Elegant; but with a wild streak. That’s the phrase I think would best describe my mam. My parents got married in 1978, starting out with eight cows and 62 acres. Mam had been working in The Clare Inn and just one day said: “To hell with it.”She quit and jumped up on the 35x and went off spreading fertiliser!
They wanted to develop the farm, so they held off building a house, and pulled in a mobile home to the lawn instead. Eight years later, they were still there, so she reared three of us in a mobile – with cloth nappies! But she never wanted for anything and I always remember very happy times there.
Over the years, mam and dad built the farm up to 350 dairy cows on 500 acres, winning awards including national family farm of the year. They made a formidable team because he was a thinker and she was the doer. For example, after they built a conference centre to cater for visiting groups, she could do a three-course meal for 100-120 people, while women from the ICA would help serve and do the wash-up afterwards. But she also farmed in her own right in the Burren with her own herd number, which she transferred to me before she died. She was very proud of that.
There’s a story about a calf whose leg broke during delivery. The vet said it should be put down, but mam wouldn’t hear of it. She made up her own plaster of Paris with water and flour and then minded it like a baby until it healed. We used to contract-rear our calves, so they’d go to another farm for the year. When mam and dad went to collect them, one came running straight over to the gate. What was it, only the calf she minded!
She enriched our lives in so many ways and left such a lasting legacy
Growing up, the house was always full of people because mam was such great craic. It was very important to my parents that we had life lessons outside of school and we were always encouraged to sit around the table when anybody called. I remember when I was doing my Junior Cert, I was studying a lot and mam locked me out of my room! She told me the reason she was doing it was I’d become a bookworm and develop no personality, and to go outside and get fresh air.
If we got an opportunity, we were encouraged to go for it with two hands. Before I started my own practice, I was in a permanent position in one of the top five law firms in the country. The majority of parents would probably say: “Stay where you are.” Whereas they would have said: “No, you’ve got more potential than this.” It was tough starting out, but mam knew I was passionate about farming and law and said: “You’ll make a go of this, I know you will.”
When I came home to the farm, I moved back in with mam and dad. I’d found it difficult leaving Dublin, but mam became my best friend and I would talk to her about everything. I’m so glad I had those years with her, because, like a lot of teenagers, you can have a fractious relationship at times with your mother, but as an adult, you have a totally different appreciation for all that they do and all the sacrifices that they made. You realise they’re just a normal human being and they have their strengths and their weaknesses as well, and she was very comfortable sharing that with me.
I’d found it difficult leaving Dublin, but mam became my best friend and I would talk to her about everything. I’m so glad I had those years with her
Mam always had a fear of the “big C” as she called it, having lost her own mother. When she got the letter for the routine breast check, she didn’t want to go, but I was like: “Sure what have you to lose?” I was with her the day she was told she had breast cancer. She had a mastectomy, did all the follow-up checks and was given the all clear, but she didn’t believe it because she wasn’t feeling well. I was in New Zealand doing my Nuffield scholarship when she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, but it was only when I came home that they told me; and the prognosis was not good.
Mam went on a low dose of chemo so she could enjoy the time she had left and didn’t want anyone outside the family to know because when she was diagnosed with breast cancer, people were avoiding her because they didn’t know what to say and that really upset her, because she was a very outgoing person. We respected her wishes, but I remember getting very upset one day until dad said: “No matter what you or I say or do, it is not going to change the diagnosis.” And the penny dropped that she was being brave, so how could we be going around feeling sorry for ourselves? I made the decision then to be strong for her because that’s what she would want.
Mam didn’t have a “bucket list”. She just wanted to continue as normal. She didn’t want palliative care coming into the house. She didn’t want a different bed. She did the Christmas dinner and she took down the decorations on 7 January and she passed away on 18 January. But before she died, she wrote us each a letter. She had different messages for us, but in all the letters it said: “Don’t be sad and have the craic; you know that’s what I’d be doing and what I’d want.”
Maureen and Liam Meehan with their children (l-r) Fintan, JJ, Richard and
Aisling on the family farm.
When I got married in December 2015, I read mam’s letter at the reflection. I had only met my husband Brian shortly before mam passed away and they’re all convinced she sent him. Dad says: “You had terrible taste in men and it took mam to send you a decent one!” When I was expecting, I said to Brian: “If we’re lucky enough to be blessed with a little girl, I want to call her Maureen.” And he said: “That’s perfect, and if we have a boy, I’d like to call him after my dad.” So now we have Phillip (two) and Maureen (one).
I try to keep her memory alive in different ways. Mam loved any excuse for a family dinner and was great for calling into neighbours and that’s something I make an effort with. The other thing I always get a slagging for is washing the windows. She had this obsession that the windows have to be clean or the neighbours would be talking! She comes into my mind every day, especially at night. We would always say if you’re in a pickle, think: “What would she say and what she would do?” And you generally would have a fair idea.
Mam was the life and soul of our home. I remember my brother JJ saying: “It was like a car: dad was the turbo, we were the four wheels, but mam was the engine.” She enriched our lives in so many ways and left such a lasting legacy.
Read more
Goodbye, My Son: Marian O'Mahony on coping with the terminal illness of a child
Elber Twomey on her campaign for suicide awareness training for Gardaí
Elegant; but with a wild streak. That’s the phrase I think would best describe my mam. My parents got married in 1978, starting out with eight cows and 62 acres. Mam had been working in The Clare Inn and just one day said: “To hell with it.”She quit and jumped up on the 35x and went off spreading fertiliser!
They wanted to develop the farm, so they held off building a house, and pulled in a mobile home to the lawn instead. Eight years later, they were still there, so she reared three of us in a mobile – with cloth nappies! But she never wanted for anything and I always remember very happy times there.
Over the years, mam and dad built the farm up to 350 dairy cows on 500 acres, winning awards including national family farm of the year. They made a formidable team because he was a thinker and she was the doer. For example, after they built a conference centre to cater for visiting groups, she could do a three-course meal for 100-120 people, while women from the ICA would help serve and do the wash-up afterwards. But she also farmed in her own right in the Burren with her own herd number, which she transferred to me before she died. She was very proud of that.
There’s a story about a calf whose leg broke during delivery. The vet said it should be put down, but mam wouldn’t hear of it. She made up her own plaster of Paris with water and flour and then minded it like a baby until it healed. We used to contract-rear our calves, so they’d go to another farm for the year. When mam and dad went to collect them, one came running straight over to the gate. What was it, only the calf she minded!
She enriched our lives in so many ways and left such a lasting legacy
Growing up, the house was always full of people because mam was such great craic. It was very important to my parents that we had life lessons outside of school and we were always encouraged to sit around the table when anybody called. I remember when I was doing my Junior Cert, I was studying a lot and mam locked me out of my room! She told me the reason she was doing it was I’d become a bookworm and develop no personality, and to go outside and get fresh air.
If we got an opportunity, we were encouraged to go for it with two hands. Before I started my own practice, I was in a permanent position in one of the top five law firms in the country. The majority of parents would probably say: “Stay where you are.” Whereas they would have said: “No, you’ve got more potential than this.” It was tough starting out, but mam knew I was passionate about farming and law and said: “You’ll make a go of this, I know you will.”
When I came home to the farm, I moved back in with mam and dad. I’d found it difficult leaving Dublin, but mam became my best friend and I would talk to her about everything. I’m so glad I had those years with her, because, like a lot of teenagers, you can have a fractious relationship at times with your mother, but as an adult, you have a totally different appreciation for all that they do and all the sacrifices that they made. You realise they’re just a normal human being and they have their strengths and their weaknesses as well, and she was very comfortable sharing that with me.
I’d found it difficult leaving Dublin, but mam became my best friend and I would talk to her about everything. I’m so glad I had those years with her
Mam always had a fear of the “big C” as she called it, having lost her own mother. When she got the letter for the routine breast check, she didn’t want to go, but I was like: “Sure what have you to lose?” I was with her the day she was told she had breast cancer. She had a mastectomy, did all the follow-up checks and was given the all clear, but she didn’t believe it because she wasn’t feeling well. I was in New Zealand doing my Nuffield scholarship when she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, but it was only when I came home that they told me; and the prognosis was not good.
Mam went on a low dose of chemo so she could enjoy the time she had left and didn’t want anyone outside the family to know because when she was diagnosed with breast cancer, people were avoiding her because they didn’t know what to say and that really upset her, because she was a very outgoing person. We respected her wishes, but I remember getting very upset one day until dad said: “No matter what you or I say or do, it is not going to change the diagnosis.” And the penny dropped that she was being brave, so how could we be going around feeling sorry for ourselves? I made the decision then to be strong for her because that’s what she would want.
Mam didn’t have a “bucket list”. She just wanted to continue as normal. She didn’t want palliative care coming into the house. She didn’t want a different bed. She did the Christmas dinner and she took down the decorations on 7 January and she passed away on 18 January. But before she died, she wrote us each a letter. She had different messages for us, but in all the letters it said: “Don’t be sad and have the craic; you know that’s what I’d be doing and what I’d want.”
Maureen and Liam Meehan with their children (l-r) Fintan, JJ, Richard and
Aisling on the family farm.
When I got married in December 2015, I read mam’s letter at the reflection. I had only met my husband Brian shortly before mam passed away and they’re all convinced she sent him. Dad says: “You had terrible taste in men and it took mam to send you a decent one!” When I was expecting, I said to Brian: “If we’re lucky enough to be blessed with a little girl, I want to call her Maureen.” And he said: “That’s perfect, and if we have a boy, I’d like to call him after my dad.” So now we have Phillip (two) and Maureen (one).
I try to keep her memory alive in different ways. Mam loved any excuse for a family dinner and was great for calling into neighbours and that’s something I make an effort with. The other thing I always get a slagging for is washing the windows. She had this obsession that the windows have to be clean or the neighbours would be talking! She comes into my mind every day, especially at night. We would always say if you’re in a pickle, think: “What would she say and what she would do?” And you generally would have a fair idea.
Mam was the life and soul of our home. I remember my brother JJ saying: “It was like a car: dad was the turbo, we were the four wheels, but mam was the engine.” She enriched our lives in so many ways and left such a lasting legacy.
Read more
Goodbye, My Son: Marian O'Mahony on coping with the terminal illness of a child
Elber Twomey on her campaign for suicide awareness training for Gardaí
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