Those who went before spent weeks and months at sea. There was always uncertainty. Even now I feel we must believe. If someone failed in faith this plane might falter. Collectively we have dreamed this passage. Before us men in skin rafts sailed forth from Ireland. Saints and monks and fishermen. Vikings are found in the genes of North American aboriginals. Their passage must have been more adventurous coupled with superstition. I’ve come this far with science. There are still spirits under the wings and some spiritual force in the engine. Internal combustion and jets. Lift and luck.
My grandfather left this land of Ireland to which I’m bound to come with my grandmother to Toronto Canada where my mother and her two sisiters would be born. Another generation and my brother and I’d be born as well. Not so many months ago my brother and I buried my father and mother’s ashes with my grandparents and aunts in Toronto. We drove by my grandfather’s home. The red brick edifice still remains. I remember the kitchen. I remember my grandfather and grandmother there. I was a very young child. But later I’d remember meals in the living room. And much much lather, my Irish grandfather long gone, my grandmother would die in our Winnipeg home. I remember her well.
First we land in Dublin. Trinity College, the Book of Kells, the Archeological Museum, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Christ Church, Dublin Castle. Then on to Belfast. My grandfather grew up west of there, a valley my brother visited. He’s gone before me and left me a map of the area where grandad was a boy. I think my mother will be pleased with me. Canadian she loved all things Irish. She and my brother were red haired while I began blond before darkening only to grey now with age.
Laura, Pearson Airport Toronto
Emerald Isle
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