Four Green Fields

The subject of grief and mourning have been floating in the debris lately. Walking through Raley’s the other day in search of warmed-over Chinese cuisine when a thin old lady with curled grey hair entered my peripheral vision. I caught my breath but motored on, knowing intellectually it was nobody I knew. Middle Daughter (affectionately known as PBJ because she’s stuck between two pieces of white bread) is still dealing with the passing of her namesake, her great-grandmother. Aunt Lily recently wrote of her mother’s passing. In the seven months since it’s happened, it’s safe to say all three of us are missing Grama.

Cultures handle the aftermath of death in the way that suits them best. Asian cultures balance spirituality and realism during their funeral services; they know death is a part of the wheel of time, accept it, and move on. At the other end of the scale are the Scots and Irish, my antecedents, who hold drunken celebrations of life and get every feeling and memory out into the open. Nothing is sacred, least of all the recently deceased, and an emotional purge of grief and happiness help cleanse the souls of loved ones left behind.

Grama’s memorial was perfect for her. It was tearful, solemn, and respectful of a woman who did so much for her family, but while it was appropriate for her, I’m wondering if it helped us move on. Maybe we need to have a good old-fashioned Irish wake with plenty of booze, music, and bad behavior.

And we should make it just loud enough for Grama to wonder what the hell we’re doing down here. :-)

--------------------------------------

The title of this blog is from an old Irish tune whose lyrics go something like this:

What did I have, said the fine old woman
What did I have, this proud old woman did say
I had four green fields, each one was a jewel
But strangers came and tried to take them from me
I had fine strong sons, who fought to save my jewels
They fought and they died, and that was my grief said she

Long time ago, said the fine old woman
Long time ago, this proud old woman did say
There was war and death, plundering and pillage
My children starved, by mountain, valley and sea
And their wailing cries, they shook the very heavens
My four green fields ran red with their blood, said she

What have I now, said the fine old woman
What have I now, this proud old woman did say
I have four green fields, one of them's in bondage
In stranger's hands, that tried to take it from me
But my sons had sons, as brave as were their fathers
My fourth green field will bloom once again said she

No one can do sadness and depression like the Irish.

--------------------------------------

Along those lines, Craig Ferguson is a late-night talk show host whose father recently passed away. Here is his public tribute to his dad from Craig’s TV show. It’s worth fifteen minutes of your life.