Seven years ago today I received a call from Sean, my brother, telling me that our Dad had passed away sometime in the night or early morning.  I was alone. In Cork city, just under 4,000 miles away from Jacksonville, Florida.  I processed, I screamed, I panicked, I made phone calls, I waited.  My friend, in the truest form of the word, was driving from Galway to pick me up in Cork – the last bus had gone for the night – and then bring me back to Galway to my Mum’s. Jen, I am eternally grateful to you.

Jen was three hours away, John was at a conference in Mayo, and my Father was dead. My Father, Jim Flynn, Mr. “Damned pleased to meet you,” was dead.  I had to get out of the house. Part of me was in a daze, foggy and uncertain, and another part of me was razor sharp and had taken on the role of self-carer.  She told me to grab my jacket, go into the kitchen and get the keys, “don’t lock yourself out, that’s all you need.” She marched me out the door, down the Western road and left towards the skate park.  I passed a lady and her daughter, a man with a little white dog, and three teenagers skateboarding on the ramps.

I walked across the bridge over the river Lee and stopped in the middle.  I held onto the side of the bridge and looked out over the river.  I have no idea what was going on in my mind.  I had no idea what was happening.  I felt like everything was about to come undone and I was stuck out here, away from home, no one knows me, I had only grabbed my keys not my wallet.  How would Jen find me? How would I get to my Dad? I believe it was a full on panic attack heading my way, and although I had been staring at down the river the entire time, I did not see it coming.

A blue heron rose up in front of me, wings spread wide. He flew right up and over me and soared back down below the other side of the bridge, levelling out along the water. It was stunning.  A few days later, I am standing in Florida on the banks of the St. John’s River and the Navy’s Gun Salute is happening.  My eyes move from the uniforms, past the podium with my father’s picture, to the river.  Just coming into sight was a blue heron, skimming the water.

I have thought of those moments for quite some time, marvelling at the synchronicity; I thought of how many times I have experienced a heron’s presence. How calming it always is; how beautiful.   I do not know with certainty if there is meaning beyond what I give it personally. Though, that is meaning in its own right, yes?

This past spring I took part in a wonderful grief recovery program.  On the eve of the final night, I was at my creative writer’s group thinking of the letter I needed to have completed.  In the letter, you process the relationship you had with your loved one who is now gone from your life [circumstances can vary], and at the end you say goodbye. Literally.  I hadn’t written the letter yet.  Something felt off.  I have taken a long time to say goodbye to my father, his presence was mighty. And the sign off at the end? It didn’t feel like enough.

At the beginning of some of our writing sessions, we pull cards as a form of inspiration.  That night I picked a random card, face down, and passed the deck.  When I flipped over the card — it was a heron.

Everything clicked then.  I wrote my letter and left off the goodbye.  That would come today:

So, here it is. Goodbye, Dad; I love you.

Post Script:

I know that my getting a tattoo would make my father chuckle.  When I got my first tattoo many moons back, Dad would tell anyone who would listen – “I spent 23 years in the Navy and never got a single tattoo! Now my daughter has one!” If I was present, I would reply – “Just making up for your lack, Dad.” He would purse his lips into a half smile, half “You’re a cheeky monkey” look and call me a “Turkey.”  I know the look well, I use it with quite a few of my students.  It means roughly, “I wish you hadn’t just done that, but you are wonderful nonetheless, and I really like your moxy.”  At least, that’s my interpretation. So, Dad, if you are making the face just remember, “I have three tattoos so far, and never spent a day employed by the Navy.”  Pretty sure that means we’re square.  I love you, Pops. See you in the dreaming world.