It’s almost a year since I met my
beautiful grandson Tommy, my first grandchild, the little boy that pushes to
the forefront of my mind on a daily basis. The day of his arrival was
bittersweet. His skin was perfect, as soft as the first fall of snow of winter.
I left my inquisitive touch lingering on his cheeks, a statement of his
handsomeness chiselled high on his perfect face, his lips pursed in a kiss, confident
arches drawn with the precision of an artist’s brush. His beauty was
astounding, his silence overwhelming and yet he lives on in our hearts and our
minds, always a part of the family that love him with the intensity of lashing
rain that polishes pavements and seeps into the very roots of our existence.
Yesterday was the anniversary of
my grandmother’s death and symbolically I paid homage to them both, granny and
grandson, my loved ones that straddle the ladder of my life, stretching high
into an expansive sky that bends and folds and carries our memories in the
bright stars that burn brightly even when we can’t see them. Somewhere out
there, beyond the vast wings of the heron that sweeps majestically from the
misty clouds, they watch us and guide us and push and prod us and make sure we
know they are with us.
I’m on Rathlin, watching my home
at Mullindress take shape, its broad shoulders rising from the roots of that
lashing rain that is everything that I am and always will be. It’s coming on at
pace. The house is watertight, the roof fastened tightly like a rain-mate
tucked under the chin of an old lady pushing her way into the morning showers. The
windows are fixed, each frame a looking glass, a reflection of the beauty that
shapes every nook and cranny of the land and the sea that beams with pride,
shouting me, me, me as if poised in front of a camera. Its jaw-dropping beauty is
there at every turn, and it is within this nest of wonder that my house sits,
arms outstretched, pushing beyond the garden and hugging Tommy’s tree, it’s branches
in turn fondly embracing the memories of a grandmother whose warmth lingers in the
air with the intensity of the freshly baked bread she greeted the world with
each morning.
So, we’re getting there. I won’t
bore you with the detail but the kitchen is on its way (from Germany no-less),
as is the material for the bathrooms. The white oak floors and doors, wood with
a story to tell, will find its way to Mullindress soon, its message no doubt
strong and wise and protective. The first fit electrics are this week.
The dream is becoming a reality.
I just know that the stars will push closer tonight, a bright light penetrating
the darkness.
