In 2017, I had coffee with a medium; she wanted to share a story for a competition I was running. A short time into our conversation I felt strange, as if the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I could feel some kind of vibration. I asked the woman, 'Is there someone here, it's okay, you can tell me? I'm okay with this sort of thing.' She asked me something about my mother - I can't remember the question, I've a bad memory for some things - and when we left the pub she said, 'All I can tell you is your loved ones are looking after you while you're going through this time.' I'd been living in my car for almost a year.
A year later I was a split-second away from being killed stone dead - no pun intended -by massive blocks of flying cement. That night, my mother was in my dreams, wearing a bright yellow dress, speaking normally unlike the stroke victim who took my mother's place for so many years, I'm ashamed to say I can't remember how many ... eleven, I think. Much too many, I know.
In the movie Stand-up Guys, there's an Al Pacino quote: They say we die twice. Once when the last breath leaves our body and again when the last person to know us says our name.
The title of this blog is Maureen. She's alive and well - as is my da - in my heart, in a lot of peoples' hearts.
Nobody can convince me that my ma and da didnt have a part to play when they saved my life on the hostel rooftop in Málaga. They played a part again when I was close to death in Tallaght Hospital.
Now, they are coming for a walk with me in Tymon Park. I'll be missing this place very soon because my parents may have been doing a bit of estate agent work on my behalf. I'll blog about that when it happens. I think it's more a case of when than if.
When I survived the septic arthritis, I wondered constantly why am I still alive. Maybe it simply wasn't my time. Maybe there are things or some specific thing that I still need to do. Who knows?
It looks like I'm about to start a new chapter. Fingers, legs, eyebrows and testicles crossed.
This one's for me ma.