So it’s not Connemara. But there’s something about the fat raindrops that plonk deep into the soil, entwining the roots with strong embrace. The call of ducks on the Turlough, and the sheep close to feeding time. Here deer jump the sheep fence to take the forest pathway where better snacking promises. The four white horses graze daily up field and down while the gentle Turlough slowly rises. Where the heron startles the hunters. Here the kittens chase the reflection of my watch, and the wagtails and robins flit and spill from trees and hedges. Pastoral. Gentle. The soft limestone bored deep and smooth. Whispers over time. The shift of the autumn leaves, a soft sprinkling of crimson and yellow foliage. Here it is constant. Life. Nature. Here the mountain ash is buxom, full skirted. Behind the quiet the sheep snuffle, tear and pull at the wet grass and it rasps before they start to chew. And I’ve even heard them sneeze. And this morning Mom, five ducks left their trail behind in the lough, their calls echoing in the forest.
And I am soaking it up. Every drip drop splash. Cocooning in nature, soothing the shattered. There is no healing. No solace. Only the realization I must now live with this new me – a me I wish I never knew. Don’t want to know. Because all I know Mom is injustice, horrors at your murder so easily covered up. Six years on. I. Am. Beyond. Broken. And six years on you still died by elder abuse with failure after failure after failure – Gardai, HSE Elder Abuse, Beauchamps Solicitors, Law Society of Ireland, Solicitors Disciplinary Tribunal, GSOC, Panel Review, Ombudsman’s Office.
And through every hurdle Mom – I still fight. Silence is not an option.
And every day. Every. Single. Day. I miss you. I am raw for you.
Dolores Maxwell died a victim of elder abuse on Nov. 28, 2010.
Her story is featured online at http://www.dolores-maxwell.com