A word for Bethany Conroy, my daughter from heaven.

A letter my Dad left for me...

"My little Bethany when you were born you were my 'little munchkin'. God gave me a handmaiden of the Lord to watch over and what a joy it has been.
I tell you my little baby, never has there been such a wonderful daughter, never has a father known such joy and happiness. Thank you little one.
Bethany, take the world by the scruff of the neck and be busy because you can do whatever you want so take advice from mom and be successful and happy.
Remember my baby you are very precious so the man you choose must be right, but I'll not worry for you are no one's fool.
Praise and serve the Lord with all your heart and soul.
I will watch over you, even though your eyes may not see me. Trust that I can see you. Bethany look after your mom for me.
Live long and grow old. Enjoy life for it is truly a gift from the Lord.
With your loved ones I will wait at the gate to greet you. Be joyous.
Godbless my darling daughter. Love Dad xxxxx"

I'm trying dad, I'm trying xxxx

Written by Peter Conroy 15.10.10

"These are a poor attempt at acknowledging my criminal inadequacies as a father. May God forgive me for I never shall. I take responsibility for my wife's failings for she was a child and I a man.

Selfishness

How could I let my children suffer so?
How can a father be so selfish,
Thoughtless and brutish?
My anger and neglect in their youngest life
scarred them like the sharpest knife.
So small, so afraid, wondering what was today's emotional cascade.
A father's role should be joy not task.
Whatever the reason why, that was not the lot for mine.
I gave them love, only unconditional as long as I had my fill.
When I think of the harm I've done,
I cry for what I've done.
The neglect, the histrionics from me and their mom.
My ignorance so, so blind;
I thought not abandoning them made me decent.
I'm always here, except when I'm not.
Oh my poor, beautiful children,
You endured and still do,
Because of memories residue
For the parenting I failed to do.
Now I see you grown and know I am so unworthy of you.
You are so wonderful; your greatest rage belongs to me.
At your least, you are brighter than the sun.
Godbless you both,
I love you.
From the unworthy one.


IF

If I could be anything, I would be what I had not been for my children.
If I could do anything, I would do all the things I had not done for my children.
I would undo all of the things I did to my children.
If, with my blood, I could wash away the pain I caused my children,
I would bleed every drop for my sins against them.
To die a death of a thousand cuts could not;
Would still betray my children.


Guilty As Charged

Why should I have a peace-filled day
When their pain I may not allay?
Why should I grow old and grey
For the pain I gave I cannot take away?
I see their pain etched into their face;
Why should I know peace or grace?"

The First Day of the End

It was Mid October when we found out the cancer was terminal. Eight months after the official diagnosis. The time is important to me; it highlights how swift and merciless it all was. We barely had time to blink before it was all gone. Before he was all gone.

He had finished his treatment; been given the all clear and was nevertheless getting sicker, smaller, weaker. After the second time he had stopped breathing in his sleep our kind Doctor convinced him to go for an impromptu scan at the hospital. Dad didn't want to go. He was sick of hospitals, of being chopped and burnt and poisoned. But this Doctor was a man he loved and respected, so he agreed.

At the hospital we had to wait a while. It was very busy, with lots of frustrated faces surrounding the walls. Hospitals are unhappy places. People under enormous stress, people desperate, people alone.
We were eventually seen by a young Doctor. He was perfectly nice, but repeatedly tried to make my dad confess to taking too many drugs. Here we go again. Why did they all refuse to believe us when we told them he'd had nothing? By that point he was being fed and watered through a stomach peg. Nil by mouth. In the end dad said he had taken Valium. It wasn't true, but I knew he wanted the young Doctor to stop asking him the same question. They took an X-Ray of his lungs just to be on the safe side. After all, this drug addict had also had cancer.

We waited for a long time. Dad had wanted to go. He'd admitted his crime, now he wanted to go to bed. But we waited: Mother, Father, Daughter, Son.
Eventually the young Doctor came back with another man, a senior Doc. By this point we were giggly and giddy with silly jokes and nonsense. We were a great family. We made each other laugh. I had almost forgotten why we were here. What did they want? When could we get out of here? We said, just tell us what's what here in the waiting room, Docs! We don't mind, we can see your busy. Ignore the vending machines! It's all fine.

They smiled but didn't laugh at our jokes. They removed an angry, waiting family from a room for us to talk. My dad was quiet. We wheeled him in. The daughter of the family glared at me, raising her voice. I'd been there. Poor wretch.

Inside the room we sat and waited. They followed us in and Dad knew. He had always known. They weren't experts in this field, the older Doctor said. But there were shadows all over his lungs. Then he put his arms around my dad and told him he was so sorry to have to be the one to tell him.
Lung Metastasis. No one beats that.

Back in the waiting room we were all crying. Quietly. No more silly jokes. Did the people there notice? We had been so happy before.
Oh God my poor mother. Her love, her friend, her everything.

I went to phone my boyfriend. I doubt I made much sense. I said, "He won't be saved".

In the taxi home we had an irritatingly talkative driver who insisted on telling us how curable cancer was. My mom was rude, told him to shut up. I was glad.

The sun was shinning through the clouds and a little rain. It was an Autumn day, just like today. Just like today. Then on the radio a song was played that will always make me think of that moment.
When I wept. I wept. I wept.

Love Story. By Peter Conroy 23.09.09

"My childhood was short, violent and punctuated by the gentle love of my mother, Mary. She died a few weeks after my 21st birthday. Her life was hard! I mourned for a year. I loved her very much.

I spent my time over the next couple of years drinking, taking drugs and generally being a handful for anyone who crossed me. I was a pleasure seeker (but not with girls). I wasn't sexually active - not for the want of opportunity, but more because I was shy and no girls met with my unrealistic standards. Then, out drinking one night I bumped into two pals of mine - Mickey Follan and Paul Lang. While we were sitting at a table a girl approached. She was the girlfriend of Paul. She was wearing an outfit from the 1950's, had a style of her own and followed no fashion of the day. She had long-ish, jet black hair and her stare pierced me. It made me feel uncomfortable.
This made me feel self-conscious so I made a remark;
Who's the pikey?
I said this to deflect the nervousness she had aroused in me. She looked at me and spoke. My remark did not go unnoticed by her and she quickly made it clear that as well as her obvious beauty she was quick-witted and sharp. More so than me. By the end of the night a seed had been planted in me, with consummate skill. Soon we became acquainted, each meeting leaving me more hungry for her company. I was painfully shy and could only speak to her after a few drinks. Within a very short period of time I was besotted by her; she filled my every waking thought. To feel her body next to mine when we were seated next to each other was like nothing I had ever felt.
One would think that having such feelings towards her would make me steal her away, but I was so unsure of myself. I knew she had feelings for me, but I was very backwards at coming forwards. Even though every part of me longed for her, dreamed of her and worshiped her, I still hadn't made her mine. But she was much braver than me, and much brighter.

It was early night and because the pain of not having her had become unbearable, I had decided to do something about it the very next day. But then, a knock at the door came and there she was. I knew this was the moment my dreams and hopes had come true; my beloved was mine. I had fallen in love with Jacqueline more than a year before and now, finally, we were together.
Each day I would check that it was not a dream; that the most awesomely beautiful woman that God had ever made loved me. That God in all his glory had given me my 'Bathsheba'. Such beauty has not been seen, and I doubt will ever be seen again.

Jacqueline gave me two children, most wonderful. Rory, my first born; strong, gentle and brave. The rare type of man that most people are not fortunate enough to meet. One could only dream of having such a son.
Then Bethany, named by God; full of life, funny and a joy to be near. She is loving, kind, beautiful and funny in ways that endear her to all who know her. Like her mother, her intellect is formidable. She is God's treasure and our beloved daughter.

I have now been married for 25 years to my Jacqueline. I love her more each day if that's possible. I adore her. She is mine forever and ever. Praise be to God.

When I look at pictures of our children, I see in Bethany her mother and in Rory, myself. But my children are far superior to me. They are self-aware at an age when I was still lost. It was only God who put my beloved Jacqueline at my side and made a foolish, unhappy young man, the richest man on earth."