Inné, chonaic mé an gréine. Ar ndóigh, feicim sí go minic go coitainta. Ar scor ar bith, ní fhaca mé sí os cionn an fuinneoig dín ar feadh an sochraid mo phaidir. Suigh mé idir mo bhean agus mo dheirfiúr in aice leis an cóifrín. Chuala muid seánmóir go direach agus go hionraic leis an sagart carthanach. B'fhéidir, mheas mé go raibh seisean féin go hÉireann fadó; cheap mé go raibh blas lag ar a chuid cainte.
Fhreastail muid ní raibh easca ar bith againnsa an aifreann na marbh. Tá brón orainn uile air. Mar sin féin, chruinnigh muid go raibh duine a chaioneadh ar ghrá i dtólamh do réir deasghnátha beannaithe a chéile.
D'inis an sagart chuigainn faoi ciall stóch leis Eireannach nuair ag teacht marbh i ngar. Tá mé ar aon bharúil le seanmóirí. Suim go leor faoi dúrúnta an saol úd eile. Ach, ní bhíonn dith mhór ormsa ag rá faoi fuair mo phaidir bás san oiche leis duine eile de ghlór ard anois.
Mar sin, scríobhim go ciuin inniu. Rug mo dheirfiúr radharc ar gréine suas i lár an na aifreann sin. Dúirt sí domsa a fhéachaint níos ard triu spéirléas os cionn sa sanctóir ann.
D'éirigh an grian leis soilsiú réscaipthe sios duine ag ghuí thíos. Bhí chuimhne liom de an gealach oraiste. Bhí siad an cuma céann go cruinnithe ann.
D'imigh mo phaidir ar h-earr an tsaoil. Caithim ag obair leis duine níos óg chomh mise féin de gnáth. Bím ag tiaráil rompu ag líonadh duine eile leis scéalaíocht agus eagnaíocht gach lá.
Mhuin mé mo mhac leinn fúithi nuair go tosaithe ag foghlaim siad faoi seanachas an oíche sin céann aréir. Chuimhne an gealach oraiste aríst go gearr. Thug mé an íomhá sin leis focail agam mar an bronntanas dóibh agus ómós déireanach dómsa féin.
"Full in the sun."
Yesterday, I saw the sun. Naturally, I see it often daily. However, I had never seen it above the sky-window during the funeral of my father.
I sat between my wife and my sister next to the casket. We heard a straightforward and honest sermon from the kind priest. Perhaps, I reckoned that he himself was from Ireland long ago; I thought that he had a soft accent when he spoke.
Our attending the requiem mass was not at all easy. Sadness is on all of us. All the same, we gather to "keen" a person whom we love as always, together in hallowed ritual.
The priest told us about a stoic sense of (the) Irish when death comes near. I agree with the opinion of the preacher. I have a great interest in mysteries of the otherworld. But, I do not have a great need much for me to speak about the passing away of my father in the night with other people out loud now.
Therefore, I write quietly today. My sister caught a look at the sun overhead in the middle of that mass. She told me to look higher through the skylight above the sanctuary there.
The sun had risen in diffused lighting down over people praying below. It reminded me of an orange moon. They were the same shape there, exactly.
My father went away at the sunset of life. I must be working with people younger than myself usually. I am struggling to fill other people with narrative and wisdom every day.
I taught my students about (the sun) when they started learning about storytelling last night. I remembered the orange moon again suddenly. I brought with my words that image as a gift to them and a final tribute to himself.
Griangraf/Photo: Fr. Austin Fleming's blogpost "Sun and Moon, Praise the Lord!". "A total lunar eclipse occurs when a full moon passes through the earth's shadow during its orbit. When the sun, Earth and moon are perfectly aligned, the Earth blocks the sun's light. But the most spectacular view of the night is the moon's eerie red and orange glow -- caused by the sun's indirect light being filtered through Earth's atmosphere, trying to reach the moon."
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