Mothers and Daughters – 9 Lives Notes

December 8 – The Hanged Man

I’m writing tonight from Kenya, where we’ve spent the past two days at The Caitlin O’Hara Community Health Center. It’s the first time we’ve seen it fully operational, filled with the kind of care and community that Caitlin believed in so fiercely. It has been both lovely and emotional—heart-strengthening, really—and there is so much I want to share in the coming weeks about the astounding work that Jess and her team are managing to do here on a shoestring budget. (Just hours ago, I witnessed how the clinic’s medical team and ambulance were able to save a man’s life by transferring him to a surgical hospital.)

Also earlier, while helping prepare some content for The Leo Project’s website, I came across an old email from Caitlin, written in the early days of her decline, before she was listed for transplant. I was reminded anew of how much clarity and insight she had, how she could articulate the contradictions of being sick—of being hopeful and exhausted, old and young, surrendered and determined, all at once.

I know I promised to share more of her writing after publishing Little Matches. I haven’t kept up with that the way I hoped to. So I want to share this piece now, here, because it gave me pause today, because the work happening in Nanyuki is, in so many ways, an extension of the way she thought and felt and lived.

Here is the email:

Sometimes I feel old, like I’m experiencing the struggles of a much older person—phases of illness, thinking about what I want or can’t have or can have out of life, feeling exhausted physically and emotionally. But then I feel so young, too. I just feel like a lot of contrasting ideas and thoughts have been stuffed into ten years.

I can’t remember the last time I had fun. I can remember times I enjoyed myself—definitely—but isn’t that something different? Maybe I associate fun with activity, and with abandon.

Enjoyment can come from hard work, or things that take patience, or things done alone, or from great conversation. I suppose that can be fun, and I’ve had that. But when I think of moments of fun, I think of these flashes of carelessness. I danced at Lindsay Hovanesian’s wedding for like five minutes before I couldn’t do it anymore, and it was so fun—to be able to pretend to do that again. I had forgotten what it felt like. I had a moment of fun on our piggyback-pack ride up that mountain, but I worried near the top, and it was more enjoyable than carefree. Fun, for me, is often tied to activity, and to interaction with people.

I had a lot of fun when I met Andrew because I was lovestruck. That kind of feeling makes you abandon things and not care about the consequences. I can’t do that the same way now—it’s not new enough, and I’m in a different place.

Dirty Dancing is on. It looks so fun.

I think my talk with Ahmet (her doctor) about TX basically came down to this: the struggle is the limbo. This is it, really. The hard part—or one of the hard parts—is the limbo, the long wait and low-level sickness. You can’t just say, “Okay, I don’t care, I want to get a TX.” They won’t let you. It’s not about avoiding this limbo or figuring out how to end it; it’s about living in it.

I hesitate even to say this because (as I often do) but the week I spent in the hospital was the most relaxed I’ve felt all year. Since then, I’ve remembered it with a kind of sick nostalgia. When I felt the lump in my breast earlier, I thought—in a split-second flash—Wouldn’t it be okay to have a curable cancer? Something to allow me to surrender to? It’s like, in that surrender, you get strength… if that makes sense. It sounds so sick, but it’s not. You don’t really want it, but— I don’t want that. But it was one of those flashes that goes through your head.

The other night I did a tarot reading, and I got the Hanged Man. I always get him—him and the Tower. Two powerful cards. I remember doing tarot in my room when I was little and always getting the Hanged Man and being scared. I googled it. It’s an interesting card, full of contrasts. Basically, it holds that same idea: you find strength in surrender, but you must be calculated too. Thoughtful.

August 1 – The Pass Through

Yesterday was Caitlin’s birthday, and in a very small, very private family ceremony, we moved her earthly self to a final place of rest — The Pass Through Dolmen, which her dad conceived, designed, and built for her with all of his heart and soul.

We are so full of relief that she is now permanently in a safe, good place, and the day was so emotional and beautiful, that I feel rather numb and I’m not sure I can convey how special it was but I must try!

The journey to build the dolmen began twenty years ago at Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris when Caitlin, so taken with the beauty and dramatic gravitas of the cimetière’s intertwining pathways and ornate mausoleums and sculptures and tombs housing the likes of Oscar Wilde and Marcel Proust, and Kafka, Chopin, and Jim Morrison, declared that she never wanted to be buried or cremated but would love something magnificent and lasting like Père Lachaise.

It was a slim directive, but fortunately for Caitlin, Nick is a stone artist and after her passing, we discovered that we had access to a beautiful location—Edgell Grove Cemetery in Framingham. Designed by Henry Dearborn, the same architect who helped establish Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Edgell Grove offered a mausoleum where Caitlin could temporarily stay while the cemetery trustees, so helpful, kind, and trusting, worked with us to secure land and obtain conservation permissions while Nick designed something to last one thousand years without maintenance.

He calls his creation The Pass Through Dolmen. Its solid yet open design symbolizes how we pass through this life and into the next. In fact, he swears that if he closes his eyes and reaches his hand between the stones, he can feel Caitlin’s fingers wiggling on the other side. An uneven stone bridge, representing life’s ups and downs, leads up to the mound over which The Pass Through Dolmen presides.

The bridge can be a precarious path to walk—one must be mindful—and could have been dangerous for pallbearers. Instead, the pallbearers delivered Caitlin to a crane as our small family group assembled by the dolmen’s pillars. When the crane began its work, I played the music I think Caitlin wanted for the occasion, Under Pressure, about which she wrote, “Some lyrics stand out as not as the most famous lines, or even as singular, cohesive ideas, but as the part of the song that just makes your heart soar, or break. These lyrics don’t behave like normal words…they fail to incite feeling without the song itself—that is the magic of music.”

The magic of music urged us to give love, give love, give love as Nick’s longtime stone artisans Paul and Steve, in sync with The Baxter Crane Company’s skilled operators, in absolute silence and with the greatest precision and elegance, gracefully delivered Caitlin up to the dolmen.

I wish my eyes could have recorded—visually, aurally, and emotionally—how this moment felt: the uncanny slipping-sideways sense of surreality.

I used Caitlin’s ICU “comforting” playlist and Do You Believe in Magic played next as the men fitted the casket into precise position between the pillars. Then Joni Mitchell background-sang as we gathered around. I had filled a slim, fireproof bag with a few meaningful items and placed it on the casket. Uncle Mike noted how Caitlin brought us together at the holidays. Katie talked about how Caitlin was her anam ċara – Irish for soul friend. She read John O’Donohue’s Friendship Blessing as the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

Then we retreated under umbrellas as the crane retrieved and fitted the protective granite crypt—a hollowed-out piece of solid granite, into place over the casket. Finally, the crane placed the 13 and a half ton capstone over the crypt and pillars. It took Nick two and a half years to locate that capstone, with the help of a man named Brian, on top of a mountain in Maine.

Although there is still another few month’s worth of work to be done to complete The Pass Through Dolmen, we are deeply relieved that this major part of Caitlin’s journey is finally complete. We will let all loved ones know when the site is ready for visits.

Thank you for these years of support, friendship, and love. And hats off to Nick — what an incredible accomplishment.

Nick and Caitlin in Ireland once upon a time.

Friendship Blessing, by John O’Donohue

May you be blessed with good friends.
May you learn to be a good friend to yourself.
May you be able to journey to that place in your soul where
there is great love, warmth, feeling, and forgiveness.
May this change you.
May it transfigure that which is negative, distant, or cold in you.
May you be brought in to the real passion, kinship, and affinity of belonging.
May you treasure your friends.
May you be good to them and may you be there for them;
may they bring you all the blessing, challenges, truth,
and light that you need for your journey.
May you never be isolated.
May you always be in the gentle nest of belonging with your anam ċara.

December 20 – An Owl Visit

Perhaps it was due to living with illness, or merely because she was deeply in tune with the natural world, but Caitlin had an acceptance of death and its role in the wheel of life.

As everyone knows, she loved birds, and had a special respect and affection for owls in particular. Once, some kids at school told her that she looked like a barn owl, and it became a lifelong endearment. After her death, the owl went on to symbolize her quiet wisdom. When Kat David painted her beautiful homage to Caitlin, she included a barn owl.

Katie is home from Spain for the holidays. She wanted to visit us last night, the eve of the anniversary. She suggested that we do a solstice/remembrance ceremony together. Perhaps at the cemetery.

The cemetery project is almost but not yet done for many good reasons I won’t go into. It is a large project – a piece of art. Nick intends it to last 1000 years.

We wanted to get to the cemetery before dusk, so Katie planned to arrive for 2:30. When she knocked on the door, there was a look of shock on her face. ‘Auntie Mare,’ she said. ‘There is a large owl sitting in the corner of your driveway.’

I have always wanted to see an owl. But if an owl was sitting in our driveway, in daylight, it had to be injured. I was scared as I followed her outside.

It was a beautiful barred owl, its feathers ruffling in the wind, with a left wing that was clearly damaged.

It sat quietly in a corner of a stone wall. It didn’t try to move. Its eyes followed us as we moved closer, almost as if it were asking for help.

Back inside, we called mass.gov, wildlife division, where a woman told us we had a choice – that we could let nature take its course or try to find a permitted wildlife rehabilitator. She directed us to a list of names and I began calling ones closest to my town, leaving desperate voice messages.

These people are volunteers, and it was heartening how quickly they called back. The first woman to call back couldn’t get to us but advised us to text a specific other woman and to put a box over the owl to protect it if it tried to move. I texted the reference and meanwhile, another woman I’d reached out to called. She asked if I had a big net. No! My heart was racing. I did not have a net! She began to explain how to use a towel and a shovel to get the bird into a box, so we could bring it to the big veterinary center in central Massachusetts. I was listening but panicking, seriously doubting I could get an actual wild, injured raptor into a box. At this point, Katie took the phone. She asked the woman to repeat the instructions.

She hung up. ‘We’re going to have to do this,’ she said. Her calm gave me courage. I ran up to the attic to find a big box. I grabbed a towel.

But then–thank God— the third woman texted back: I’m twenty minutes away.

We went back out to the driveway to wait for this angel volunteer. The owl had not moved. It watched us. It looked tired and kept closing its eyes. Nearly an hour had passed.

It was emotional. And became more so when the volunteer, Julie, arrived with a helper. She slowly moved backwards towards the owl, holding a black cloth. The owl never flinched. Indeed, it turned its head and watched her approach. When she put the cloth over him, he collapsed. ‘Oh buddy,’ she said. She hugged and rocked him. ‘I’m so sorry.’

She gathered him up, so kind and loving, and propped him against the hood of her car. She had a strong hold on his feet as she inspected the damaged wing. At this point, the owl’s eyes were wide open, looking at me and Katie. Then he spread his one good wing. The magnificence and awe of that wing span as it tried to swoop toward us!

They were not going to be able to save him, Julie said, but the vets at Tufts would euthanize and bury him with dignity. Then she tucked him into the box that she had brought.

It turns out that a large owl can easily fit into a cat’s box. Of course, it felt significant.

She drove off and we got in my car.

How did the owl come to be there, in that protected corner of our driveway? Why did it happen? What was the meaning of it? Was there meaning? We asked ourselves these questions as we drove to the cemetery.

It was close to dusk. We picked evergreens and laid a circle of them on the pallet that will be Caitlin’s final resting place. We lit a candle. We said some things.

Nick calls what he is building a “pass-through.” It is an installation that represents how we pass through the physical life on our way to the spiritual. This is but a tiny sneak peak. There is more to come.

A few other similar bird death incidents happened to Caitlin’s loved ones this week. They are not my stories to share, but my take on these happenings, occurring during the solstice, at the end of a hard year for so many, is to be reminded that death is part of life, and that we are not to fear what’s to come.

These are volatile times on our little planet. It seems essential to connect to nature and to loved ones and find calm in personal community.

Back at the house, Katie made an altar for us to maintain over the Yule period. We lit a fire and a lot of candles.

It has always felt fitting that Caitlin left during the winter solstice. It’s a time for the comfort of dark nights and fires, for grieving and for catharsis, and for waiting for the return of the sun.

xx Happy Yule to all. xx

PS. Just as I am about to post this, I’ve received a texted photo from friends who just visited the pass-through site. Another reminder of the importance of friends and community.

July 31 – It’s Caitlin’s Birthday

I always pull back and picture myself in time and in space geographically. It makes me removed enough to ultimately feel that there is not much I can do to change the shifts of the world, but also inspired enough to think – what is my role in this lifetime?

-Caitlin

The amount of messages I’ve received today, on Caitlin’s birthday, fills my heart. Her life, her example, continues to make a difference in the lives of others–how wonderful is that?

Recently, I was looking at her DNA results. I thought about how, if she had never had the bad luck to receive two CF genes, we wouldn’t have even known to be grateful. CF would have been a disease that happened to other people.

She was lucky in one respect, though. She had access to health care that absolutely gave her many more years than she would have had if she’d been born into another life.

Today, her birthday, is the one-year anniversary of The Caitlin O’Hara Community Health Clinic! The moment it opened, it became a godsend to the community.

Anyone who knew Caitlin knew how much she respected, admired, and loved her Boston pulmonologist, Dr. Ahmet Uluer, Director of the Adult Cystic Fibrosis Program at Brigham and Women’s Hospital and Boston Children’s Hospital. He sits on The Leo Project’s Medical Advisory Board, and writes:

“Caitlin O’Hara’s strength and compassion in the face of an unrelenting chronic illness inspired those around her – from family and friends, to the people in her community she encouraged, to the healthcare providers who she made better, including me. I am heartened that her legacy of resilience and kindness lives on through The Leo Project, an organization forged by the bonds of friendship and committed to the spread of knowledge, hope and healthcare, and reflective of her fierce advocacy for those in need of support. On her birthday, let’s be curious and learn something new, let’s fight for a cause, let’s bring a community something beautiful to celebrate, and let’s celebrate The Leo Project’s mission to empower and help care for all who walk through its doors.”

And here is an update from the amazing Jess.

Dear TLP Supporters,

Today would have been Caitlin’s 41st birthday. In her honor, we have continued our forward trajectory as we aim to provide equitable access to education and healthcare throughout Kenya. When I was sick, Caitlin sent me a quote from ESPN’s Stuart Scott who had recently been diagnosed with cancer. He said, “So, live. Live. Fight like hell. And when you get too tired to fight then lay down and rest and let somebody else fight for you.” Some days are harder than others, but our entire team is fighting; trying to change the status quo. And, thanks to your support, it is working.

Every contribution enables us to expand our impact.

MAKE A DONATION IN HONOR OF CAITLIN’S BIRTHDAY

Today is the also the one-year anniversary of The Caitlin O’Hara Community Health Clinic. Watch our most recent TLP video here which hints at our upcoming expansion.

A few high-level Education and Healthcare Program impact statistics from Q2 2024: 6,266 students participated in TLP’s Education Programs (Digital Literacy, SRHR, Conservation, Adult Literacy and Robotics) 7,902 patients were seen at The Caitlin O’Hara Community Health Clinic1,057 women and children attended our Maternal and Child Health Services (MCH) Clinic1,879 community members were reached by our Mental Health Programs30,135 gallons of clean drinking water were distributed to the community from our roadside kioskQ2 Partnership/Grant Highlight: The Leo Project was amongst six grantees who were awarded the Climate x Health grant by Global Health Strategies (AMREF, Rockefeller Foundation, Global Health Alliance and the Wellcome Trust). This award supported our initiative to build the capacities of healthcare professionals, key stakeholders, youth and community members on the intersection between climate change and health, with a particular focus on mental health.

Another way to support our work is to purchase essential equipment from our Amazon Wish List here:

The Leo Project’s AMAZON WISH LIST

As always, thank you for your continued support.

Yours in gratitude,

Jess Danforth
Founder and Executive Director

May 7 – Email from Caitlin

An old friend sent a newly-discovered email exchange he had with Caitlin during her last spring on this planet, when she was alive like we all are alive, and thinking of the future, like we all think of the future, and considering what to do with her life, post-transplant. Public health? Law? Philosophy? Maybe all 3.

Joe is an attorney who, Caitlin had learned, had majored in philosophy as an undergrad. He is also an extremely lovely soul who had recently lost a son. I have his permission to share.

From: Caitlin Elizabeth O’Hara
Sent: Friday, April 08, 2016 4:27 PM
Subject: Many things

So so nice to hear from you, and such a lovely note. My dad mentions you all the time — he loves you so much. He has always told me you are asking for me, which is very kind. I am so glad to hear from you myself.

Oh my god, that game! You must’ve been freaking out. I couldn’t believe it. The first 3 pointer was WOW enough, more like OH NO….then when Villanova got it on the buzzer, it was like a movie….. to good to be true, but it was true! I do love things like that. Maybe its silly, but they make me believe that unbelievable things can happen…in any part of life, whether its a basketball game…or my own precarious situation 🙂

Thank you for sharing that about Matthew’s gift of life. It is really wonderful to hear that at such an unimaginably difficult time you were able to foresee that someone else could benefit from your loss. It is selfless, heartwarming, and encouraging to hear.

It is a very complicated thing, to think and know that someone else has to die for me to get this opportunity. I have discussed it with some of my friends whom I know that have already had transplants….everybody has a complicated relationship with the idea. At least the people that I know, though, feel an incredible bond of gratitude to those who saved them, everyday. Every single thing that they do, they do with their donor in mind. Two friends of mine learn or participate in a new activity, a new goal, every year in honor of their donor….whether it’s skiing, or running a race. For one woman, even after 9 years it never stops being an emotional ride.

That is as it should be though…we can use all the love and open emotion we can get in the world.

I didn’t know that you were into Philosophy as an undergrad. So was I, and in my 20s I applied to two graduate programs in philosophy in Boston – at BU and at Tufts. I got in, but…ultimately didn’t go. I had also applied previously to art history MA programs, and then didn’t go. Nothing has ever felt like the right thing to spend 80 grand on.

I suppose a lot of my 20s were spent halfheartedly stuck…knowing in the back of my mind that transplant would come, and not feeling like I knew what I was supposed to really DO to start my life until I got through that. I still am not sure what I want to do, exactly, but I have a much more focused idea of what I don’t want. Perhaps more importantly, I don’t feel that paralysis anymore. I’m just ready to begin and enjoy the moment.

So maybe it will be law school. Whatever it is I plan on pursuing a degree when I am back in Boston. I don’t know when that will be. The Prouty Garden played a part in my thinking about it, but so have a few other things. My interest in health care, and also a more general understanding of what I am good at combined with what I find interesting….I think these things take most people a lot longer than college to figure out! At 20, a law degree or an MPH would have seemed like the complete opposite of anything I would ever do. At that point, I didn’t have a sense at all that there was a difference between, say, liking art, and literature, and actually being good at making and enjoying a career of it.

I think a lot of that had to do, too, with being female…being pegged as “artsy” before I could realize I wasn’t. Once I got involved in art..galleries..writing…I realized the career world of those interests is completely antithetical to my interest in directly working with humanity.

I also couldn’t imagine a job that didn’t change a lot, involve direct interaction and impact on people…and afford me some autonomy.

I am planning to wait until I am home and after transplant to apply to a program in MA or maybe Maine (where my boyfriend is from). I would love to hear more about your choice to go to law school. My dad mentioned that you didn’t go right out of school – not until you were in your 30s – so you’d have been like me. The amount of reading — I hear that it’s monumental. And writing. I haven’t really done that kind of reading and writing in my life yet….so I don’t know how I’ll find it. I’d be less intimidated by a PhD program in literature at Harvard than I would be by a JD program, because I am used to reading fiction and writing those kind of critiques.

There is so much I don’t know. I’m just hoping I can use this down time to prepare as best I can for a potential grad degree. I am actually taking a free online course (it’s very easy) on the basics of American Law. There are short lectures, supplemental readings, and terms to learn. It’s very simple but a good thing to get my brain started on thinking about it. Every week is a new area (so far I’ve done Tort law, Contract law, and Property law), and each one I actually really like and want to learn more about, in a nerdy way.

Oh – one other thing – my boyfriend — he originally was planning on going to law school when I met him, then deferred. Now he may not. So he actually put the seed in my brain. I bought him some prep books and then I started reading them a few years ago…..and it’s kind of been nagging at me since. He also loves basketball…by the way. Obsession level. 🙂

So much love, and thank you again for such a thoughtful note.

xx

Caitlin

March 17 – Être à Paris

To be in Paris for the first time since my last visit here with Caitlin.

I am in a hotel, by myself, a stop on my way to an artist’s residency for the next couple of weeks. Arriving here, after an overnight flight and taxi ride with a terrifyingly bad driver, I found myself even more in awe of Caitlin and the way she hauled her oxygen concentrator and suitcase full of medicine all the way over here to live by herself for a few weeks, to have that experience, only a year before she would need to be listed for a transplant.

Today, the pain of missing her was terribly close to the surface as I walked to the Marais to meet a friend for lunch. Caitlin is with you, people always say. She is always with you. I know she is, but it’s not the same as laughing and being together in real time. It’s not like visiting museums and having lunch and going to the spa together, like the mother and daughter I found myself watching in my hotel.

As I made my way to the Marais, I took a detour along the Île Saint-Louis, where, during Caitlin’s college days, she and I once rented a little flat for two weeks to get a feel for what it was like to ‘live in Paris.’ (This was before VRBO and Airbnb, when renting an apartment for a short vacation took some effort.)

Today was rainy and the mood was melancholy but I was grateful for the private shelter of an umbrella. I took a left at the street Caitlin and I had jokingly pronounced “the roo of two ponts.” Then I took a right and there I was, on a street that is as it’s been for more years than you or I could know it. Stone residences that date from the 17th century.

Standing there, I remembered our little flat and its long golden drapes that swept away from the window and offered a close-up view of the green waters of the Seine. I remembered how perfect and beautiful our choice to stay there had felt. I felt alone and close to tears.

And then – I remembered the way the Bateaux-Mouches played over-the-top operatic music at that particular bend of the river and how the music was so ridiculously loud that we laughed out loud every single time.

Back then, I took a photo of Caitlin at our window.

Today, I took a photo of today.

There is a hotel in Miami – The Betsy – that is owned by the son of the writer Hyam Plutzik. The hotel’s logo is a line written by Mr. Plutzik, a line comes to me often:

Expect no more. This is happiness.

-Maryanne

December 20 -We have the power

Caitlin left this earthly plane seven years ago. Seven years is impossible, as was two, as will be twenty.

What endures: her wisdom, her words, the good she continues to inspire.

The Caitlin O’Hara Community Health Clinic is saving lives. The Leo Project community programs are thriving, as is Jess – who just finished her first semester of her MPH program at Harvard, whilst also running the show in Kenya. 👏🏼 !

Nick is working on stone installations in her memory -hopefully to be shared with you in 2024.

I committed to returning to the novel I was writing during the transplant wait. I finished and plan to dedicate it to her memory. (She was its first reader, its best editor, and a fan. 🙂 )

During the years of that wait, when I often only had the time to write for 30 precious minutes a day, it was easy for writing to feel futile. Pointless. But one day I received a letter. It was from a reader of Cascade who, after finishing it, was moved to quit her job and commit to the painting career she’d dreamed of for years. Never underestimate the power of your art to change lives, she wrote. That letter kept me going during some dark times.

It’s easy to underestimate the positive influence each of us has on others, often without ever knowing about it. It’s a hard time on this planet right now but we can all do what feels good and right. I’ll leave us with Caitlin’s powerful last message:

“There is so much suffering in the world … so much. My belief though at least is – the world was not meant to always be fair or fun or easy. The world is teeming with life, and death, and pain, and Donald Trump even haha. We just have to keep living. Step back. We are just tiny beings. There are lobsters living at the bottom of the ocean for over a hundred years. They have just been sitting down there through all of our lives and wars and lives before us. We aren’t that much different from lobsters really if you pull back a little. All part of this teeming painful wonderful world where so much is just luck. But we can choose to be kind, and to keep trying — we have the power.”

Peace on earth, goodwill to all.

Maryanne ♥️

July 29 – 2 months overdue: Paris, Cats, Synchronicities

On the book shelf designated ‘special’ in our living room, I display a Mother’s Day card, one of the last I received from Caitlin. It is from the first year of her transplant wait, when we assumed that life would be back to normal within a year.

In the long note inside, she compared herself to the fat robin on the card’s cover. “This robin is me, sitting squished in its nest, and thank you mummy for helping me make this wait 110% easier. I love you so much, I can’t write it in a card. Next Mother’s Day – Paris. Just Paris for every holiday, how about that? Love, Kitten.”

I open and read it sometimes, when I can bear it.

In February, Caitlin’s cousin Sinéad, the Irish intuitive, decided to host a retreat in Malta. It would take place over my birthday weekend. Its theme would be abundance and I knew that it would be light-guided, with new-moon regenerative energy. Good for my mental health. Plus: Malta. An adventure. A random place I would not normally think to visit. Katie decided to come, too, from Spain. And Jess planned to, but then had to bow out last minute because she is just so busy preparing to open The Caitlin O’Hara Community Health Clinic in Kenya.

Just before departure, I realized that my double-leg flight to the island would have me arrive in the Paris airport on Mother’s Day. As I was packing, I let myself imagine the reality of Caitlin alive and going on the retreat, too. It would have been a much longer trip that -of course- would have included time in Paris. I imagined it so well that it hurt. I even took the card from the shelf and let myself read all the words. Then I left for the airport.

People ask me, all the time, “Do you still get signs?” I laugh, because yes I do get them. ALL THE TIME. Every day. Some signs:

* Our flight’s estimated arrival was 7:33 am and landed on time.

As we taxied into CDG, I looked out and the first thing I saw was a sign with the letters CAT.

* Our Delta flight parked right next to a Kenya Air plane.

* In Malta, I had arranged for a driver to pick me up. As he was leading the way in the parking lot, I saw a car with a license plate that was Caitlin’s birthday. I thought to myself, ‘I must take a photo of that and show Nick. ‘

And then the driver stopped. It was his car.

Sinéad had given me a head’s up that the energy on Malta was off the charts. And it was true. We were 12 women – most from Ireland – and it was a new experience for me to be part of such a group, exploring ways to balance one’s human yin and yang energies, to contemplate the shadows and the light that make up the psyche. We had overwhelming, positive experiences. Synchronicities that were so wild. One women mentioned a beloved nephew who died, aged 33 too, a few years back. She said that a little bridge in Ireland was dedicated to him. I asked, was the bridge possibly near the Sally Gap in Wicklow?

It was.

Nick and I crossed it on a wander last September, and stopped to pay our respects.

During our ceremonies, which were outdoors, a cat meowed rather incessantly, but was only seen and heard during the ceremonies.

In the city gardens next door, a FANCY FOWL & PIGEON show was on display. (iykyk)

I share all this to remind you of the comfort and magic of synchronicities and to acknowledge the archetype of the great mother. On my birthday, Katie found peonies for me. Caitlin had always gifted them to me on my birthday. “These are from me and Sinead and Jess. All your daughters.”

Grateful.

OCTOBER 16 – A little sign ✨

That last autumn, Caitlin binged on a cooking show she’d discovered. She usually watched while I cooked dinner, and since the kitchen overlooked the living area of our Pittsburgh condo, I became vaguely aware of a big tent inside of which a bunch of regular-looking people turned out regular-looking pies and biscuits. One day I took a closer look as Caitlin applauded the winner. The winning cake looked so….ordinary.

“I don’t get it?” I said.

The show was WONDERFUL, Caitlin explained. It was cozy, it was comforting. The contestants were all supportive of each other, and she loved how the camera would sometimes pan outside the tent to take in the bucolic setting, how the lens would pause upon some calming thing: a bird, a flower, rain dripping from leaves.

July 31 — A bomb in Paris triggered superstition, then acceptance of her situation. Words from Caitlin on her birthday 🌟

We are on Martha’s Vineyard, and today is Caitlin’s birthday. I’m reminded of another birthday of hers spent here, the year she turned 12. It was the terrible year of lung surgeries and months-long inpatient recoveries. But that summer, we received a two-week respite from the hospital, and the respite was spent here. Those weeks return to me in images that feel other-worldly, suspended in time, magical. Riding the Flying Horses carousel in Oak Bluffs, spending hours on State Beach reading The Stone Diaries, a book that would later become a lifelong favorite of Caitlin’s, buying boxes of Murdick’s Fudge. Hearing news of a bombing in Paris that shocked us and caused us to wonder whether life really did unfold for a reason.

Caitlin wrote about that year and its Paris connection in an essay when she was a college sophomore. I’ll let her take over: