We’ll always have Ireland

I’m sitting here on the porch of an historic castle on the west coast of Ireland. Ornate iron benches and bistro sets painted white overlook the flowing fountain on the terrace below, which itself overlooks a peaceful green meadow. My 18-year-old daughter, whose personality she might’ve stolen from a Jenner, enjoys living a life of luxury. This continues to baffle me since the first 5 years of her life we lived in poverty, and even as my income began its swift upwards trend, it remained necessary to lead a modest lifestyle.

For the last 8 nights we have slept in hostels in Dublin, Galway, and Letterfrack (the one in Letterfrack was my favorite). But tonight we are staying in luxury at the Abbeyglen Castle Hotel, a vine-covered beauty off Sky Road just next to the quaint town of Clifden. I wouldn’t have splurged like this, especially since I no longer have a job, but I received a decent severance so I figured why the heck not? This would be the last time we spend together for I literally don’t even know how long. I want our last night before we head back to Dublin for our parting to be special. My baby girl likes to live like a princess, so for tonight we both will.

We had been staying in Letterfrack for the last 3 nights, and Clifden is only 14km from there. Lily folded the Brompton and took it on the local bus, while I opted to cycle the hilly and narrow roads into town. We met at the Clifden library before making our way up Sky Road to the hotel. We dropped our luggage and bikes off with the concierge. As per usual there is a moment of contemplation as they determine where in their fancy-pants hotel I can store my bike. Once we got that sorted, Lily and I made the lovely trek further up Sky Road to check out the Clifden castle ruins.

I should point out, mainly because everyone we meet in Ireland points it out to us, that we have been very fortunate with the weather. We have spent over a week on the east and west sides of Ireland, and haven’t seen a drop of rain. This same thing happened to my brother and I when we visited Iceland a couple years ago. We were told repeatedly by the locals that they aren’t used to so much sun. When people find out I’m from Arizona, they joke that I must’ve brought the sunshine with me. I wish I could take the credit, but I’ll just be grateful to the sky for choosing sun and warmth for a while.

Lily and I pass green fields of sheep with fur painted red and blue (an identification system), grazing cows, and white Connemara ponies, and even one field of mules. We walked up the street for about 2km and came upon a stone wall and archway. This is the entrance to the trail that winds its way down to the ruins. We strolled down the gravel road, admiring the harbor and the grazing ponies. Ireland really is as green as you imagine it. 

The sight of the castle ruins is breathtaking. Though the stone structure has eroded, it is clearly still cloaked with fortitude. The medieval simplicity of the carvings are enchanting and the growth of vines and trees cloaking the structure lends an air of mystique. We explore around and inside the ruins, including what I can only guess were old stables, before trekking back up the gravel road towards Abbeyglen once more.

The grounds of Abbeyglen are beautiful, so we soak up the scenery and take a wee nap at the trickling fountain in the center of the marble terrace. We showered and scrounged out the nicest outfits we could find in our bags, and meandered downstairs to explore the castle.

I noticed several folks gathered in the pool hall, watching what appeared to be an Irish news channel. On the television were a swarm of people cheering and holding up flags from many different countries. I realized the footage was a live event at the Vatican. I recalled reading that Pope Francis had passed away several weeks ago, which led me to the conclusion that this news special must be covering the election of the new pope. Now I am not Catholic, but my daughters attended a Catholic school in elementary and I grew up around many Christians, including Catholics. I remember that Pope John Paul II was the pope for my entire upbringing, and I remember the news of his death just months before my first daughter was born. Pope Francis has been the pope for Lily’ s entire childhood, and now, days after her 18th birthday, she is watching the election of a new pope. Honestly, bishops and popes and the Vatican don’t have any significance to me, but there’s something sensational about watching a historic moment unfold right before you. Even more moving is seeing and being part of the impact it has on those around you for whom it may hold more significance. Weirdly, my heart began to pound as I noticed the red curtains in the doors of the balcony shift, and the new pope emerged to a roaring crowd. Thousands of iPhones were drifting in the air, even the priests in the front were documenting this moment. It was announced that for the first time in history, the Church has elected an American pope. This was the talk of the night at Abbeyglen, especially whenever someone asked us where we were from. “Congratulations on the pope!” they’d exclaim. Some would inquire, “How do you feel about an American pope?” To which I really had no answer.

Lily and I had booked a dinner package at the hotel for the night, and included was a free glass of bubbly and an educational talk from a local who shared about the history of the area. This took place in the bar lounge, and it was packed with tourists. We met several lovely folks from our home country. The guide was a humorous middle-aged man. I was impressed that he remembered everyone’s names from making his rounds earlier. It was entertaining to take in the history, and the bubbles as bar staff glided around the room topping off champagne glasses as soon as they were two sips below top of rim. 

I was already quite tipsy by the time we made it upstairs for our 5-course meal. I still ordered a glass of wine. The food was superb, as to be expected. We were waited on by a young Irish fellow who, according to my daughter, resembled Louis Partridge. Once we licked every morsel from our last course, Lily and I made our way, bellies full, to our hotel room. I had brought along a couple of cream face masks for us to celebrate with, so we rubbed them over our faces and relaxed in bed with a rom-com, which neither of us made it through.

My heart is sore and the fear is setting in. Soon Lily will be gone, and my life will take its hard left. I will live on my bicycle, hoping my house sells before I run out of cash. It’s not like I haven’t traveled before, and been away for significant periods of time. But it feels different now. Maybe it’s knowing I won’t have a house to go back to, or that I don’t know how long it will be before I see my daughters again. Or it could be that I’m running away from the inevitable pain of having your daughters become adults and leave you as they go to live their own lives. Of course I want them to, but it’s been 19 years. I had them when I was still a kid, so in a way we grew up together. We’ve been through hell the three of us. But we’ve also built a lifetime of fun and love, visiting places all over the world, enjoying the comforts of home, creating both wonderful and painful memories. Now, it all changes. We will always be close, we will always have each other’s backs. But the transition of the relationship has to change. There’s no way it can remain the same. And in that sense, it feels like a loss. I am losing the safety of always having someone I love near me. I’m losing the relationship as it was. I know it will transform into a new beautiful form, but the process always comes with a little pain. For now, we will always have Ireland.