for once in your life you will follow my directions to a tee...Well, I almost did...
I can't walk one more step, this much I know and so I walk back to the coach where Calum, our tour guide is waiting. He sees me and nods and I smile and tell him that I'm a bit tired. Calum is salt of the earth, a wool cap, weathered hands, and a smoker's cough. He tells me that he lives in a fishing village two hours out of Cork City, that he moves piano's, and does odd jobs and every now and then picks up a tour and that he goes to the same pub every night at home for a red ale and some local craic with the lads as it were. He tells me of the sea. And of his travels, he loved Japan but it is India that he will some day return to. I smile and tell him that I should very much like to see India one day as well. He tells me stories of Finn MacCool, the Irish hunter and mythical legend and I surprise him when I interweave my own bits into the narrative because I know the stories well myself. We are for the day, fast friends and Calum as if sensing my inner unrest, keeps by me as we stop here and there...
When we pull into Cork City, I snap a photo for my book and as I walk away, Calum calls out to me, "Take care of yourself lass." And I smile as I walk back to the River Lee.
My heart is arrhythmic and there is pain in my chest wall and I am running a low grade fever. This is very bad. I phone my cardiologist in the States and in turn, I speak with the cardiologist in Dublin. It's all quite normal, I'm told: you pushed beyond the parameters, etcetera, your body was not built for these environmental pathogens, etcetera, mind the fever and above all REST. Etcetera, etc.
I am wrestling with the added emotional weight of this. And so I make my way down to the terrace, to my friends, to what has been my sanctuary.
Sitting there, Mariead, one of my new friends at the River Lee pops over to me and asks about my day and we chat for a bit. It is warm, comforting and I need it so. And then Seona comes by and we chat and at the risk of being annoying, I ask if I might have one more picture and we take a selfie and I say to her, "Look it's almost like we're real friends." She laughs at me and says, "What do you mean looks like, we are real friends."
Before I leave Mariead comes back one more time to say goodnight. I'll be leaving tomorrow and she won't be in before I leave. I ask if we might get a photo, one more for my book, and she agrees and we snap a quick picture. She gives me a hug and wishes me well and says that she hopes I'll be back someday and I tell her that I dearly hope so, with all my heart.
***
Monday, September 11th, 2017
My heart aches. It is as much physical as it is emotional. I'm sitting on the terrace for the last hour that I have left at the River Lee. I sip my tea and write two thank you cards, one for Mariead and one for Seona. I'm crying little rivers into the ink and have to rewrite each card. Because maybe in all of this crazy journey, for 3 days, this place became more to me than a stay over. It became a refuge, a home really. It was belonging. And friendship. I wonder how it is that my heart can hold all of this- this joy, this sorrow, this hope for better days ahead, this curious doubt of what if...but perhaps, how is it that I can hold more love than I came with- because all of it has grown my heart full and overflowing...
I am walking out of the terrace one last time and I stop at where Seona is. I hug her. And we take one more picture that I refuse to call our last because I hope that it is not. And I do not say goodbye as I walk away, I say see you later. And it is a softer kind of sadness that folds into me as I leave.
After I check into my new lodging, I spend the rest of my day wandering through Cork City in a daze; I sat in the old sanctuary of St. Anne's Cathedral, walked the halls of the Crawford Art Gallery, and had a proper afternoon tea at Tara's Tea Room and I made my way back to the Maldron Cork. I wash the day off of me. And email my cardiologist to inform him that I have done very boring, restful things, that I am still fighting fatigue and a low grade fever, that I will watch for the tale-tell signs of pericardium inflammation and I will monitor my chest sounds.
I crawl up into the window ledge in my room and look out over the street. The row of window lights stretches out before me and I wonder at the people in those houses- if they are happy, or sad, if they are tired, or wide awake, if they are sick, or if they are well, if they feel lost, or if they feel found, if they know that they know they are loved, or if they grasp at every straw, always searching for it, that love- I close my eyes, and listen to my heart beat- it is slow and labored. Heavy. And so too am I...
I miss them all, Ellie, and Jimmy, Calum, Mariead, and Seona. I miss them fiercely.
I never imagined that I would come to Ireland alone.
And more than that, I never imagined that I would walk through Ireland among friends.
And though they are merely beautifully, fragmented, stained glass pieces in this story, they are apart of me now, all of them, my friends. And I know that long after I am gone from this place, I will carry them with me always.
I'm crawling into bed, thinking about the last few days, and I fall asleep to the truth that Dublin might be in my bones, but Cork is in my heart.
And when I think of this place years from now, no matter where my life might take me, the truth of it all will be, in my life, I have loved them all-
Retract that- in my life, I love them all.
I love them all.
Always...
-Jillian Nichole, my heart is here...
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