Danny Boy

For as far back as I can remember I disliked the song Danny Boy.  I always found it so depressing.  Yet, whenever it was played, my mother would yell “where is my Danny Boy” and she would be sure to sing “Oh Danny Boy, Oh Danny Boy, I love You So”...and I know that she did.

I am confident that as I took my first breaths my mother was the first person to hold my hand.  One year ago today, I held her hand as she took her last breaths.  She didn’t get to script her passing, but if she would have been given that chance, I’m not sure it would be much different.  She was surrounded by family, and that is all she would have wanted.

Over the years, my primary method of contact with my mother was by phone.  She would tell you I didn’t call nearly enough.  She would be right.  Even if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t be foolish enough to argue.  When I went too long in between calls she would be sure to let me know.  Here is how the conversation would go:

Her: “Hello”
Me: “Mother”
Her: “Who’s this?  Harry?  No, I just hung up with him.  Charlie?  No I spoke to him last night.  Jimmy?  No, he called yesterday.  Oh wait, it’s Danny.  That’s right, I have another son.”

My punsihment for not calling enough when she was here is that these days I find myself going to call her several times a week.  Then I realize I can’t and I spend the next couple of minutes fighting back tears.  Just like I am now. However, to my credit, there were certain times I would never forget to call.  For instance, whenever I travelled, as soon as I landed, I would call.  And every single time I would get the same questions:

“What time is it there?”

“Do you have someone to have dinner with?”

"Will you have any fun, or just work?

“When are you coming home?”

I’m pretty sure that right after each of those calls she was off to tell everyone where I was.  However she didn’t tell everyone all of my business.  To this day, my siblings all want to know why I got suspended senior year.  She took that one to the grave. I'll never forget that when I was leaving the principal's office, Sister McBride, she was on the phone with my mother and she said "I'm sending him home now", and she pointed at the door and I started walking towards it, and Sister said "Mr. Connor, your mother say's she is timing you". I prayed to God that NYC transit would come through.

They say the greatest gift we will ever get is the gift of life our mother’s give us.  For me, it’s much more than that.  It’s not that she gave me life; it’s the life she gave me.  The family, the love, the sacrifices she and my father made.  Twelve years of Catholic school, somehow finding the way to buy me that first computer, I don't remember wanting for anything.

She made sure she enjoyed herself though. A couple of day's ago on her birthday my niece Kathy posted that she was "by far the coolest grandmother around" and it is hard to argue that point. She would take trips to the Casino's with Kenny, shopping with Lorraine, and she would sit at the bar with "the idiots" (or anyone) and drink cold beers...and she would be there long after they were gone. What she she really loved was to play poker. Until her wake we didn't know that for years she was sneaking out to poker clubs around NYC at night. She would tell us, "I'm tired, I'm going to bed"...and then she would sneak out of the house, grab a cab and play poker until all hours of the morning. She always loved pokerr, hell when I was in high school she hosted a game at our house every Saturday night that would run until 4 or 5 in the morning. But none of us knew about this late in life run she was having. I remember one night several years ago watching her beat all of my nephews friends in a Hold'em tournament. She took them down one by one. Then she told them "go ahead, go home crying to your mother's that the old lady took your money". Just classic.

She knew how to laugh, she knew how to make others laugh. She just had a great sense of humor...a bit crazy, which probably explains a ton about my own sense of humor. She got a kick out of my Christmas cards, showing all her friends. Making a Christmas ornament out of one of them. The best Christmas gift she ever gave Jen came with a note. The note read "Jen, this Chrismas I gave you a gift that I know you wanted, but were afraid to ask for", and when Jen opened it, it was a framed picture of my mother. It, along with the note are on display at the house.

I’m sure I had it very different than my siblings.  I mean by the time I came around the other 5 were so much older.  My parents were older.  I was living on pizza and junk food.  After school I would run to the diner my mother was working in and get a giant chocolate doughnut and Vanilla malted.  There is one thing that all six of us got in equal amounts though, and that is love.  Not just the six of us, but the ten grandkids, and the eight great grandkids…all of whom she was there for to welcome into the world. She had a different and special connection with each of us.

Which brings me back to Danny Boy, and our saying goodbye to her.  My sister’s picked Danny Boy to be the recessional song at the funeral.  As we walked out of St. Sebastian, surrounded by family and friends, it hit me, why I never liked the song.  I knew some day it would ring true.  As we were leaving, the words that were sung were.

“And I will hear tho soft your tread above me,”
“and then my grave will warm and sweeter be.”
“For you shall bend and tell me that you love me.”
“And I will sleep in peace until you come to me.”

Mom, I am, and forever will be, your Danny Boy…and I love you so.

As always, until next time, stay safe!

later,
dan

"My karma tells me, You've been screwed again! If you let them do it to ya, you've got yourself to blame! It's you who feels the pain! It's you who takes the shame!"