Can I share something with you?
I've always somewhat envied those who can say with such certainty that they can feel their loved ones around them wherever they are. Those, who say they get 'signs' or have even more tangible experiences.
Sure, there are those special visiting robins that make me think you are coming to say hello but I have had very few times where I can truly say that I could feel your presence.
I remember the first time, probably during the first year after your died. We were in the car on the way back from Corbally and just about coming up to the graveyard. You used to have a certain way of putting your little head on my lap when I was sitting on the couch and sitting in the car's passenger seat, I could almost feel the weight of it in that familiar spot.
I suppose it made me quite sad at the time. The loss was so recent and raw and I remember wishing that I could reach down and feel those curls or reach behind me to tickle those chubby legs dangling off the car seat.
Now, 8 years have passed almost in the blink of an eye. The loss is not as recent but as raw as ever when I stop and think, really, think about it all. It feels as surreal, as nightmare-ish. No amount of time can ever heal that kind of trauma - though we have learnt to live with it in our lives.
Our lives; our crazy busy, rich lives; full of memories; of happy and of sad times. All throughout you are remembered and you are missed. Eoghan misses his big brother, though he never got to meet you. I can hear him telling Caoilfhionn about you to make sure she knows all about her big brother, too.
Along the way, I suppose I accepted that those kinds of special experiences are perhaps not meant for me and that was OK, too.
It was such a special feeling so, when, as I was out walking a few weeks back, I suddenly sensed you pulling up beside me and walk with me. Not your little 22 month old self, but an older version. Blonde curls, almost shoulder height to me, lanky and lively, in an odd way. You stayed with me for a good stretch of my walk, in a kind of a silent conversations, and your presence seemed to be really reassuring even though I wasn't able to make out the details of your face.
It was a surprise, too, because it happened so out of the blue, so randomly, on a bog-standard, ordinary, grey evening. Not on a special mountain-top or beside the vast roaring sea. Just along the Dooradoyle Road with cars driving past. A walking route, that, perhaps, was very familiar to you and I both.
Or maybe my subconscious just really needed your quiet reassurance. I don't know.
Not long after this, I got a strong sense of your presence again. I was trying to rest or sleep and that time, you definitely had been on my mind. And I was sad. But just then I felt as though you were there beside me again; your older self; resting your hand on my shoulder.
Those are the only times so far that I can truly say I really felt you there with me. Perhaps it was all in my head - but do you know what?
It gave me a huge sense of peace and something I never thought I would get: A tiny imagined glimpse of an older you.
So, walk with me. Anytime. Anywhere. Walk by my side.
