Heartache and Healing

This week marks a sombre anniversary for Northern Ireland, my home.

Many readers will know and understand that Northern Ireland has a deeply troubled past. Troubles borne of sectarian hatred, distrust, unease, and intolerance. The province has endured over three decades of bombing and shooting campaigns. Physical destruction, economic decline and human loss.

Some of you will not understand, because more than thirty years of mindless violence, countless deaths of, for the most part, innocent people, is absolutely incomprehensible.

I have lived there for most of my life, and have yet to understand any of it completely.

At the risk of producing a history lesson, let me briefly explain that Northern Ireland is geographically part of the island of Ireland, but is politically part of the United Kingdom. In its simplest form, the root of the conflict played out in Northern Ireland stems from the fact that certain, extreme, factions staunchly protect their British identity (Loyalists), and other equally extreme groups work by whatever means they consider necessary to bring about a United Ireland (Republicans), free from British involvement. Each side claims their version of history as the reason their position should prevail.

I use the present tense because, although peace has been achieved to a large extent in Northern Ireland right now, it is uneasy and delicate at times.

A mistake often made by outsiders is to equate Republicanism with Catholics, and Loyalism with Protestants. To do so is naive and ignores the position of the majority of people in Northern Ireland, more moderate in their views and whose priority above all others is peace and an end to violence and suffering.

The political environment in Northern Ireland is extremely polarized, and the vocal minorities on both sides historically impeded progressive compromise attempted at many junctures by more moderate politicians.

In 1994 a ceasefire was called by the Provisional IRA (Irish Republican Army) – followed not long thereafter by a ceasefire proclaimed by Loyalist paramilitary groups. Hope abounded and a collective sigh of relief was released by those of us in the North as we watched political talks actually produce results, accompanied by the promise of a departure from the bomb and the bullet, a brighter future ahead. This political process attempted to put into action the will of the moderate majority in Northern Ireland, those of us who wanted to co-exist with our neighbours – whatever their creed, or political affiliation, in peace. To live normal lives, without fear.

The peace process gained impetus through hard work and negotiations between local politicians, assisted in no small part by the Irish and British governments, and by George Mitchell, sent to mediate the negotiations by President Bill Clinton. There was a palpable excitement among the ordinary people of Northern Ireland that we would emerge from the dark days of violence, and we would do it soon. President and Mrs. Clinton’s visit to Northern Ireland in November 1995 was further proof that we were leaving the sorry past behind, and that Northern Ireland was somewhere worthy of international focus.

In the background however, dissidents, unhappy with what they saw as the ‘sellout’ by Republican politicians plotted and attempted further attacks. Calling themselves ‘The Real IRA’ and ‘The Continuity IRA’, they pushed to carry on the paramilitary bombing campaigns in their pursuit of a United Ireland. They bombed town centres, injuring many and damaging property and local economies. Security forces were successful in thwarting some attacks.

I, like many others, did not consider the Real IRA to be a credible threat. I believed that the Provisional IRA, who by this time were supporting the political process, would keep them in check and that the security forces would have the intelligence and resources to prevent them gaining enough traction to become a credible threat.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

On Saturday August 15th 1998, the Real IRA succeeded in perpetrating the single most horrific atrocity in the history of the troubles. In the process, 29 vibrant, happy, oblivious and some of them tiny, lives – as hopeful as the rest of us for a better future, were obliterated.

Evil, cowardly people without the vision nor the respect for humanity to engage with the people they claimed to represent and work for the greater good, rose once more and attempted to force ‘British withdrawal’ from Northern Ireland. They wreaked havoc in a busy town centre, Omagh, Co.Tyrone. They achieved nothing, except mass destruction and widespread human devastation.

During the troubles, the ‘normal’ protocol for a terrorist attack was a warning to the police, a radio or TV station. You should also know that over the course of the troubles, many hoax bomb threats were also made. People have been evacuated from public buildings and streets - only to learn later that it was a hoax. I've been through it several times myself.

Warnings were called in for the Omagh bomb but the message was either deliberately misleading, or it was misunderstood – I’m not sure it’s ever been determined which. The target mentioned was the courthouse at the top of a hill in the main shopping street in Omagh – [so chosen because it was a building representative of the British Establishment]. In a frantic attempt to usher the public away from the courthouse and evacuate the area – police directed people down the hill, away from the courthouse as fast as they could.

A car packed with 500lbs of home-made explosives awaited them at the bottom of the hill. Unknowingly, in attempting to shield the public, police instead shepherded people toward certain death.

Fourteen women, six men and nine children, two of them babies of 20 and 18 months old, were killed. Not included in the numbers reported, but two little lives I always remember when I think of the Omagh bombing were the twins that Avril Monaghan, one of the women killed, and mother of the 18 month old, was carrying. She was seven months pregnant. All told, 31 lives lost. Catholics, Protestants, a Mormon schoolboy, and visitors from Donegal in the Republic of Ireland, and Spanish exchange students perished.

Hundreds of people were left with horrific injuries, their lives changed forever, along with the lives of those who lost their loved ones. Broken families – their existence left in the same tatters as the buildings of that busy Omagh street.

I was on the first of many return visits to Florida just after this bomb happened, and I brought with me the newspapers to share the story with those whom I was visiting. I shed many tears looking at the 29 faces in those news reports, and I shed them now as I look at them once more. Each one someone’s mother, son, father, brother, sister, daughter, baby… How many more tears have been shed in homes in Omagh, Donegal, and Spain over the last ten years? And for what?

Although the Real IRA claimed responsibility for the attack, no group or individual has been successfully prosecuted for this crime. Families of the victims have fought tirelessly to have the perpetrators brought to justice, but thus far the campaign has been fruitless.

Civil actions have also been brought but no satisfying result has given these families the sense of closure that one would imagine necessary to help process what has happened to them. I think this adds to the enormity of the tragedy.

The wider implication of the Omagh bombing coming four years after the paramilitary ceasefires was fear once more. The province as a whole was worried that this tragedy would bring more pain and destruction in the form of retaliatory attacks, which was the normal modus operandi of paramilitaries on both sides following such attacks in the past. Mercifully, this did not happen. The Omagh Bomb did not derail the peace process – something which had it happened would have made all the more pointless the lives lost that day.

While there is no doubt that the outrage felt by so many at the scale of the Omagh tragedy accelerated the journey towards lasting peace, ironically, the families of those who died, and those injured are somewhat victimized once more by the peace process. By virtue of the fact that politicians are focused on the future, and leaving the legacy of violence behind, the support from the police, elected officials and government agencies that these families need to secure justice, isn't there. They are pretty much left to push for justice on their own.

This week, ten years on, my thoughts are with the families of the 31 people lost in Omagh on August 15th 1998. I pray for them, and for those so severely injured, physically, and emotionally. I draw inspiration from those who have triumphed over their injuries and loss, and trust that those who still struggle will find the help and healing they need.

I continue to pray for healing in Northern Ireland, where just today three firebombs have been made safe by Army Bomb experts , like I said, peace is uneasy, and delicate.

I pray for the rest of us – that in this age where bombings in foreign lands are reported with alarming frequency, and sadly often as a side story to the ‘main event’ of a sordid Politician’s affair, I pray that we never become blasé about such stories and that we never fail to be outraged by them. To maintain our sense of justice and protest to those whom will listen and take action…

Back, and busy.

Well, we're baaacccckkk! And, have been back in Florida for almost three weeks now which is very hard to believe.

Ireland was great - wet, and cold, but great!

Just like last year, it was so nice to be in my other 'home'. The kids had a blast - why wouldn't they, spoiled with attention and surprises every day? I also enjoyed the constant company, a lot of it with adults, too.

Coming down from this 'high' of familial attention and companionship hasn't been easy on the kids, or myself to be honest. I've pretty much had to detox Miss E from getting her way (anything for a quiet life, you know how that goes), and have employed many more of Supernanny's techniques than I've needed to in quite a while - but it's working, and slowly we're getting back into our groove.

I recently found myself slipping back into that 'funk' I described a while back. I could feel it happening, but didn't have the energy to fight it. This wasn't helped by the fact that I got sick last week with a horrible stomach flu - great for losing a few pounds though, which is never a bad thing. I'm focusing on my treadmill again and although the muscles are objecting, I'm feeling better.

The kids were sick a lot when we were in Ireland - Jay practically wasted away before my eyes. Miss E and Jay were bombarded with heavy colds, vomiting and diarrhea, Jay had the added discomfort of a simultaneous ear and throat infection - good times eh? My little guy is just that, little. He can't afford to lose any weight - at 20 months, he's not much over 20lbs - so when he gets sick and starts dropping the weight, I get very anxious. All my family reassured me that he'd bounce back, especially hubs Grandmother who's raised sixteen (yes, 16!)children of her own - 'he'll bounce back, they all do' and she was right.

We are fighting fit now though, physically and mentally, and ready to enjoy the rest of the summer, before preschool starts and we get back to that routine. We've all had to acclimatize once more to the Florida summer though. At 9am each day Miss E has a swim class - and Jay and I sweat our butts off watching her - at 9am! How awful is it that I'm willing on the weeks so we can cool down a bit? There's nothing like wishing your life away.

My sister's wedding was amazing. She looked absolutely fabulous. Her ceremony was wonderful and the reception was a blast.


Miss E was flower girl, and she did a great job, even if she couldn't quite be coaxed into all the photographs!


The weather was horrendous, but it didn't dampen anyone's enjoyment, at all. My sister and her husband, lucky things, just got back from honeymoon in Rome and Sorrento.

I'm still catching up with all things stateside. I've been keeping a close eye on the presidential candidate coverage, and am frustrated to say the least at the less than objective reviews each candidate gets depending on which source I watch. This is where I miss Tim Russert - I'm so sad that he died. I credit this man with helping me understand the whole electoral process here, the primaries, caucuses, delegates etc. I feel bad that he isn't here to see this election pan out. He had such enthusiasm for his job, and for the whole political scene in general. My heart goes out to his wife and son.

People are still complaining about the price of gas I see - and I can understand to a point, but after seeing that Northern Irish drivers pay the equivalent of $11 a gallon, I don't feel like I have a right to complain about $4 here. I also drive a very thirsty car, and while I wish it cost less to run, it was our choice to buy this vehicle, and now we live with it. Besides, nobody, not even dealers, want to buy SUVs around here, so we're stuck with it, what's the point in complaining?

With that, I've got to run, load my kids up into my gas guzzler and head right down for this swim class - I have the oddest feeling that we're going to be late, again!

Looking forward to catching up some more, soon.

Heading Off to the Auld Sod

This is where we are going next week:







You jealous?

We'll be away for a LONG time. Hubs is staying here for the first few weeks and joining us later.

See you all when we get back!


Photo credit.

My Transplanted Life

I originally drafted this post for a guest starring role on Megan's blog when she asked me to be one of her "Saturday Squatters". That didn't quite pan out, and now Megan is nowhere to be found so - it's going in here instead!

I'm prompted to dust this post off because I've been reading about the transitions made by an American into life in the UK, and so many of the adjustments she's had to make echo my own, only in the opposite direction. I've been fascinated following her story of how she'd left all that she knew behind in the US, and had to try and make herself comfortable in England.

Making myself comfortable doesn’t come easy for me at times. Uprooting your life and moving across the world sounds like an adventure to be embraced by many, envied by others, and feared by some, like me!

You see, I love me some comfort zones. Familiarity, security, predictability – these are the things that make me breathe easy, and sleep well at night. Someone (my husband!) threw a spanner in those works a while back and all of a sudden I’m moving from Ireland, to Florida, USA! (A spanner is a wrench for all you American English readers – one of the many word substitutions I’ve had to embrace, more on this later).

Now I’m living life as an Irish bud transplanted, and after a while of feeling unsettled I am now ‘Blooming Marvelous’.

I felt sorry for myself for a long time. Love brought me here to the states. But love was also pulling me back home to Ireland, to my family and friends that I missed. Many times after moving here, my then fiancé was worried that I was going to bail and head home, leaving him to choose if he wanted to come with me. I asked for his patience and understanding which he gave unfalteringly, as I found my feet here.

With very few exceptions, American people have been overwhelming in their welcoming outreach towards me. Friends and strangers alike have warmly accepted us here in the United States, and are tickled to find out that we are Irish. I have certainly found that old adage that ‘half the world is Irish, and the other half wishes they were Irish’, to be true.

But Florida wasn’t Ireland, it wasn’t where my family was, and it wasn’t ‘home’.

After the ‘busyness’ that surrounded our wedding settled down, and I found myself pregnant with our first child, I did start to find my way here. I fell into that familiarity, security and predictability that I craved through my ongoing OB/GYN visits, and meeting and chatting with other pregnant women, the nurses and my doctor. Aside from friends I’d met through my husband [I kind of viewed them as 'friend's once removed', since they were his friends really, not mine] – these were the only other people I’d met and become familiar with.

When my baby arrived, and I started to take her along to ‘Mommy and Me’ groups, I made real friends of my own. I met people with kids my daughter’s age and found common ground with many of them. These women taught me a lesson. Several of them came from far flung States across this vast nation. Far from their families and friends, and settled themselves in Florida. For some, this wasn’t the first place to which they had ‘transplanted’ and with the realization that they were doing this so smoothly came the wake up call to myself that people uproot themselves and move all the time! They survive, and more than that they thrive!

I gradually adjusted my thinking and opened myself to the possibility of feeling comfortable here. You see, I had resisted the temptation to settle because I felt like I would in some way be betraying myself, and my family by admitting that I could feel settled in Florida. After all, am I not supposed to be devastated that I am so far from family? I am very sad at times that we aren’t geographically closer and goodness knows there are times in the last while that I could have used the physical and emotional support that would have been there without me ever having to ask for it, if we were physically closer.

In trying to stay true to myself and my identity as an Irish person I also resisted vehemently the need to use American English vocabulary and spelling in many situations. All this did was cause confusion and I’d look at puzzled faces as I’d talk about putting nappies in the changing bag and hanging it on the handle of the pram, or mention that in this cooler weather I’d be pulling on a jumper and trousers instead of a sweater and pants.

For the sake of my kids I have started to use American vocabulary like diapers, stroller, pants, stove, sidewalk, etc more frequently, so that they do not need to encounter the same puzzled faces. It’s hard enough for other people to understand kids as it is, I don’t need to make it more difficult!

I’m still resisting the US spelling though – even though phonetic spelling makes a whole lot more sense, I just can’t bring myself to change how I spell things like honour, colour, centre. It may make me seem illiterate, but for now you will just have to forgive me.

Blogging itself has helped me feel more settled, and it has given me a sense of belonging as it is a great leveler. I tend to blog about my life as a stay at home mother with two small kids, and garner great support and friendship from other bloggers in the same circumstances. I have been known to touch on the odd serious issue, too which gives my brain some much needed exercise, and helps me engage in a certain level of debate, at times. I have also encountered other bloggers who are far from ‘home’ and reading about their experiences, and sharing my own with them as a ‘transplant’ helps, a lot. Who knew you could find virtual support groups for every need – right here literally at your fingertips? A veritable kaleidoscope of good reads, that with each click brings a new group of snapshots into other people's lives. These help reduce the feelings of loneliness when they crop up because you can always find someone who’s ‘been there, done that’ and survived, sometimes stronger because of it.

Our Irish Adventures

After a marathon traveling session via Newark, and on to Dublin, we finally made it to Ireland on the early hours of Wednesday 23^rd May. The journey to Ireland was smooth and generally uneventful which was great. It did however set the expectation that the return to Florida would be just as good.

It wasn’t.

To avoid boring you, or stressing myself, I'm not going into the details, suffice to say that it was a bit of a nightmare and one that I thought would never end – I have never been so glad to get the hell off an airplane in my life!

On to our hols then!

We arrived in Ireland, Dublin Airport which sadly looked dirty, small, outdated and CHAOTIC! Having been away from somewhere for a while, coming back has you looking at familiar places with a fresh perspective. There is a great deal of growth and regeneration in Ireland, and in Dublin – and having traveled through two large, clean and organized US airports on the way here, the contrast with what greets you in Dublin is stark, and somewhat embarrassing as an Irish person. I’m told a new terminal is in the works, and a facelift – can’t come soon enough I say.

A soft, almost misty rain fell as we traveled north from the airport. Two remarkable things stood out to me (at least remarkable to me in my haven’t-slept-in-flipping-ages state), the road – it was new since I traveled this route last – a gleaming new motorway all the way from Dublin to the North. No more meandering through little towns, and bigger, traffic clogging locales. As a tourist this might feel like a loss, but not to me. How great it was just to ‘zip’ up that road, home.

The second thing that stood out to me was the road kill! When I first moved to Florida, things like armadillos, raccoons, and even the odd alligator, plastered to the tarmac (asphalt), made my eyes pop out. I’d never seen these creatures up close before, and to me they were no less fascinating because they were dead. Now I’m so used to them I barely notice them. Traveling up the road from the airport and around the various roads on our vacation I’m sure people thought me crazy to point out dead badgers, foxes and hedgehogs – none of which I have seen since moving to the states.

It was great to be back home – the place where I grew up, in the house that I have lived in for most of my life. People have asked me ‘how does it feel being here? Being back home?’ and I honestly told them ‘feels like I’m here all the time’ – that house will always be my home. It’s only now that I understand what confused me as a child – when my mother would take us to her parents’ house, and talk about it as ‘home’. I used to find this slightly unsettling. Did Mum not think her house with us was home? Now I know how she felt. This brings me to my question in my earlier post – is it possible to have two places you call ‘home’? My family home, where I grew up, is one of the most comfortable places I can be – somewhere I can be completely myself and totally relaxed. The home I have in Florida, is getting there, but a combination of homesickness, questioning my decision to stay at home, and a sense of ‘this isn’t really my house’ (my husband bought this house before we were engaged), has held me back from calling this my home. Having two children has helped me feel more settled, and eventually letting go of my career and contenting myself that staying at home is what’s right for me at present, has also helped. So, this house in Florida – to which I brought my two babies from the hospital, that has their toys sometimes strewn, and sometimes neatly stacked, all over it, that has my stamp on it now, that welcomes visitors on a regular basis, that cocoons us in our daily lives – is also ‘home’.

Our first week in Ireland consisted of a lot of driving between my family, and my in-laws, in two separate towns, an hour’s drive apart. Considering the number of different houses we visited, and the number of different and unknown faces they encountered, both kids did fantastic and they took everything in their stride which made things a whole lot easier on us. After a dull, wet and cold first week, the weather took a turn for the better and the remainder of our stay was blessed with magnificent sunshine and warm temperatures around the mid to high seventies, perfect!

The last time we were in Ireland there were a few people I didn’t get to see – I was determined that whatever else we didn’t get to do, we’d visit with these people this time. One of them was a great friend I used to work with and I hadn’t seen her in 5 years. It was great to catch up with her, and all the better for the big bottle of champagne that she popped and shared with us, to celebrate our two marriages, and the 5 kids between us that have happened since we last saw each other (sure beats a cup of tea and a bun!). It was great for our children to meet each other also, and I’ll be campaigning for her to bring hers out here for a visit, soon.

We had considered a couple of nights away, just us as a family of four to do some touristy things in parts that we’d never visited before. But, the dreaded lurgy struck again and the hubs was sick for the best part of 10 days – so, a B&B break, with two small children, and a sick husband (which let’s face it is like having a third small child), no thanks! So, he got packed off to his Mum’s on his own for a couple of days and we stayed with mine – everyone was happy!

Ireland has a fantastic buzz about it these days, North and South. There is a real sense of affluence all around, evidenced in part by top of the line SUVs driving all over the place (which amazes me considering that petrol costs 8 dollars a gallon in the North of Ireland right now! – I tell you, in the US gas is CHEAPO!).

There is much publicity about the housing boom that has taken place, all over, but especially in Northern Ireland – great for existing homeowners, but a nightmare for first time buyers, or people like us considering a move back at some time. That ‘some time’ feels like it’s getting further in the distance though since it would be financial suicide for us right now. Plenty of people can afford these houses though because every town has multiple construction projects underway building new residential developments and many people have built huge houses in the country (something that will stop thanks to a new government restriction on green belt construction).

The dollar/British pound (currency in Northern Ireland) exchange is 2 to1, against us, so basically anything costing 10 pounds, was 20 bucks for us, and so on. This is something I found hard to deal with when shopping. I’d fall for great clothes and then calculate what they’d cost in dollars and swiftly return them to the rack – I couldn’t bring myself to do it knowing I’d get something similar here for a lot less. This is also a big reason why moving to Ireland now, or in the near future is not an option for us – however much that pains me to say, or may pain my family to read. You’ll have to plan your holiday trips to Florida for a wee while longer folks – there are worse places to visit mind you!

Ireland is also a country of contrasts right now, with the seemingly incongruous visions of BMW SUVs all over the place, sparkling mansions in the countryside no doubt furnished to perfection, alongside Mrs. McFarmer, complete with green wellies walking along the side of the main road, en route to a field of ewes or the like, or as my Mum put it, when we came across an ‘Irish Traffic Jam’ holding up two lines of traffic where Paddy gets his ponies from one field to another – a scene that could easily have taken place in my Grandmother’s time (albeit that the traffic jam would have been decidedly shorter) – the farmer likely to have been dressed in exactly the same way – brown trousers (probably from an old suit) with a cream stripy open necked shirt, sleeves rolled up on account of the beautiful sunny day.

Another contrast that shocked me was some of the attitudes and reactions to the ever growing migrant population in Ireland. The Irish have a reputation for being friendly and welcoming and this is indeed a reputation deserved by many. However I encountered quite a few people less than thrilled to see many Polish and Latvian people moving to Ireland. An influx of people from Eastern European countries that have recently joined the European Union has brought a cosmopolitan feel to the place, with several towns now sporting ‘Polish Shops’, in much the same way as British and Irish shops can be found dotted around US cities, carrying goods that have been imported from ‘home’. It’s also a novelty to browse around the shopping centres and hear couples chattering away in a foreign language. Some Irish people do not like this influx claiming that newcomers are taking jobs, benefits, school places etc from local people. This saddens me, since in some cases those very people complaining are ones who enjoyed US hospitality for many years when they came here to work when they were starting off in their adult lives – to earn money for a better life. Many countries in the world accepted the Irish when people fled Ireland's shores over the years. Yes it was hard for some of them and they undoubtedly faced many challenges, but I guess it is Ireland’s turn to return the favour? I would also say that this influx of other nationalities and their cultures is exactly what Northern Ireland in particular needs. Perhaps as other cultures assimilate, it will water down the whole ‘Catholic – Protestant’ tension that has existed for too long – we can hope…

We encountered that ‘Irish Traffic Jam’ on our way to a forest park that I visited occasionally as a child. These photos are a few snapshots from that day, easily the best of the whole trip. It was so much fun taking Miss E along the forest paths that we ran along as kids, where we shouted as loud as we could, reveling in the echo of our voices bouncing around the leafy canopy above us. A particular memory of this forest park for me is a set of stepping stones across the river that winds its way through the park. I just loved being able to take Miss E across these stones – admittedly nervous as I tried to avoid her having the same fate as I so many times where I ended up in the water, rather than over the top of it.

Miss E searched in the hollows of trees for fairies, and was delighted at the possibility that the little creatures (water flies of some sort) that she later saw skirting the top of the water, with dappled sunlight glinting on their wings, were possibly the very same fairies that 'were not in' when she knocked on their 'doors'.

My Mum has a picture of us (her four kids) as children sitting on tree limbs so she couldn’t resist the opportunity to have us do this once again. Since I was wearing a skirt and flip flops - my feet stayed firmly on the ground!

Over the course of our three week stay, we did a lot of driving about, and had a lot of fun at various parties, picnics and barbeques and enjoyed catching up with everyone. We were thoroughly spoiled by both families – with people vacating rooms to give us places to sleep, giving us full access to cars (a BIG help!), and plying us with enough sausages (to appreciate what this means you really have to have tasted Irish sausages and been away from them for some time!), and other culinary feasts to last us until our trip next year, and of course, cause us to pile on a few happy pounds. Miss E is now chatting with a broad Irish accent (Nor'n Irish at that !), and has picked up her 5 year old cousin's talent for saying 'I didn't do anything' on cue once her brother's sudden shrieks for help sound, despite blatant evidence to the contrary, *sigh*, another challenge!

My Mum keeps saying to me ‘I’m sure you’re glad to be back in your own space’, and yes, part of me is. Toting two kids and all their baggage around the countryside was busy, and a lot of fun, and they enjoyed it too, but it takes a lot of energy, and so we’re happy to have some ‘downtime’ at the minute. We miss everyone, and despite the horrible journey back here, we’re looking forward to heading back this time next year. In the meantime we have our memories, photos, and smiles on our faces.

I’m sure I’ll be blogging more about this trip – but for now I must go shop from the kids for Father’s Day which I completely forgot about until a few minutes ago!