In the run-up to Christmas we got an awful shock - my uncle Kev collapsed, and after three days on life support, he died. In the terrible sadness of the week, my cousin Michelle asked my to follow up on the Facebook post I'd written, and expand it for the memorial service. For those that couldn't be there, here's what I wrote...
For those who don't know me, my name is Finbarr and I'm Kev's nephew.
Last Sunday last I wrote a post in Facebook and Michelle has asked me to repeat it here and share some memories along the way, so here goes…
"Some sad news - my lovely, laughing, outrageous, book obsessed, rugby mad, excessively generous, teddy bear uncle Kevin died peacefully this afternoon with his family at his side. He'd collapsed on Thurs and been taken to the ICU in Cork University Hospital where he was beautifully cared for until finally the life support couldn't keep him with us any more.
I know he's free at last from a body that had all but trapped his indomitable spirit, free to roar laughing with us all on the other side, free to roam and explore everywhere and everything, and free especially to take over the social arrangements of all the choirs we're told sing non-stop in heaven.
I hope they're ready for you Kev…
My thoughts are with my dad and especially with my cousins Michele and Pete as they come to terms with losing a huge rock that anchored so many lives. Love ye loads lads…"
Well, that's what I put on Facebook, but here's the thing - we all have our own memories of Kev and I'm sure everyone here has enough stories to fill a book. 'Cos Kev was like that - everything he did was worthy of a story.
When I was a young fella I useta love when we went round to Kev's at Christmas. When we'd finished our "official" visiting, we'd head off to Carrigaline with fresh gusto cos now Christmas could "really" start. His home was always one of the most welcoming I've ever known, and as a host Kev was just the best. He always had a big cigar and a glass of whiskey, and he always seemed to be laughing.
I was about 12 or 13 one year when, with a solemn look and then a wink, he gave me a package that was smaller than anyone else's. Not really sure what was inside I pulled off the paper to reveal a small, red, plastic radio. It wasn't anything fancy - it only had a volume wheel and an AM dial, but that radio was the most amazing thing. It was the first present anyone had given me that wasn't a toy. And I felt an elation that only a young boy on the cusp of the journey to adulthood could feel. It was a grown-up pressie.
That little radio went everywhere with me for years afterwards. Under the duvet I listened to music that was no-where else in my life, heard far-off stations and strange new accents - a whole new world.
Kev knew exactly what he was doing when he gave me that radio - in one little box he both opened my world, and changed it too. He was probably the first to acknowledge that I was growing up, and I'll never forget that.
Now of course, Kev's fondness of stout is the stuff of legend. I'd say there are many here that can tell a story where both Kev and a pint feature, but when I was a poverty stricken music student, I was sitting with my great pal Dec in the bar of Moores Hotel, trying to scrape together enough change to buy a second pint when in the door bursts the bould Kev, magnificent in his maroon Carrigaline Singers blazer. Seeing the pair of us in the corner he greeted us loudly, looked at our stale pints, and immediately ordered three Murphys. "Ah good man Kev" says I, thinking our prayers had been answered, "you're a sight for poor eyes."
"F*@k off" says our Kev, "these are for me. I've been singing all night in the Feis, and I'm parched." And with that he lowered the first pint, then the second, and only when he'd the lip taken off the third did he stop and say, "right, now I can talk to ye…"
And that for me was Kev. A huge man in so very many ways. Boisterous, Outrageous, Opinionated, and full of as many expletives as there are in the dictionary - especially when it came to certain Welsh and French referees - Kev also had a life-changing softness about him that all of us who loved him will miss forever. His granddaughter Aoife knew all about that softness and used it shamelessly for years. Instead of going home after school, she'd phone Kev up and tell him she had a sore leg, or a sore stomach or a sore head or whatever, and of course with such a terrible pain there was no way she could make it home. And being Kev and he'd collect her from school and bring her back to his place where he'd feed her pasta and cheese, and let her spend the whole afternoon eating jellies and watching the Cartoon Network...
Ah yes, Kev was my big, teddy bear uncle, and the world is a sadder place without him. Here's to you Kev. I hope them choirs in heaven are ready for you - and if they're not, I'm sure you'll have em licked into shape before too long. Tis about time they learned The Fields of Athenry anyway…
Here's to you Kev.
Hear hear Fin! Well said. Thank you for that.
Posted by: Jane Pauvarel | 24 December 2011 at 12:03 PM