News of his Death

News of Wolfram's death reached me at 10.15pm on 3 February 2006. I was on the phone to my daughter in Scotland, when I heard my mobile phone ringing in the next room. I walked in to look, saw that it was "Wolf Ireland" and said to my daughter "I'll just see what he wants and tell him I'll ring back" while she stayed on the phone - so in a way I was not alone when I heard the news.

        If this has ever happened to you, I am sure you will have had the same feelings as I had. First, it can't be true - it mustn't be true. Especially if the person telling you is someone you don't trust. You keep very very calm, hold on tight to everything, and suspend belief.  They said he was in Cork University Hospital for a post mortem. The obvious thing to do was ring there.

         Don't ask me where I got the number. Probably from Directory Enquiries, but I have no memory of that. I spoke to the Night Sister and she asked me to ring back in ten minutes and she would "have that information for me". Of course I was not his wife, having divorced him, so it was not surprising when I rang back that she said : "I am sorry I cannot divulge that information to you, you must ring Killarney Garda".  I guess at that point I knew it was true, he was there, he was dead. The police confirmed this. Like all Irish people, the policeman, Joe McCarthy, was very kind and sympathetic - he was the first to say that phrase I would hear over and over - "So sorry for your loss" - and believe me, they mean it. Whether it is the softness of the brogue, but I doubt it. You can tell sincerity. It comes through so clearly.

Coping

I suppose that many others will have also experienced memory loss at this point. I know I must have phoned my daughter back to let her also know that the dreadful, unbelievable news was true, but I cannot remember anything I said.  The next dreadful thing I had to do was ring his mother in Germany and tell her. Frequently, over the years we were together, I had come across his mother's address and phone number in my book, and always thought : "I hope I never have to ring her and tell her he is dead".

           Now I had to do just that.  Wolfram's mother, Maria, has very little English, and my German, though adequate, is not up to breaking news like this. It was late by now, and even later in Germany, but I knew this was something that could not be left until the morning. I hoped to get Melanie, Wolfram's half sister, as she is very fluent. 

          Josef, Maria's husband, answered the phone and I asked if Melanie was there. He said no, and passed the phone to Maria. What an awful thing  it was I had to do. Tell this poor woman her son was dead. She kept saying No, Wolf is not here, he is in Ireland. I think she thought I was trying to get in touch with him through her.  He is in Ireland, but he is dead, I said.  She was as stunned as I was, and asked me to ring in the morning at 8am, when Melanie would be there.

Vigil

I lit candles in the downstairs rooms, and held a vigil. I was numb, lost, I felt he had gone away and I didn't know where he was. There was a nothingness, a void.

Came home

At quarter to three in the morning he walked in. I did not see him as in life, there is another level of vision where we see just as clearly. I knew this was no mirage, no mistake. The atmosphere had changed completely, including the pain in my heart, and the way I felt. Everything was back to normal, He was home.  

          I said, "You're here, aren't you", and he said "Yes", then I felt him enter into me, as I have felt other spirit forms enter me before. This was different, in that other spirits always enter by the mouth, and I have a feeling of warmth passing down my throat and into my chest, which fills up with warmth. Wolf just went straight through the chest wall, filling it with warmth.

          We sat down and talked. It was wonderful to have him home, safe and secure. He told me he was never going away again. As he was inside me, the talking was more like thinking, his thoughts and my thoughts, soundless, without words.  Through the night, sometimes my thoughts would go to the fact of his death, but he would not let me go there, he steered my mind back to him, saying "I am not dead, I am alive and I am here". After a while, if my thoughts went to his death, he would become distressed, so I learned not to think that way. There was another topic he did not want me to think about - the unhappiness I had suffered the last three years, after he left me - if my thoughts went there, he said "I want to brush away the last three years, as if they never happened". So we were not going to discuss that subject.

          That was the first night.

Next two days

He was intensively present during the next two days - Saturday and Sunday. I went out in the morning to find that the big altar candle I had lit and placed in a flower tub was still burning. This continued to burn all Saturday and all Sunday.

          First I had to phone Germany. All I knew was, I was going to be with Wolf. If the Germans were coming to Cork, I would go to Cork and meet them there. If they went to Killarney, I would go to Killarney. If they did not come, I would go anyway. Nothing was going to stop me.

          At first they said they were coming, but soon after that Maria became too ill to travel, or do anything. Melanie could not leave her. They wanted Wolf to come home, but as it would be very difficult and expensive to bring his body, they wanted him to be cremated and have the ashes sent.  I said I must go and say goodbye to him properly, and I would go to Ireland and arrange everything.

          I had a phone call from Tim, from the church Wolfram had joined, saying that all his friends there would like to  hold a memorial service for him. So I thought how nice if Wolf could be there too. 

          Joe McCarthy (Garda) told me I had to wait for Cork to release the body, which he thought would happen that day (Saturday) and that I could then arrange for the funeral directors to pick him up. He told me O'Shea's had taken Wolf to Cork, but that I was free to use any funeral director I liked. My feeling was, if O'Shea's had begun it, the simplest thing was for them to continue.

          The body was released Saturday, but could not be picked up until Monday. With the help of Tim liaising with the church in Killarney, I arranged the funeral service for 7pm Tuesday evening. I flew out of Manchester at 3.15pm and arrived at Kerry airport at 5pm. The candle was still burning when I left. I asked my neighbour, who could see it from her window, to look at it when she could, and write down the time it went out.  She reported it being alight at 3pm, and extinguished at 6pm. It was not burnt anywhere near fully down, it simply went out.  There had been rain and wind Saturday and Sunday which had not put it out. I think it went out when I touched down in Ireland.

Messages and proof of survival

I had continuous communication with Wolf during the two days Saturday and Sunday, 4-5 February, filling me with hope and love, restoring confidence, looking forward to the future. He told me that now we were together, how much stronger we would be than when we were apart. Now that there were two of us, we could accomplish so much. We would write that book we were always trying to write together. We would do so many things. He told me he was home for good, that he would never leave, and that when I passed we would become one soul. He said we were never meant to be two souls and that we never would be split up again. This was wonderful to hear. One night, I had gone to walk the dog on the canal, it was already dark. Before going for the walk I had lit a candle in the allotment, in the circle, for him. Coming back I wondered if it would be visible from the path - I could see a tiny light burning. "What's that?" Wolf asked. "It's your candle I lit for you," I said. "Why?" he said. "To give you light," I said, then he said "I don't need a light, I am in the Light. This is unnecessary. Go and put it out."  I did as he said. However, he did not object to the candle still burning outside our house in the garden.

          For those of you who need proof of survival, I give you two here. Personally, I don't need these proofs, as there is no doubt at all in my mind that we survive after death, that we step into another reality and go on living and working at the tasks we are set.

1. Automatic writing          

Now don't go bonkers - this wasn't a setup, it wasn't intentional, it just happened. Bear with me and I will tell you how. I've heard of people doing automatic writing before, and even been urged to try it - to sit with a pen and paper and let stuff come through. I've never been able to believe in it.  This was different.  It happened in the two days after his death.  It was the night I had had the walk described above, and I did not want to go back to my house, which seemed so full of words and noise, with all the telephoning and arranging I had had to do, constantly, hours of it. Mum was away in hospital, and her bungalow is just down the road from me. I went and sat in there, beautifully clean and quiet and restful. I stayed there a few hours, doing nothing, no radio, no tv, just peace.

          Then I went home. There were four messages on the phone pad, and I was about to listen to them when the phone rang. It was someone a little bit the worse for drink, an old friend of Wolf's from the days before we met. When I checked later, the messages were from her, getting a little bit more incoherent with each one.  It's difficult talking to someone who's had a few when you've had none, but we were both upset at his death, and I stayed on the line. I had been facing left, towards the phone, but when I turned to look to the right, I was astonished to see that my right hand had picked up a pen and written something on a piece of paper on the desk. Now I was completely unaware that I had picked up a pen, or done anything. I looked at what was written: "hang up" it said, and underneath, again, "hang up"  - and the pen was poised under that, ready no doubt to write it again. I stared at this in complete amazement, the thought immediately coning to me that this was Wolf communicating. Taking his advice, I said  I had to go, and hung up.

2. Finding objects

Before I went to Ireland, I thought it would be a good idea to take lots of photographs of Wolf - these people had only known him seven weeks, Tim said, and I thought it would give them a more rounded sense of his life to see pictures of him doing different things, and pictures he had taken of places and things he was interested in., We have lots of pictures, Wolf was always taking photos, and they were in two red file boxes on one shelf, and a huge storage box on another.  I went through the lot, throwing any picture where he appeared on a pile. At the end it occurred to me that there was a particular set of pictures I had got together one time, a representative selection of all the things he did, and that this set had not come to light.  I had a think of another few places where photos might be, but drew a blank - these three boxes contained all the spare photos that were not in albums.

          Next day it was still bothering me, but nowhere to look. I stood in the bedroom, and said out loud, "Okay Wolf, you could always find anything. Find these photos for me."  Now if I say to you, that Wolf "said" this and that, you understand that I heard the words in my head, so they are like thoughts a person might have, only you know they are not your own thoughts.

          "What's in that box there?" he asked, indicating a box on the top shelf. There is a row of boxes on this shelf, but only one contains photos. Nevertheless, I climbed up on the bed and pulled it out.

          "Hats," I said. On top of the box was my Harrods hat, still in its original bag. I pushed the box back.

          "What's under the hat?" he persisted. I pulled out the box again, lifted up the hat - photos! I put my hand into the box, still high as my head, and pulled out a package that was on the top - the exact photos I wanted! Now if that's not proof I dont know what is. Of course if you're the kind of person who is determined there is no survival after death, you aren't going to believe anything, and I have no wish to convince you of something you don't want to know. As I say, I don't need this proof, but isn't it wonderful to have?

Arrival in Ireland

I didn't care what happened to me on the plane. If it crashed, I would be with Wolfram that much sooner. Death removes all fear. I landed in Ireland at 5pm, to be met by Tim. We had spoken on the phone quite a bit, then he said, "hang on I havent told you what I look like." Of course there wouldn't be so many people at Kerry airport, but he said he would be "the tallest thing around".  He was. And the loveliest. He made me feel welcome at once.

          We drove straight to the pastors, Elsie and Errol, where a meal was waiting. It was when Tim phoned his wife, Caroline, to invite her to the meal "if she was not too busy" that I found out that every woman in the parish was preparing food for the next day. I didn't know what to say, so much trouble on my behalf! "Sure the ladies love the baking," he said, "They're always at it." I hadn't expected it.

          Tim had arranged with O'Shea's that I could visit the funeral home at seven. They had picked up Wolfram that morning, and had already asked me what I would like him to be dressed in. I mentioned a beautiful black leather coat I had bought him, and just a clean pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, whatever they could find. They were going to go to the flat and get them.

         Although nothing on this earth would have kept me from seeing Wolfram, I was a little apprehensive. In common with a lot of English people, I had never seen anyone dead, and had always been warned by my parents never to go to see a body, even if asked. It is horrible, they said, and nothing like them.  So I was glad when Tim came in with me. 

The funeral home

O'Shea's funeral home is down by the Cathedral. Wolf and I had walked past there when we went to Muckross Park, quite a few times, and I was sure I remembered noticing the name. Who would have thought when I walked with him there in December, that I would be visiting him in O'Shea's in February? Thank God there are some things we do not know, though if we did, we would do things differently. I would have brought him home with me then, if I knew he had so little time. I thought of the things I had said to him, that I was not put on this earth to stop him drinking, that I had no more years to throw away - when he had barely two months to live. I would have wrapped him in love and kept him safe and hugged him to my heart - which was what I had wanted to do, but dare not. I was waiting for him to change, to prove to me he was sorry for what happened, to be sure he would not do it again.  I even wasted some of his last months of life going to France with my brother, when I could have been with him. But I did not know . . . we do not know . . . . none of us know . . . anything.

          O'Shea's is run by Mary and Michael, and Michael's father Tim. If I have left anyone out there I am sorry. I was not around long enough to find out more.  Mary and Michael O'Shea must be the two most beautiful people on God's earth. Beautiful of face and form, but more than that, beautiful of spirit. And when Michael O'Shea, that tall, giant of a man, looked at me, I saw a mother's love shining out of his face.

          The big mahogany double doors of the funeral home open onto a wide, tiled hall, with magnificent doors either side. Michael led the way to one of the doors, opened it, and Tim and I stepped inside. I could not believe what I was seeing. A bright fire burned in a grate (electric, but it looked real), a tiled fireplace, a mantel with flowers and candles, with a mirror over. There were tables and chairs, flowers, carpet, everything was like a Victorian parlour.  All this I took in, but my eyes had gone straight to the polished wooden casket where my husband, Wolf, was lying. It was Wolf, to the life. This was so confusing, I had been prepared for something obviously dead, translated, not seeming like my husband, who I knew to be dead. But here he was, looking like he could open his eyes and grin at me any moment. How could this be? My brain could not cope with the two thoughts at once. But I was overcome and overawed by the sheer beauty and stillness that he had.  I looked at Tim standing by the door. He said to stay as long as I wanted, Mary would ring him when I was ready to leave, and he would fetch me.

In the funeral home

The funeral parlour, and more importantly, Wolf's room, now became my home. When I arrived there to see him, I could not get to him quick enough. I wanted to run to him, not waste any of the precious time I had. It reminded me of the time when I had first met him. I used to go to his house in Barrowford, then I would think, why am I here, I must be mad, I would go home, and as soon I was home something would be pulling me back to him, and my feet would fly back over the fields to him. Now when Mary stopped me to chat on the way in, all I could think of was, let me get to him.

          I stayed until about ten o'clock on Monday night, and was there again on Tuesday. I had brought quite a lot of props with me from England - my native American drum - the deerskin one made by a Cherokee Indian - he had asked me to take the drum up Machu Picchu, but I wouldnt be going there, and instead I was using it to honour my dead husband. I brought the small djembe, and a whole bag full of gourds and shakers. Michael and Mary said I could do what I wanted, drum as much as I liked, this was my home and Wolf's, to do as I wanted.

          I also brought with me a load of greenery. Wolf and I love our gardens, we have a front and back garden at home, and three organic allotments. Everywhere is crammed with plants. We could never go anywhere without bringing a plant back. Because of his sight problem, Wolf loved shrubs, particularly evergreens. I took a carrier bag round the gardens at home, and cut a piece off every bush, shrub and tree. 95% were green. And this was February. I took another bag to the allotment. Every one of these was planted by Wolf, watered by Wolf, tended by Wolf. Now they all came to do him honour.

          I decked him with the greenery until he looked like a Green Man. From the stark whiteness of the satin coverings, his face now reposed in a miniature forest. It looked absolutely right.  On the Tuesday I went out and bought pink roses, which I spread over the covers. I burned incense, lit candles, played drums, sang and chanted. He was not alone, and his journey was one of sound and scent. Even the branches round his face were scented.

          My brother, who was there, said "Wolf lived in a world of sounds, scents and touch. What you are doing is exactly right."

Panic

I knew I was developing an attachment to his body, and that this could be a problem when the time came for him to leave. But this was all the time I had with him, so what could I do?  When I looked at the clock and saw that there was only one hour to go, I panicked. I did not want to spend this last hour getting more and more upset, so I decided it would be best to leave and go to the church and get things ready there. I packed up all my things - drums, rattles, incense, candles, cds - I had been playing Jayson Stilwell's 'meditation' to him - and went to the office. When I told Michael I was going to the church he insisted on driving me. "Aren't you going to go in the procession?" he asked. I didn't think I could stand it.  

          He drove me to the church, but it was locked and no one there. "What do you want to do?" he asked "Shall I drop you at a cafe and call back for you?"  No, I would go back to the funeral home, but sit in the office.  "Very wise," he said.

          But a short while after we got back, he put his head round the door "Three people are after arriving," he told me.  "Do you think I should go to see them?"  He only nodded his head.

          Once back inside the room all was fine. Now that people were there the panic feeling had gone. My time with him was over, and now these folks shook my hand and stood for a while next to his coffin, thinking their private thoughts, saying their private prayers.

The procession

The funeral service

The minister from Cork, The Rev Geraldine, was waiting at the church door. The men took up the coffin and stood in front of her, while she welcomed Wolf to the church, as you would wait at the door to welcome a friend to your home, and we went in.

          I don't remember much of the funeral service, but thanks to a kind member of the congregation, who filmed it, I have a permanent record.  I think I was numb, I remember songs slowly sung, wishing they were more lively, as it brings you near to tears - I remember the church was packed to the doors, and more kept coming in. I remember one after another, members of the church going to the front to talk about Wolf and what he meant in their lives. He had done so much, made so much impression in such a short time, and at a time when he was ill - I knew how ill he was, I saw him in December.  I saw Death in him then, but not that it would be so soon, or for us to have so little chance to reverse it.

          I remember my own speech, getting through it by thinking and not feeling, as is my way, but at the end, when I looked at his coffin and told him how much I loved him, and what we used to say to each other, "If you call, I will come, even if it be to the ends of the earth" the tears were coming.

          I remember Fergus, so moving as he tried to speak about the friend he had lost, we all knew how much Wolf and he had bonded, by his extreme grief. He could hardly speak - he cried - he said, "He was my friend . " that was all he needed to say. A man who can make another man cry, after a few short weeks of friendship, is a man indeed.

          Everyone spoke from the heart, from personal experience, and did not wrap it up in religion, or sound sanctimonious, or preachy, as I have heard many religious people do. They were sincere, and that was what shone through, and made it so valuable, so believable. It was not words you say at a funeral, it was truth.

          After the service, several people spoke to me, Wolfram's social workers, others who introduced themselves and told me about their connection with Wolfram - and I became aware that a queue was forming - like people after church waiting to shake hands with the vicar, it dawned on me that they were waiting to speak to me. One after another they came up to me, shook my hand, said who they were and how they knew Wolf, and "I'm so sorry for your loss." And each one meant it sincerely. It was beautiful and comforting that all these people I never met, cared.         

Fellowship and Love

 Thank God for Tim, who, as brother John said, identified your need before you even knew it yourself, went and arranged it, came and told you it was done. That man is a living miracle. And thank God for Larry, with the Light shining out of his face, and Meriel, his wife, with equal light of her own. And thank God for my dearest friends, Fergus and Margaret, the two most beautiful human beings on earth, and the special link that sprang up between us.  Thank God for all the other loving members of that congregation. Jean and Ed who invited me into their home and looked after me like parents, Heidi and Christina, that lovely pair of Germans, Caroline, married to Tim, it must be hard for her when Tim is everywhere helping everyone else - I hope she gets a look-in. Erroll and Elsie who gave me my first meal and made me most welcome on my arrival in a strange land, and all the ladies who prepared sandwiches and cakes, made tea and coffee, set out the room - even down to the beautiful spray of flowers for Wolfram's coffin.  If he had to die, he couldn't have gone to a better place to do it, where love was freely given, in his life as in his death, and where he died happy in the faith he had found, in the midst of a loving community.

Party

Apology

There was a party in the rooms behind the church, where we had fellowship, consumed piles of sandwiches and cakes, and everyone talking to everyone else. I had brought lots and lots of photos with me from England, as I thought they had known him such a short time, it would help them get to know him better.  I had meant to mention in my speech that these photos would be on a table, and I would be pleased for them to talk any that they would like to keep, and I had forgotten.  Tim reminded me to put them out, and then I found a quiet presence at my side, and a soft Irish voice asking "Would you mind if I would take one of these?" - then I said, oh please do, and hopefully the word got round, as not too many asked after that, and there was a crowd round the table like bees round a honeypot, and everyone found what they wanted - I was touched that the staff of the Laune took a photo to put behind the bar, and Vince, who had been such a help and friend to Wolf, coming with him when he got out of that horrible house he was in when I visited in December, and agreeing to share a flat with him - there he was holding a photo of Wolf with a beer glass in his hand, tears in his eyes. God bless the lovely boy, and keep him safe.

          But I keep the best till last. What made this healing experience so complete was that one person after another came up to me and told me that Wolf had said that his greatest regret was leaving me, and that all he wanted was for us to be together. It was as though he was making the apology he never could make, over and over, through the mouths of these people. It was the healing I needed. And it confirmed what he had said to me on the night after his death when he walked in - "I want to brush away the last three years as if they never existed."  And he said, "I'm here and I'm alive. I've come home."

Jean and Ed

There was a wake at the Laune for Wolfram that same night. It would have been a real experience to have gone, but by the time we were finished at the church, I was tired and so were my hosts, Ed and Jean. It did not seem possible to visit the Laune, though I wished I had. Wolf had told me what a good party they had given him at Christmas, when he had promised me to give up drinking, and had not intended to go. Vince, who is chef there, phoned him at home and said they were getting some music going and needed a drummer - could he come? Wolf could never say no to a person in need - when he got there he found it was a setup! A great cheer went up, someone said "Lock the doors!" and the party commenced. No one can party like the Irish, and he had a wonderful time. They did it again at New Year.

          Tim, you will not be surprised to hear, had already moved all my belongings into Jean and Ed's, and my brother had also been installed there that afternoon. They have a large bungalow, and you can see that they are experienced at this kind of thing. They were the best of hosts, never intrusive, always there when needed, Jean especially, ready to listen and most open-minded, we even discussed wicca! After first ascertaining she was not going to be upset by it. On the contrary, she wanted to know about it from a person who had experienced it first hand.          

Wednesday

My pink roses, which I had carried through the streets of Killarney in the funeral procession, had been placed on top of his coffin in the church, and then gone back with him to O'Shea's for the night. I knew he was to leave at 4.30 in the morning for the five hour drive to Dublin, the only place in Ireland where you can get cremated. But when I arrived at O'Shea's at ten in the morning, there outside the big entrance doors was - one pink rose - as if he had left it for me in farewell. I took it back to Ed and Jeans, I have kept the petals.

Dinner party

Nothing was too much trouble for Jean, she even gave a dinner party on the Wednesday night, there were nine of us. Now my percussion items came out of their bag, I brought out the djembe and hand drum, and we had a good old musical romp. The conversation was nice and easy, friends sharing thoughts and memories, no one tried to pull rank or privilege, as might happen in some mixed company - they could have been anybody, from anywhere. But, as I looked round, it suddenly hit me "All these people are my friends. And I only met them two days ago."  The voice of doubt piped up, "They can't be your friends then. Not really" - but that thought was quickly dismissed by the insistent certainty that they were, truly, my friends. And how much of a miracle is that? How did they do it? These people operated on a channel of pure Love. They did not ask anything in return, they were not angling for anything from me - they just gave out Love, pure and simple. But it is the greatest force in the world. If there was to be any rational explanation at all, it must be that they were a bunch of Martians, pretending to be human beings - no true human, with all our faults and vices, could ever behave like this.  Did I say "rational?" - hmm, hardly that!  But for sure they were out of this world.  

Timetabling

Every minute of my time was timetabled by Tim - I am assuming by Tim - who else but the great organiser/facilitator? I did not realise this at first, being in a state of suspended animation for the most part, the events since Friday night had seemed unreal, there had been so much to organise, and time had spread out to fill universes of empty space. I would be told, so and so is coming to visit you, you are going here for lunch, there for dinner - Tim picking me up, dropping me off, when does he get to live his life? I cannot express my thanks and appreciation for the way I never was alone, had time to think or grieve. But what was most amazing was that every single person I met, spent time with, had meals with, was without exception wonderful. And they talked to me about their own lives, not about my grief. And I enjoyed every minute in their company.

Fergus and Margaret

Fergus and Margaret are without doubt special. Wolf had known that, he had already become their special friend, a valued visitor to their home. One thing also that healed me so much, was to hear how much Wolf had done for people in the church. When he had phoned me, he had told me what they were doing for him, and I never knew until his death what an impact he had made there. That was typical of him. He appreciated so much if anyone did anything for him, but he would never blow his own trumpet.

          I was invited to dinner at their house on the Thursday night, and when I walked in her kitchen, Margaret's first words to me were: "Wolf is with you. I see Death in your face."  Shivers ran down my back, and I told her how he had walked in that night, and was still with me. She nodded her head. It did not surprise her. She knew.

          Tim and Caroline were invited too, and we had a lovely sharing experience at the meal. Everyone is so easy with each other, it makes me feel easy too.  Fergus and I got talking about massage, and he mentioned the hot stones - wow my ears pricked up! I have been interested to know more about them ever since a friend (now in NZ) told me she had been on a course and got a set. I never managed to get round to her house before she left. Fergus said if he'd known I'd been interested he would have told me about it before! Wolf and I were both interested in massage, I did a Swedish massage course, he had done this in Germany as a student, and we learned shiatsu together and used to practise on each other. Fergus offered me a hot stone massage before I left - I had already said I never wanted to leave their house, and asked if I could return the next day.

          That massage was a real experience. Fergus said he did not have his couch, only the massage chair - I wondered how that would work out - if was a bit like my kneeling chair I have at home, so you lean forward, your head goes in a headrest and there are special places to put your arms, so you are quite comfy. It wasnt as I had thought, just a matter of having the hot stones placed on your body, first he gave me Swedish massage to my back and neck - I have such a painful neck, I have had a big lump/swelling there for years - it really hurt when Fergus massaged it, I considered asking him to stop, but did not.  After a while it grew less painful to touch.  Then he took up the hot stones, and I dont know what he did with them, being as I could not see with my head in that hole, but it felt like hot trickles wiggling down each side of my spine!  It was fantastic.  He also gave me hot stones to hold. It was so good I couldnt believe it. And now I am home, and I put my hand to the back of my neck, that lump has gone! I still have some stiffness and pain, who wouldnt with the time I spend on the computer, but the lump itself has truly gone.

          Well what more can I say about Fergus and Margaret except that I love them to bits, especially Margaret, who I look forward to getting to know better. 

Friday

Friday was coffee morning at the church, lots of people were there and it was great to meet with them again. I had not talked enough with Larry, who had also been close to Wolf. Larry is a great singer and so it was natural that they should hit it off, and Wolf had been recording him on his last night on earth. Larry told how he sang The Promise of Your Grace. Wolfram, he said, had his back to him, and he could not see his face, but had the impression he was crying. Larry said he kept saying "Sing it again, Larry," making him sing it over and over. Larry didn't think it was simply a matter of getting the recording right, he felt Wolf was getting some special message from the song. For me, it was good to know that Wolf had spent his last night in the company of this lovely man, and not in the pub. It lightened my heart a good deal.   I do think he had given up drinking after my visit - we had some good conversations on the phone, and he would phone me in an evening, from home, and he seemed happy.  Larry said Wolf had a drink at Christmas and New Year, and I knew he had been very happy to be asked to the parties at the Laune, because everyone had made such a fuss of him, but the rest of the time, Larry and the others said there had been a remarkable change in him. I just wish someone had a photo of him in those last weeks.

          Before I left to go to Fergus and Margaret for lunch, Larry said to me "You know, Wolfram took Jesus into his heart. Do you want to take Jesus into your heart now?"  This was a bit of a shock. I didn't feel I was ready for it, and said so. For the look on Larry's face, I wished I could have answered otherwise. He looked so very disappointed. I know he was absolutely sincere. He wasn't a bit pushy, or confrontational, like other Christians I have met. He genuinely wanted to offer me this lovely gift and I felt I had thrown it back at him. Still, what else could I do?

          Christina, Heidi's German mother who lives part of the time in Berlin, was also coming to Fergus and Margaret for the afternoon. We had spent an afternoon together while I was with Ed and Jean, we walked in Muckross Park and had such good conversation - there were so many parallels in our lives. So again it was well met and good company.

The flight home

My time in Ireland came to an end, and I wished I did not have to go. The ever-wonderful Tim drove me to the airport. Christina came, with her little granddaughter, and Luke, Fergus's son.  It was good to have Christina to chat to, to take the edge off waiting, and stop me thinking how soon I would have to leave them all.

          On the plane, I was told my seat number, and found a very pleasant young woman next to me. Her birthday was the same day as my daughter's, and she lived in Tralee. She asked what was the purpose of my visit, and I said it was a sad one, and I would rather not talk about it, and asked her to tell me about herself.  This proved to be more interesting than I had expected. Probably I would have let her talk wash over me without listening very much, but for the fact that almost immediately she mentioned Machu Picchu - she had been there, then she went on to talk about the Aztec and Toltec ruins in Mexico, another of my interests! So I was well and truly tuned in.  Now she was saying that she had been to the Holy Land, and that I "really should go there."

          "Why?" I asked.

          "It makes it all so simple," she said. "You see the distances between the places He went to, you walk them yourself and it all falls into place, becomes so much more real. But that isn't the whole of it."

          "Oh?"

            "No, what it really does, it strips everything away, and you realise, this was just a man who said - why are you doing that? - why don't you do this? - and - love everybody. And all the rest is just add-ons.""

          I stared at her. Suddenly, for me too, everything was stripped away. If that was all it was - I could accept that. I realised that when Larry had asked me the question, it had been the add-ons that were getting in the way - I had been thinking, what does this get me into? What will they expect me to do? or give up? It was the add-ons that worried me - religion, the church, the Christians - when all it was really about was Love. When those wonderful people in Killarney welcomed me into their hearts and lives, I didn't say "hang on, what will I have to do if I accept?" Their love was freely given, and freely accepted. I didn't bargain over it. So why should I bargain over being accepted into a religion that was all about loving people? It was unbelievably simple.

          That night, I phoned Larry and told him about the woman on the plane. I didn't have the courage to say that now I would like to accept Jesus in my life - and I knew from his hesitancy that he hardly dared ask. I guess he didn't want another rebuttal. In the end, though, he asked me and I said yes, and he asked me to repeat some words after him. I'd made the first step on the road. But it wasn't over yet. Something in me had yet to be convinced.