April 14, 1994

"Friendship needs no words...it is a loneliness relieved of the anguish of loneliness."
                                   Dag Hammarskjold - (former) Secretary General of the U.N.

Yesterday afternoon I arrived at Eileen Woulfe's Shannon View B&B  in Bunratty. To surprise her and her family, I had booked my room through the Irish Tourist Board using the name Thomas McDonnell.  On my way I stopped to buy a bouquet of flowers for her and her husband, PJ, and a handful of Twix Bars for her kids. A few seconds after ringing the door bell, Eileen opened the door. She was so surprised and happy to see me that she yelled. "I don't believe this, I don't believe this!" We then hugged and laughed.

When her daughter Aileen appeared in the hallway and saw me, she said, "Tom, welcome home!' She is now twenty-two, Robert is seventeen and Linda's twenty-three. When they were young I used to play games with them, sometimes I babysat them and I always bought them Twix Bars.  Maggie and I have stayed at their B&B many, many times and Eileen, PJ and their wonderful children are true, genuine friends.  I lied and told them that Maggie was in Key West and that I was happy in Ireland.

Last night while in bed, I thought about Aileen's greeting, "Tom, welcome home," and cried.

I had a nightmare about killing myself in church: Saturday afternoon, 4:00pm Mass at Holy Redeemer in Chatham. A gun is in my pocket and at Communion time I get in line, slowly walk down the aisle, receive the Host and put it in my mouth. Then I step aside, pull out the  gun, put the barrel next to my temple and pull the trigger. The only thing that will prevent this act from becoming reality is that it would probably cause great embarrassment and deep shame to my parents and family. Plus it would provide proof positive to Maggie and her family that I was crazy and nothing more than a demented jackass. A question: is suicide less insane if its committed in the privacy of an empty room?

I am at Thoor Ballylee, Yeats' summer home in Gort. My great-grandmother was born and raised just a few miles the road in Kiltartan. Over the years I got to know the now retired curator, Miss Frances McNally, very well and in 1986 I wrote a feature article about her and Thoor Ballylee for the Boston Globe. In the spring of 1982 she allowed Maggie and I to do a charcoal rubbing of the tower's green slate inscription that begins, "I, the poet William Yeats."

It is an absolutely beautiful day, warm and sunny. The steam next to the tower is sparkling clear and flowing high and fast - stray sheep are jitterbugging down the lane. I met the new curator and gave her a copy of my Globe article and she gave me Miss McNally's address so that I can send her a note and a card. I'll stop by here for my final visit a few days before I return home.

Last night I ate and drank at Durty Nelly's and will do so again tonight. The Woulfe's invited me to dinner but I declined, telling Eileen I wouldn't be back in time. But I know that we will spend time together tonight, talking and watching TV as we did last night. During the few hours I was with them last night and again this morning at breakfast, I was relieved of the anguish of my loneliness - such is the comfort of their company and friendship.

1:oopm   -   Thoor Ballylee  - Gort, County Galway, Ireland

contact: fortheheartcries@gmail.com



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