Family Communication

I heard the sound on the wind on Friday night. There was a storm brewing, and the wind was whistling around the house. At first, I paid it no mind. Storms in this part of the country are wild and free, and the sounds of them are no cause for alarm. I put another log on the fire and watched the news on the television. “Reports are coming in of a major disaster in the United States. Severe rains on the west coast have caused flooding and mudslides.”

I turned off the TV. Footage of disasters is predictable and disturbing. It was lucky that Séamus left the area earlier today. The luck of the Irish, we called it. He’d be flying home now, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. He should arrive in Belfast early in the morning and be home for a late breakfast. I would give him his favorite, a traditional Irish breakfast with soda bread and black and white pudding, along with local bacon, eggs and mushrooms. He’d been gone for three weeks, closing out his Da’s affairs in Washington state. I’d have gone myself, but I have no head for business. Séamus was a good son, my only son, and he’d been a pillar of strength for me and his sisters since his Da’s death.

The rain had started here, now. Heavy rain, driven hard against the windows by the strong winds. Luckily I was safe inside, in the warm. I realized the power could go out at any time, so I went to the computer to check social media and email. Séamus had sent us many photos of the beautiful countryside, and I hoped he’d sent us confirmation of getting onto his transatlantic flight. There was an email from him, but it wasn’t what I expected.

“Ma, I’ll be delayed a day or two. The sale of the factory has hit a snag. Nothing major, but I want to settle it before I leave. It won’t take more than a day or so. I’ll get to see the beauty of the storms whipping in from the sea. You’ll not believe the height of the waves as they hit the shore. I’ll call you before I leave. Love, Séamus”

He sounded so excited about the storms. I swallowed hard. He was little more than a boy, not yet twenty-two. I shouldn’t have let him go alone, half a world away. A mother’s intuition told me something had gone wrong. I searched the internet for details of the flooding. I knew he was near the coast, but I didn’t know exactly where. I prayed that he was safe. The early pictures of flooded roads and of houses buried under landslides were terrifying. As usual, the estimates of people dead or missing varied wildly, and were seemingly based on pure guesswork.

I picked up my phone. There was still a signal, despite the storm, and I dialed his number. It went to voicemail. I dialed again, and a third time, with the same result. Eventually I left a voice message. “Séamus, love, it’s me, your Mam. I’ve seen the weather news, and I need to know you’re safe. Please call me when you get this. I love you, son.”

I replied to his email, adding the word URGENT to the header. “Séamus, please call me. The reports of floods there have me terrified for your safety. I need to hear your voice. Please call!!! Your loving Ma.”

The storm had started to rage outside. And I heard the sound again. The wind whistling, I thought. But it sounded almost human. Like a keening noise. My heart seemed to stop for a moment. Could it be the banshee, Maeveen O’Neill? Séamus was an O’Neill, like his Da. Maeveen, the White Lady of Sorrow, was known to weep and sing for family members dying, even if they were across the world. I wanted the sound to be just the whistling of the wind. I couldn’t wait here and listen to it.

Quickly, I pulled on a thick coat and put a scarf around my head. Then I headed out of the house, and into the woods. Outside, the sound of rain and thunder surrounded me, blotting out the keening noise. If I couldn’t hear it, Séamus was still alive.

I kept walking, staggering blindly from tree to tree. My hands were dripping wet and cold, and I kept skinning my palms on the rough bark of the trees, but I paid that no mind. I was weeping furiously. He was almost home. Why couldn’t he have left on schedule? It was less than a year since his Da was laid to rest. I couldn’t take another tragedy. The girls were still teenagers – how would they cope with his loss? Séamus, young as he was, had stepped up as a father figure to them.

I tripped on a tree root and fell into a puddle. My ankle had twisted, and I howled in pain and grief, sitting on the wet ground. Lightning cracked and briefly lit up the woods around me. It looked as though there was a figure ahead. A woman, sitting on a downed tree trunk, combing her hair and weeping. In the quiet after the lightning, I thought I heard her wailing.

No, not Maeveen! I put my hands over my ears and laid my head down in the mud. The smell of the wet earth smothered my other senses, but it brought no comfort. It conjured images of the day we buried my husband Conor. I couldn’t bear the thought of another funeral so soon. I curled up on the ground and wailed as the storm thundered around me.

Eventually, I came back to my senses. I still had my three girls to take care of. I couldn’t abandon them in my grief. They may have lost a second father in less than a year. I raised myself up until I was kneeling in the mud. When I heard thunder again, I looked in the direction where I thought I had seen Maeveen. Sure enough, when the lightning came, she was still there. Young and beautiful, dressed in white, untouched by the rain. Still combing her hair but now singing a soft lament. I saw the sorrow in her eyes as she stared in my direction. When the darkness came again, the song faded away. “Thank you, Maeveen.” I whispered. It pays to treat the spirits with respect, and she was just delivering a message, after all.

Slowly I trudged home. The storm was still going, but the wind had dropped, so the going was easier. I was soaked to the bone, and my shoes squelched through the mud and water. To my relief, the lights were still on at home. My eldest daughter, Caitlin, met me at the door. “Ma! What are you doing out in the storm? Come in, take those clothes off and get by the fire. I’ll fetch you a towel and a hot toddy.”

She bustled about, collecting clothes and slippers, and then put a warming hot spiced whiskey in front of me. My girls all gathered around, seeing the state of me, and worrying. I was tired, and I needed to let them know. “I saw Maeveen,” I said, “I believe something has happened to Séamus in America.”