A life in a bag another old piece

A Life in a bag ©

By

Michael Casey

One of our neighbours died the other day, she was an old lady with white hair, the kind of nice old lady you see in the street. She used to have meals on wheels, I could see another nice lady deliver them to her door. I could see the old lady’s children and grandchildren come and visit. But now she is dead.

I’ve grown up with death, so I have no fear of it, its another journey, perhaps even like jumping into a swimming pool, you just have to hold your breath and jump right in. We had an undertakers at the bottom of our road, and as an altar boy I served at over 30 funerals, the Funeral Mass is the one with the best reading, Lazarus and all that. Jesus loved Lazarus so much that he raised him from the dead, Eternity will be like that for all of us. Well apart from the atheists, who just won’t believe it, so they’ll stay in some sort of waiting room, Florida perhaps?

When somebody dies its like a punch in the stomach, your dad cannot be gone, you love him too much, it can’t be true; it is and you pine like some sick dog for hours.

I have never cried for my mother, she told us all no crying, so that’s what I did, I obeyed her.

You have to clear up after the dead, their home, their possessions have to be sorted and even divided. As you go through the house, the flat, the one room bed sit you see their life fall before you. Are they really like that, did they really do this, all kind of everything are revealed. A secret drinker, a collection of spicy videos, or just 6 Bibles all lined up; the dead have no secrets, they are as naked as the day they were born.

I’ve had to clear up, and help clear up several times, we had lodgers you see, so we had to act as family and tidy everything up; sometimes even finding forgotten Wills and then following them to the letter. Sending Home a couple of bodies, people want to rest in their own clay; when my time comes there are 3 local cemeteries where I could end up. Burial is best, I don’t want to be burnt, I’m big the fire brigade would have to be ready.

As I look out the window I can see a life being tidied up, everything is still raw for them, you see this, you touch that, a photo or some treasure brings the memories flooding back. When the tears are over you still have them, I tell my kids our love is in them, mum and me made them, they are part of us, so they’ll never lose us. As the possessions are taken from the house over the road a life ebbs away, the character of the house is changing, I’ve seen all this before, I’ve cleared up, I know how it feels.

A chair or an old radio is taken away, its useful and you’ll remember  gran/dad/mom/your brother when you use the thing, but the thing is full of love because of who it belonged to.

Finally you’ve finished and the house is empty, the house is dead, soon the house will be sold. Soon the life of the owner is gone, the house is empty, but once the new owner and family arrives the house will have a new life, it’s a home again. Then new life is restored, all that remains are a couple of carrier bags found forgotten in a pantry, you give them to the charity shop, at least somebody will get a bargain.

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To Touch a Beating Heart

this is an old piece, Elvis museum was on tv yesterday and today I stumbled over this. I also spotted that USA figures seem high, the graph looks like a readout from a heart monitor,  mathematically spaced out. As if every couple of hours my stuff is grabbed. So hears one to grab you.

To Touch a Beating Heart  ©

By

Michael Casey

I was watching Jools Holland’s show and later on I watched Glee, its just finished in fact, Music has such an effect on me, I hope on everybody else too. Music DOES Touch a Beating Heart. Music is like a heart beat, it offers rhythm to our lives, it goes fast and it goes slow, and when it ends we are dead.

Obama is in Ireland and now on his way here, he will have no doubt heard some music just as the Queen did, I imagine that as he has tea with the Queen they’ll both remark on their Irish trips, and I’d guarantee that Music will be part of that conversation.

My dad discovered Elvis in his 60s, he watched all of Elvis’s movies over a Christmas break, my dad was impressed. Musicians do touch our beating hearts, their power is so great, within 2 seconds a piece of music can get to you. If I’m very lucky within 30seconds I’ve touched somebody with my words, but music is still at least 15 times faster. I am of course so very very jealous, I can hear music on the Phoenix Chinese TV station and even though I know no Mandarin the music and the Chinese words still can touch my beating heart. I am lucky that a window has been opened into another kind of music, I wasn’t expecting that when I found my Shanghai wife.

So what is it with Music,  when the first cave man made love and heard the beat of his mate’s heart, did it fill him with wonder and then did he copy the beat with bones banging on the skull of his enemy who’d he recently eaten?  Whatever the reason I am so so jealous, a beat a rhythm a song or just the roar of the sea or even of the wind itself, all of this is music.

I’d love to be able to write songs, I have produced a few good poems, and some say my writing is poetic, but really the way I write is the way I write, I’m not clever enough to analyse my style, it is what it is. I  am lucky though if I get a few good reports, but I’d rather touch a few beating hearts.

    

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How do you die?

I wanted to write something tonight maybe about Peace or even about the end to a tyrant as Trump may end part of  Assad's reign  instead I stumbled on this old piece of writing maybe from 7 years ago. 

How do you die?

By

Michael Casey

I read an article tonight in the DT, it really got me thinking. I was interrupted by my 7 year old daughter coming down to say goodnight again and to pull faces in the mirror behind me. So I gave her a drink of milk and she gave me a kiss goodnight and then she went to bed again, happy with her thirst gone. I was happy too, for every goodnight kiss is a priceless thing. I stop to mention this because the article was about Ovarian Cancer and it talked about the lack of tact doctors have when telling somebody they are to die, the doctors cannot do anything for the patient.

Now back in 1996 my mum died peacefully in her sleep, my brother had ran around and climbed into the bed and held her in his arms and tried the kiss of life. But her time was up, she had died in the bed he was born in. 8 bare weeks later my brother, the same brother hear a noise, our dad had fallen out of bed, again my brother tried CPR, this time he laid our dad down on the bedroom floor. He saved our dad.

Now dad was given one week to live and we even picked hymns for his funeral, however I believe Padre Pio saved him. In total our dad lived 5 and half years more. And I met a Shanghai girl and now have 2 children.

Now there a a couple of things we all need to think about, does faith change outcome? In America that had teams praying for sick folks and there seemed to be reason to believe that those who were prayed for got better faster. Positive people   seem to get better faster, or live longer if they are living a death sentence. If you are negative and a depressive, say your name is Victor Meldrew then you will take longer to get better and if you are facing a death sentence you will reach your grave sooner.

We all remember the lady who did all the sports and was determined to make a difference before she died. Motivation can make all the difference to a situation. If you are scared stiff of dying then you will suffer horrors. My own dad was in hospital at Dudley Rd for 12 weeks, when he "recovered" he  said he really suffered. When you're on diamorphine and all manner of stuff I imagine you get horror movie level of dreams until the veil is parted and you return to the light. Being trapped in your mind must be like being in Hell itself.

Something in your mind leads you out of your sickness. I believe the prayers of family and priests DO help too. When the final curtain beacons attitude does make a difference. I know somebody who says "I hate death, or I'm afraid of death." Me I don't have that fear, when my mother died I did not even cry because my mum always said "Don't cry" so I followed her instructions. I did whelp like a puppy dog 5.5years later when my dad finally died. But to my point, I am lucky I inherited my mum's Faith when she died, not because I'm in any way pious, rather because it was the thing that I needed most. So don't be afraid of death, just  don't even think about if. Death is not worth listening too, sure we will all die, but a life lived well is what we should be concentrating on. Even if we are racked with pain and on diamorphine, we can all enjoy the flowers. Yes you will all condemn me, but I reply if we can add a little sunshine to our own lives and to those who are on the final stretch then that will be a good thing.

My other daughter just came down for a goodnight kiss and to remind/nag me to tuck her in and give her another goodnight kiss. These simple things are tokens of love and I pray everybody who reads this will agree with me, a family united in love is the best way to live life until this life ends.