It was Tuesday afternoon when I got the message. My nana wasn’t going to last the night. I rushed home and my dad was already packing his bag to fly to Dublin to say his goodbyes. It was his apple watch that told him the final news.
Angela Carroll, born 26th February 1940, had passed away.
I was meant to go to a cabin in the woods, a “digital-detox” with no internet for four days, but instead I sat at my kitchen counter in London on Friday morning watching the funeral live streamed from Rathfarnham, Ireland. I’ll detail my horror airport travels in next week’s post.
When I heard the news, my dad collapsed into my mum, letting out loud sobs. I stood there unsure of what to say or do. We hugged each other tightly as a family unit. I’ve never lost somebody close to me before and all I could feel was this heavy weight on my chest. Grief is an overwhelming feeling. It’s an unhinged emotion that can suffocate you. We all go through emotions that we feel regularly - happiness, sadness, anger, heartbreak. But grief only shows up every once in a while and it lingers much longer than anything else, sometimes days, sometimes months, sometimes years.
The hardest part to accept is knowing that I don’t get to see her anymore. I don’t get to spend summers with her in the West of Ireland. I don’t get to hold her hands when we cross the road or watch her shuffle around the kitchen for biscuits or have her give me a book about an Irish traveler and his dog and their journey across the country (she loved those sort of stories). When we go out to the shops, she won’t be there to push a tenner into my hand and to tell me to “treat yourself to something nice.” I think of her little green purse that she’s had for probably ten years, the leather peeling away by the seams. I wonder where it has gone; who will be the purse's new owner?
I’ve tried to write this piece a few times. I have notes written down on what I could say. I've thought of anecdotes I could share with you so that you could know how amazing she was because that’s how I remember her. When I try to think of ways to sum up who she was, the very essence that made her Angela Carroll, I draw a blank. She was everything - compassionate, devoted, patient, empathetic, and no matter what I tell you, you won’t really get it because really, you didn’t know her - and that’s okay.
So instead, I’ve gathered a short list of what you should know about Nana: She was born during the second year of the second world war, she grew up on a street called Strawberry Hill, she drank about nine cups of tea a day, her stories always included people you never knew and therefore were always really long, she loved to cook, she was a wonderful painter, she was the first person to get me excited by cooking, she could have a conversation with literally anybody and it’s why everybody remembers her, she had an excellent memory, and she loved her flower garden in Cong. Something about the fresh countryside air always made her feel better.
Nana was buried on Friday evening in her family plot in Cong, County Mayo, Ireland alongside members of her family including Mammy and Daddy Herrieven. I’ll visit her in the summer next year.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam. May her soul be on God's right hand.