A lot can change in a year, yet it lapses in the blink of an
eye.
Disclaimer: This is not a religious post, nor am I in any
way an expert theologian – just ask Fr Fleming and St Mary’s University Religion
department – so the following may be riddled with inaccuracy. My apologies if
this is the case!
Recently, I’d been teaching my class about Advent and
particularly about the meaning of each Sunday, and in turn, each candle. We had
a lot of discussion around this and about what it meant to the children and to
others in their lives.
Advent – the arrival of a notable person or thing.
A year ago on December 23rd, my wife and I buried
our first-born daughter Fionnuala. She had been stillborn on December 15th.
On December 8th this year, we welcomed our second daughter Muireann into
the world. The past year has been a journey for us and it is summed up well in
the meaning of the four Sundays of Advent.
Hope
“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all
the darkness.”
Desmond Tutu
As we entered the Christmas period last year, we were
brimming with hope. Our first child was on the way and there was nothing but joy
and hope in our lives. Our families buzzed with excitement and we gleefully
soaked up the giddy highs of being expectant parents.
By the 12th of December, that hope had been
shattered. Our baby’s heart was no longer beating. In the days that followed it
felt like there was no hope.
Gradually, though, the experience of others began to restore
some of the hope we had lost. The light began to edge into the darkness that
had consumed our lives in the immediate aftermath of Fionnuala’s passing.
We heard from parents who had lost children and had gone on
to have many more. It was reassuring to know that, although their other
children made their loss no less painful, their strength was what shone
through. Merely knowing that people close to us had been through a similar
experience was enough to let that ember of hope burn and grow stronger.
Peace
“Peace begins with a smile.”
Mother Teresa
Making peace with tragic circumstances is a major step in
moving on. As the year turned and routines began to return to relative
normality, there were times when it was harder than others to come to terms
with what had happened.
Seemingly small things, like seeing a child’s birthday on
social media, or just spotting a little girl while out and about was enough to
trigger a wave of sadness, and in some cases, sheer jealousy.
Meeting others who had reached out to us after our
experience to share theirs was really helpful, as well as attending the regular
Sands meetings, but the moment I really started to make peace with what had
happened was sharing the news with my class.
In the week I’d had off after Fionnuala’s death, the
children had been vaguely aware of, as they put it, ‘a relative’ having died.
When I returned, they never questioned anything, but were supportive in their
own way – offering to help, getting on with things when it looked like I might
have been struggling a little, but most importantly, being themselves and
showing a natural kindness to each other that was heart-warming.
Just before the end of term, during a Circle Time session, I
shared with them what had happened that week in December and how, just by
showing that kindness to each other, and through their constant smiles, they
had helped me come to terms with what had happened.
In a way, I was warmed by the thought that had Fionnuala
lived to be half as kind and good-natured as those twenty-six children were, I
would have been a very proud father.
Love
“Where there is love, there is life.”
Mahatma Ghandi
Over the last year, Colleen and I have been overwhelmed by
the outpouring of love in our direction. The volume of people who turned out
for Fionnuala’s funeral was entirely unexpected and we were both genuinely
touched by all who attended that day.
The constant stream of visitors who arrived at the door to
comfort us in our grief, those who contacted us to offer their sympathies, all
who sent cards and messages had a profound effect on us both and really helped
us as we attempted to move forward.
The love and support of our families and friends continued throughout
the year. Teammates and former teammates were a huge support for me in
particular as I returned to playing following Fionnuala’s passing and all were
instrumental in supporting our fundraising efforts later in the year.
In March, we found out that Colleen was pregnant again. We were
absolutely thrilled and, as the news began to filter out, we were again
overwhelmed at the sheer power of the love that came in our direction.
As the months of the pregnancy progressed, time and time
again we were left almost in awe at how loving, accommodating and supportive
the people around us were and we are incredibly grateful to you all.
Joy
“Joy is to fun what the deep sea is to a puddle. It’s a
feeling inside that can hardly be contained.” Terry Pratchett
On the 8th of December 2017, at 6:57am, our
second daughter, Muireann Tunney arrived in the world. It has been difficult to
wipe the smile from our faces since that night.
Even the deep inches of snow and precarious motorway could
not dampen the feeling of joy as we made our way to the hospital for Colleen to
give birth to our daughter. The smiles on the faces of our family and friends have further inflated our joy and with every new expression that makes its way onto our daughter's face it only increases.
Our joy has been shared by everyone around us and Muireann
has been well and truly spoilt in the attention she has received. She made it
just in time for her big sister’s first birthday, and has been well and truly
looked after by Fionnuala in her journey here to join us.
A lot can change in a year indeed.
Wishing everyone a happy and peaceful Christmas.
Nollaig Shona Daoibh from all the Tunneys.
