No ragretz
Over the weekend, two things happened that have taken over my mind completely and ravaged it ever since. I am referring to two untimely deaths.
The first was of Brian Gubbins, a 19-year-old journalism student from Nenagh with a passion for hurling, who did not return home from a night out with classmates in Galway Thursday night last. The second was of a young man named Maurice O'Donoghue who attended the same national school as I did, and was four years my senior when, on Saturday night, a car accident on a road I travel frequently took his life.
The main thing that preoccupies my mind whenever I think of these two incidents (and trust me, they're all I've been thinking about since I heard about them one after the other on Sunday morning) is that two families, two groups of friends and acquaintances, team-mates, colleagues, fellow students, didn't get the chance to properly say goodbye. Parents assumed they'd see their sons later, the next day, the next week, whenever, but they didn't.
All of this I am basing on mere assumptions, of course. I have no true insight into what the lives of either of these young men were actually like. I did, however, see a post on Facebook, written by a close friend of Brian's, and one sentence that struck me that I think rings true with all of us whenever we lose a loved one, is that she was "left with so many regrets".
This got me thinking, because in February of last year, I along with many others, was met with the shocking passing of Éanna Ó Griallais, a friend I had made in college a few months prior to his untimely death. And, upon reflection, I echo the words of Brian's friend: I too am left with regrets. Things I should have said, things I shouldn't have said, pictures we never took together, hugs or smiles that didn't last long enough. Just a lack of appreciation in general. And I admit that I'm guilty of that. I'm sure all of us can confess to only showing our true emotions when it's too late.
Don't think I'm looking to patent any of this, or that I've come up with something new and original: we've seen all the swag notes, the YOLO hashtags, and to trace back further from the digital era, we've heard the wise words of our grandparents and elderly friends: "appreciate what you have", "it's the things you don't do that you'll regret", "you don't know what you have 'til you've lost it." Sounding familiar? Yeah, I guessed as much. So when are we going to start listening and learning? When are we finally going to realise how important it is that we tell people right here right now (to quote Fatboy Slim) that we love them, that we are glad they're in our lives, that we love the way they laugh, the way they tell stories, the way they do all the little things that they do that make them who they are? What is it about the human condition that holds us back from saying these things out loud? What are we afraid of? Afraid that it will make them happy? Afraid that hearing such simple yet powerful words could turn their day around for the better? Afraid, on the other hand, that they might reject us? Afraid that they'll freak out? There's a quote about fear from Aristotle that I absolutely love, and it is:
The regrets I have about Éanna hold me back, they really do, but they are something I need to live with and something I need to learn from. I'm not perfect, I'm very far from it, but ever since his death a year ago, I have done a fine amount of growing as a person, and part of this growth is simply telling those close to me that they're great, and that I'm glad to have them with me. Because although I thought those exact sentiments about Éanna (I mean, who couldn't? For those of you reading this that never knew him, he was hilarious, handsome, sound, talented, a gem), I never vocalised it. And sometimes, actions speak louder than words. Of course there are other ways of showing love besides saying it. Hang out the clothes for your mom before she asks, buy a packet of your housemate's favourite sweets on your way home, text your siblings just to see how they are, screenshot a funny picture you saw on Facebook or Twitter that perfectly describes you and your friend. These are small things, but these are The Things.
It's not all about grand gestures. Of course it isn't. Hiring a plane to fly over the workplace of your true love bearing a banner with confessions such as "JUST SO YOU KNOW, I HAVE LOVED YOU ALL THIS TIME" doesn't come cheap. To throw another granny saying into the mix, it's the thought that counts. To take that even further, it's the expression of the thought that counts. Are you proud of how talented and intelligent your sister is? TELL HER. Do you think your dad is hilarious? TELL HIM. Have you just realised how compatible you and your best friend truly are? TELL THEM. Do you still have feelings for that one person ever since you met them all those months or years ago? TELL THEM. TELL THEM NOW.
Otherwise, when are you going to do it? When you've heard that they lost their life at the wheel? When you've seen on the news that, after a night out, they're coming home in a body bag? When you've been informed that, in the depths of despair, they took their own life? Listen to the grannies, you guys. Let that person know that you love them, just because.
The first was of Brian Gubbins, a 19-year-old journalism student from Nenagh with a passion for hurling, who did not return home from a night out with classmates in Galway Thursday night last. The second was of a young man named Maurice O'Donoghue who attended the same national school as I did, and was four years my senior when, on Saturday night, a car accident on a road I travel frequently took his life.
The main thing that preoccupies my mind whenever I think of these two incidents (and trust me, they're all I've been thinking about since I heard about them one after the other on Sunday morning) is that two families, two groups of friends and acquaintances, team-mates, colleagues, fellow students, didn't get the chance to properly say goodbye. Parents assumed they'd see their sons later, the next day, the next week, whenever, but they didn't.
All of this I am basing on mere assumptions, of course. I have no true insight into what the lives of either of these young men were actually like. I did, however, see a post on Facebook, written by a close friend of Brian's, and one sentence that struck me that I think rings true with all of us whenever we lose a loved one, is that she was "left with so many regrets".
This got me thinking, because in February of last year, I along with many others, was met with the shocking passing of Éanna Ó Griallais, a friend I had made in college a few months prior to his untimely death. And, upon reflection, I echo the words of Brian's friend: I too am left with regrets. Things I should have said, things I shouldn't have said, pictures we never took together, hugs or smiles that didn't last long enough. Just a lack of appreciation in general. And I admit that I'm guilty of that. I'm sure all of us can confess to only showing our true emotions when it's too late.
Don't think I'm looking to patent any of this, or that I've come up with something new and original: we've seen all the swag notes, the YOLO hashtags, and to trace back further from the digital era, we've heard the wise words of our grandparents and elderly friends: "appreciate what you have", "it's the things you don't do that you'll regret", "you don't know what you have 'til you've lost it." Sounding familiar? Yeah, I guessed as much. So when are we going to start listening and learning? When are we finally going to realise how important it is that we tell people right here right now (to quote Fatboy Slim) that we love them, that we are glad they're in our lives, that we love the way they laugh, the way they tell stories, the way they do all the little things that they do that make them who they are? What is it about the human condition that holds us back from saying these things out loud? What are we afraid of? Afraid that it will make them happy? Afraid that hearing such simple yet powerful words could turn their day around for the better? Afraid, on the other hand, that they might reject us? Afraid that they'll freak out? There's a quote about fear from Aristotle that I absolutely love, and it is:
"He who has overcome his fears will truly be free."
The regrets I have about Éanna hold me back, they really do, but they are something I need to live with and something I need to learn from. I'm not perfect, I'm very far from it, but ever since his death a year ago, I have done a fine amount of growing as a person, and part of this growth is simply telling those close to me that they're great, and that I'm glad to have them with me. Because although I thought those exact sentiments about Éanna (I mean, who couldn't? For those of you reading this that never knew him, he was hilarious, handsome, sound, talented, a gem), I never vocalised it. And sometimes, actions speak louder than words. Of course there are other ways of showing love besides saying it. Hang out the clothes for your mom before she asks, buy a packet of your housemate's favourite sweets on your way home, text your siblings just to see how they are, screenshot a funny picture you saw on Facebook or Twitter that perfectly describes you and your friend. These are small things, but these are The Things.
It's not all about grand gestures. Of course it isn't. Hiring a plane to fly over the workplace of your true love bearing a banner with confessions such as "JUST SO YOU KNOW, I HAVE LOVED YOU ALL THIS TIME" doesn't come cheap. To throw another granny saying into the mix, it's the thought that counts. To take that even further, it's the expression of the thought that counts. Are you proud of how talented and intelligent your sister is? TELL HER. Do you think your dad is hilarious? TELL HIM. Have you just realised how compatible you and your best friend truly are? TELL THEM. Do you still have feelings for that one person ever since you met them all those months or years ago? TELL THEM. TELL THEM NOW.
Otherwise, when are you going to do it? When you've heard that they lost their life at the wheel? When you've seen on the news that, after a night out, they're coming home in a body bag? When you've been informed that, in the depths of despair, they took their own life? Listen to the grannies, you guys. Let that person know that you love them, just because.
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