Summer always reminds me of Aoife – she was born in
summer, I met her in summer. I moved to Blackrock aged eight and on the first day in my new house I went to the local shop to buy an ice cream. On the way I bumped into Aoife and her baby sister Cliona. It was a hot day and they were wearing jelly shoes and sucking on Mr. Freeze ice pops. Aoife and I were inseparable after that – we played dolls houses, went clothes shopping and to the cinema. We read Just Seventeen and kissed boys for the first time! Then we started secondary school. Life changed and we made new friends but Aoife and I lived next door to each other. We no longer lived in each others pockets but we still had a special bond. It was this bond that stuck in my mind after summer 1990. Aoife died in an accident that summer.
That day I was at home. I think it was a sunny day, I can’t remember now. But I’ll never forget the moment the door bell rang and an out of breath friend told me Aoife had been knocked off her bike. At the shops. Just now. She must have gone down to the post box I thought. We were both pen pal addicts. She was in Beaumont hospital. I felt frightened for those few days, listening to reports from next door about her progress. Aoife was brain damaged. Aged fourteen I couldn’t comprehend this. Neither could I imagine her death. The news was a body blow. I was in the living room with my parents and brother and I can’t remember who told us. It might have been Julie, Aoife's and my friend – we had been quite the trio in primary school. She’d been next door since the accident. I hadn’t. I burst out crying.
After that I stayed cool. I didn’t know how to express my grief so it was best not to cry. I’m not sure if I decided not to or if it was an unconscious reaction. Everybody was crying. Aoife’s mother and father. Her brother and sisters. I went next door on the morning of Aoife’s funeral. There was an awful moment when Aoife’s dad called her name up the stairs, the painful realisation etched on his face a moment later. We were going to Aoife’s funeral. That was the last time I was next door for a long time. Thinking about that time now the over riding emotion I can remember is guilt. Guilty that Aoife and I hadn’t been as close as we once were when she died. Guilty that her family had to watch me growing up when she was gone. Guilty that I was still here and she wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t my fault but somehow I felt bad.
And that was apart from missing Aoife. Heartbreak was the other thing. I always thought of her during my teenage years. Neither of us was hugely academic but I knew she would have done better than me in the Leaving Cert. What would she have studied in college? Now I no longer think of the parallels of our lives if she had lived. She is in heaven. She is happy. Losing somebody my own age as a teenager was difficult as I became aware of my own mortality. It was a shock and an experience that shaped my awareness of death.
So on the night I got a message from heaven I knew it was something more brilliant than a dream or anything I could imagine. An amazing person came to speak to me. This was the first and only time I’ve seen her since then. We were twenty one. I was mesmerised by Aoife on this night – What a beautiful young woman she had become.
She radiated a kindness that I’ve never felt from anyone here on earth before. I was not stunned that she was here in my room as it seemed as if she was always present – I had just not actually seen her since we were schoolgirls. Now that we were grown up Aoife had come to me with a message. She understood my life, we were both at a difficult age but while I struggled she had a grace I can never comprehend. I had a tendency then to fall out with my friends – my cold shoulder would not thaw ‘til I was good and ready! Aoife knew that I wasn’t talking to Lydia. She advised that as once she had been my best friend that now Lydia was.
I couldn’t believe it when I woke up next morning. Aoife is an angel… Wow! And she had come to see me last night. Of course she had something important to say about friendship – and what better way than to tell me in person. I sometimes look back on that night and wonder if it was just a dream. But no. Seeing Aoife as she is now (or at twenty one, I’ve changed a lot but I’m sure she is still breathing!) is an experience that I’ll always cherish The immediate impact was that I called Lydia that day and our friendship became stronger – we’re still in contact today. The spiritual reward is that I know Heaven exists. Aoife lives there.

Lorna Keating

Pieta House

The second speaker at the A.G.M was Joan Freeman who, after the death by suicide of her sister, decided to set up a charity dedicated to caring for people contemplating taking their own lives. As a trained psychologist, she had tended to avoid suicidal patients in her practice but after her sister’s death she realised that a number of tragic events had caused her sister to become depressed and that this had been neglected. Perhaps her sister did not need to die.
Having come to this conclusion and following library research, she was consumed with guilt and determined to do something about it. The result was Pieta House, opened in Lucan in 2006. Today there are 5 centres, the most recent having been opened in Limerick in the last few months.
Pieta House offers one on one counselling to people who are feeling suicidal or have already attempted suicide and to people who self-harm. The sessions may be anything from one a week to seven a week, depending on the severity of the case. The sessions are free which means that the clients can receive the help they need without the extra worry of cost. The Charity now has 50 psychotherapists working in their 2* centres and helped 1200 new clients in 2010. The age range of people using this service is 6 to 83.
Joan gave us much to think about in these days when deaths by suicide out number deaths on the roads. How do we deal with the suicide bereaved? Never use the term commit; the act was only decriminalised in 1993 and this term is extremely hurtful.
Try to focus on the bereaved not on the person who died, this person may be at high risk. At anniversary times try to focus on celebrating the life of the loved one, try to make it a positive action.
There are many signs of possible suicidal tendencies; change of normal mood, withdrawal from usual activities, mobile mostly switched off, avoiding eye contact; conversation may change from positive to negative i.e. I see no point in life; giving away possessions or becoming more aggressive especially with drink. Any or all of these may indicate a person at risk.
Pieta House also helps the mostly young girls who routinely self-harm. This is quite different from suicide and is usually to externalise emotional trauma which they cannot express verbally (or they may have no one they can express to) The release of changing emotional pain to a physical pain brings calm and peace to these people, for at least a while.
As a charity Pieta House receives funding from the H.S.E. but it is only a fraction of the cost of running this amazing service, the rest is got from fund raising such as the 5k “Darkness into Light” walk held annually.

Please Note** In the printed version of this newsletter it was incorrectly stated there were 5* centres. We wish to correct this error. There are 2 centres one in Lucan and the second in Limerick.

Members of the General Executive for 2011:

Members of the General Executive for 2011:
Myles O'Reilly SJ (Spiritual Director),
Winnie Keogh (Chairperson),
Moira Staines (Secretary),
Ronan Hughes (Treasurer), Anne Butler, Brendan Nugent, Maeve Mason, Deirdre Ó Muirí, Gobnait O'Grady, James Garland.

Bethany Bereavement Support Group,
c/o Rathfarnham Parish Centre, Willbrook Road, Rathfarnham, Dublin 14.
Bethany Phone: 087 9905299
Email: bethanysupport@eircom.net