'Keep Smiling'

It’s only talk at first. You hear it in passing. You know the chatter: “A young man/woman was found dead in such a way, in such a place, yesterday…” You acknowledge the loss. You think of the friends and family left behind, perhaps offer a thought and prayer, and then life moves on. Because, sadly, there’s always more talk, another piece of news, another story, another tragedy.

But recently, I’ve been hearing this talk too often. Another young life lost in a tragic accident, somewhere out there, away from me. Then I looked at my phone and saw a familiar face pop up on one of those death-notice sites that flood social media so frequently. I stopped. This wasn’t someone. This was a lad I knew. A lad I laughed with, shared banter with, and enjoyed the easy conversations that seem so ordinary at the time, but become extraordinary when you realise there will be no more.

I sat on a wall, suddenly heavy with sadness. Only last week, I’d seen him. It was fleeting – one of those moments you never imagine will become a significant memory. A car passed me. He was in the passenger seat. He spotted me, leaned out the window and shouted, “Gerard, keep smiling.” I waved and shouted back – “Will do!”

My name, and two words, shouted from a passing car. So upbeat, so full of life. At the time they were another bit of banter between us. Now, knowing they were our final exchange, those words are special.

Later that day I sat on a bench on the town’s Market Square to watch the world go by. There’s me and another man. We’re both lost in our thoughts, when we’re joined by a man I’ll call a local character. The character begins to tell us a personal story full of expletives and colourful language. When his story takes on increasingly absurd twists and turns, the other man and I exchange glances, lower our heads and SMILE to stifle our laughter.

The character's story is full of mayhem, madness, and mess, but more importantly: LIFE. Life is messy, it can sometimes be miserable, but it’s also bloody marvellous. That thought kept me smiling.

As I walked away from the character, my eye caught sight of an older lady in the company of a young man who looked effortlessly cool, like the lead singer in an Indie band. There must have been several decades between them, yet the age gap didn’t matter – two people from entirely different generations, simply enjoying each other’s company, completely at ease in one another’s world.

I stood in front of them and stared. There was something about the ease between them that made me feel I wasn’t intruding. They seemed so relaxed in each other’s company that I could almost hear their conversation. Then I saw that they were looking directly at me, but they said nothing. Because they couldn’t, the intergenerational friends have been dead for years.

The couple are part of a montage of photographs that adorn the outer wall of Cavan Post Office, where they sit forever in their moment of companionship. As I walked away I imagined the banter between them, and although they’ve passed, in my mind’s eye they were present. And that thought kept me smiling.

I’ve reached the point in my life where death has become a presence. Family and friends who once filled my life are now memories. Yet I don’t write this with a heavy heart. Quite the opposite. I write with joy in having known them, and with the certainty that they remain part of my life. I still talk to them. I remember their voices, their laughter, the things they taught me, the moments we shared. I choose to keep them present rather than dwell on their absence. I see them not as people who’ve passed from life, but people whose aura has taken a different form in another realm.

The following day a woman approached me in a coffee shop. When she told me her name and where she was from, a great big memory box sprang open. From it came a procession of beloved people who are no longer here. One by one they returned to life: faces, voices, and stories I hadn’t thought of in years. I kept smiling.

And so back to the young man who lost his life, and to whom I pay tribute, here. For as long as I’m alive, I’ll honour his last words to me. I’ll remember the people who’ve gone, keep them close, and do what he asked of me. “Keep smiling.”