“She may pull on yet for another day or two – at ninety-four you could not be sure” – so the doctor said. But the angel-nun who had been ministering to her quietly told me – “she will surely go to God before the night”. I sat beside my mother’s bed and held her frail, age-wrinkled hand, resting on the carefully- ironed bedspread, in mine. We talked awhile – nothing profound or serious – for I could not face the reality of what I knew was to come – just every-day small talk. Her fine mind was clear as ever, though her spent-out heart was so tired. And then I said “don’t hack yourself Mother with talking, have a little rest now and then we’ll talk some more”. She moved her head a little, looked deeply into my eyes with those soft eyes of hers that so often had seen me naked as a baby and she said “Ah, very soon, a grádh, I will be taking a very long rest” as she gently squeezed my hand. This she always called me in childhood. She gently almost imperceptibly pressed my hand again and then she slept. Nor did she ever wake again. It was her last earthly sleep. Three hours on, she had left her bereft family gathering behind her. The Sister had led the prayers until her soul had been wafted Heavenwards. She then gently shuttered those now unseeing eyes. Sister said “She is now with God”. I bent over the bed and kissed the lips of that still, barely warm, empty and unresponsive shell. I left the room to release in private the unstoppable flow of blinding, scalding tears that had been welling up inside in me. I felt empty and baby-naked again, left without the most Christ-like loving and kindest heart that I had ever known. She was born to raise a family – The essence of loving kindness, through and through! She was indeed a most caring person Who before she was wed, whilst teaching In the local national school, took an orphaned waif Into her parent’s home and educated her and Prepared Mollie Courtenay for a successful career and Rewarding life later on in England. On a regular basis she took in the old shuiler, Mick McHugh, who for years tramped every road in Counties Limerick and Clare. She would fill him up with good warm food and when necessary, fit him out with a spare pair of Dad’s shooting boots and socks and a clean shirt. Then, I also recall the “Friday night man”. He must have had a name but we never knew it. he was a poor homeless character, who for many years Had been calling regularly every Friday night – He seemed to be in very poor health and through some vocal defect could speak only in whispers. He never left our doorstep penniless. How many other human strays, mostly women, She befriended, through those poverty stricken years And who poured their blessings over her, I could not count. But I can tell the World that she was An exemplary true-born Christian! And she is now with God!