Reflecting on my grandfather, William O'Donoghue (1907-1976)
I don't remember where I first read about it, but know that memories start making recollective imprints around the age of 5. And this is true for me. From about the age of 5, I have a flood of memories I can tap into, and before that, nearly nothing.
I have 2 memories from my very early childhood. Given that I was so young, I can only assume that they were very impactful points in my young life.
The first was when I had my tonsils removed, just before I turned 3. I remember the colour of the walls - those sea green walls. I remember how I felt...afraid and alone despite the whir of people around me.
The second was when I was 3. I was in Ireland, at my grandparents' home. My grandfather with the big smile and gentle laugh was carrying me, I remember the warmth of his sweater pressing against my face, lifting me up, as I reached for an apple from a tree in his orchard. A chorus of laughter swept over us like a wave of security. That moment is frozen in time, deeply embedded in memory, I feel it within the depths of my heart when I recount it, it stirs up tears when I do. I felt safe, loved, and joy.
Whenever I need to remember my first moments of joy, I return to that memory. There is a photograph in one of my parents' albums of him holding me, both of us beaming happiness. I will add that to this post when I see it again.
He died a year later.
My grandfather, William O'Donoghue was a teacher, and then principal of a National school in Ireland. His wife, my grandmother, Mary O'Connor was also a teacher.
I have several uncles who were teachers.
I am a teacher.
And my grandfather, when I was 3 years old, taught me how to find joy in the most ordinary of moments. And I am so grateful that my mind captured such a beautiful, enduring memory of him.
