Kevin Patrick McCloskey
13th May 1937 - 2nd October 2005
__________
Some Reflections On Kevin’s Life
Given by Cormac
At Kevin’s Funeral Dinner
6th October 2005
“Out of the depth I have cried to you O Lord, Lord, hear my voice.”
Without doubt Kevin, in one form or another, this was a prayer that passed your lips, for there were many dark moments in your life, moments so dark that only you who have completed the journey, could possibly know how dark those moments were.
That accepted and in your memory, there are some special moments that I wish to share with those who are gathered here to honour your memory. Moments from our early teenage years, moments from our time together in London, and a few other bits and pieces, as it were, to complete the picture.
Do you remember Kevin, how in our youth, in what we called “the holiday season,” work was never ending? Well I remember, and I thank you for those moments of warmth and generosity when you made light of the heavy load and brought a smile to our mother’s face (as only you could do,) with promises of better times to come when you had made it, as you surely would to the top. How she loved those warm generous moments.
Do you remember Kevin, sitting in the porch puffing on a mouth-organ? I am not being disrespectful, you were puffing – puff, puff, puff. But because I was, in inverted commas, “musical”, you wanted me to listen and confirm your progress. Without doubt you were preparing to live life to the full and the tune that you were trying so hard to get right was, “The shrimp boats are a comin’ there’s dancin’ tonight.” I’ll even sing it for you “The shrimp boats are a comin’ there’s dancin’ tonight.” Well I have never been good at diplomacy Kevin, but standing there in the porch I did OK. I paid you half a compliment. “Well Kevin,” I said, (sparing the bad news,) “you’ve got the rhythm right.”
And a last wee story from our youth.
Do you remember waking me up in the middle of the night to play Ludo? It was at Christmas time, when we all had pocket money but you didn’t have quite enough, and you had thought of an ingenious and exciting way of getting more. Do you remember how we sat in the middle of the bed, in the middle of the night, and played for threepence a go, until it was all over, because I had all the money and you were broke. Well Kevin, life is a very subtle teacher, and the particular memory that I have carried from this seemingly bizarre moment, was, how gracious you were in defeat. You never complained, nor did you try by either fair means or foul, to get your money back. You had gambled, and you had lost, and you accepted without complaint that that was how life is.
Do you remember the good times in London Kevin, when you were managing the restaurant in the Lewisham shopping centre? How pleased you were to be Leo’s godfather. And do you remember the gift that you gave? Well, we remember, not just because of what it was, but because of the moral tale that it told, a tale about the strong helping the weak. It was a lovely commemorative plate, on which, the lion, Leo, is freeing the captive bird from its cage.
Well Kevin, when browsing through your books the other day I came across this, Do you remember it? The book is called “The Best Of Everything.” It is a compendium of short stories by distinguished writers on subjects as diverse as “Animals,” “Business,” “Drink,” “Travel” and “Literature” and it had a chapter with the intriguing title “Playtime.” Well Kevin, that was what you wanted, that was what you strove to achieve, not just for yourself, but for all of us. What you wanted was, “The Best Of Everything.”
Now Kevin, as you would be the first to acknowledge, some of the major goals in life, ultimately, alluded you, and I mention it here simply to point up another essential and remarkable aspect if your personality.
Despite the disappointments, you never gave up on life, instead; you lived it to the full, and continued to find beauty and inspiration in music, literature and art, and in the betting shop, and in the Railway Bar.
And I have to tell them Kevin, or perhaps remind them of how you loved the big occasion.
You were there on the Mall in London on the morning of Princess Diana’s wedding. Long before the TV cameras opened up, you were there soaking up the atmosphere, and to this day we regret that when you came to our home and told us all about it, (as only you could,) that we hadn’t, somehow, surreptitiously captured it on tape. You were at Westminster Cathedral for the memorial service for Princess Diana, and you were there again a week later for the memorial service for Mother Theresa. And though it is not explained, I know from the memorabilia that you were at St Paul’s Cathedral for “Evensong.”
Well before I wind down Kevin I must tell these good people here about your time in Tieve Tara, because I wouldn’t do justice to your memory if I didn’t say something about your wit and love of the ironic moment.
For those of you who don’t know, Tieve Tara is a residential home on Lansdowne Crescent. People there can come and go as they please, but of necessity there is a combination lock on the front door. Well, Kevin was there for a short spell this time last year, and when visiting him I drew attention to an old boy, who, suffering from senile dementia, spent a lot of time trying to escape through the front door. Unaware of the combination lock this old boy would stand there gently shaking the handle. When I mentioned this to Kevin, he said, “Yes, when I come down in the morning I like to sit in the hall and look out at the sea and he is always there trying to get out.” At that he laughed and said, “do you know what, if he just had the wit to press a few buttons – he might get lucky.”
One evening as I was leaving, he was sitting in an upright chair in the corner of the dining room and he was well out of it. At that time, he was heavily dependent on his nebulizer and oxygen and he was so unwell that some of us though that he might not be with us by the following week. Well before I left I walked to the other end of the dining room to talk with two of the staff who were having a cup of tea. I must have been talking to them for five, perhaps ten minutes, when I heard a splutter, a cough a gofer and laughter. It was Kevin and he had sprung back into life. What I hadn’t noticed, as I was talking to the two ladies, was that Alice was also in the dining room, a little white haired lady that it seemed to me, had taken a shine to Kevin. Well she must have been impressed by my eloquence, because without my noticing, she got out from her chair and slipped down to Kevin. Somehow, she got his attention and asked him - if I was his father. How he, and I, enjoyed that moment.
Well Kevin, whether as a brother or a sister, a son or a daughter, a niece or a nephew, a distant family member, or simply as a friend, of whom you had many, we know from your passing that a light has gone out. But not quite –
_______________
Cormac McCloskey
Note: "To The Memory Of . . ." was first published, by me, on Windows Live Spaces on 9th October 2005
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