After spending several winters in Spain, Brian and I returned to Ireland in early 2021 to be closer to our family. Life felt wonderfully settled, with Brian back on the golf course and me in the garden. It seemed like we had struck the perfect balance between our two lovely homes.
But one sunny afternoon, the unthinkable happened… Brian was out on the golf course with his friend Tom, enjoying a casual game, when he collapsed suddenly from a heart attack. I was at home, making dinner and generally fiff-faffing around , when the call came. I rushed to the hospital it was too late. Brian had died almost as soon as he had been put in the ambulance. My world just disintegrated before me. I still don’t really remember it all. I just went into a state of utter shock. Before I knew it i was choosing the crematorium and his casket. Completely surreal. It just happened. I was like a rabbit in the headlights. I hadn’t really even processed what had happened but here I was, a widow. It was truly awful. My soul mate. My best friend. My rock. Gone.
The next few days were just a blur. Phone calls. Phone calls. Speaking to banks, councils, lawyers about Brian in the past tense. The past tense. Utterly heartbreaking. I’d never felt so alone. I had the kids around me thankfully but the Brian and me link wasn’t there. it was so difficult. I remember looking out of the kitchen window and seeing the garden I poured my energy into and thinking how futile it all was. They’re just plants. Thats all I’ll say for the moment.
The funeral was held in Galway, a city that held a special place in our hearts. Our three sons—Sean, a lawyer; Cian, a tech entrepreneur; and Eoin, an artist—came home to support me. Each of them shared memories of their father, from Sean recounting lessons Brian had taught him about integrity, to Cian’s stories of how Brian encouraged his ambitious dreams, to Eoin’s heartfelt tribute about Brian’s endless encouragement for his creativity. Their grief was palpable, but so was their love.
The funeral was a testament to the life Brian had lived. Friends from the golf club shared anecdotes about his humor and good nature, while neighbours from Connemara and beyond reminisced about his kindness. Even Max, our loyal black Labrador, seemed to mourn. He sat by Brian’s favorite chair every evening, looking lost.
In the days and weeks that followed, I was overcome with grief. I couldn’t face the garden. The plants that had once brought me so much joy now seemed lifeless. My sons stayed for as long as they could, helping with the house and keeping me company. But when they returned to their lives in Dublin, the silence became overwhelming.
I found it hard to sleep or eat and eventually spoke with my doctor, who prescribed medication to help me through the worst of the grief. It felt like a lifeline during those early months. I also sought support from a local bereavement group, where I met others who understood the weight of loss.
For a long time, gardening took a back seat. The weeds grew, the beds became overrun, and the tools sat unused.