People have been asking me what I remember about Nick’s final recitation of “Who Dares to Say,” and I have to tell them that not one of us was in the room to see it. We’ve heard it so many times—ringing out from the shower, at the St. Patrick’s Day lunch at Boca Chica, trapped in the car during one of Nick’s epic side-trips on the way to get milk, and most memorably, on a windy day on Banna Strand—that we figured we could always catch the next performance.
Luckily, I do know what the judges at the Midwest Fleadh Cheoil thought about it, because they sent his official score to my inbox the day after his funeral:
I think he’d be okay with me sharing a report card like that with the world.
Memorial Day is behind us, and Grand Old Day awaits, which means I’ll be seeing many of you out in the world before I have a chance to thank you properly, by hand, on paper for everything you’ve done for our family over the last few weeks. It’s a long list that includes the two guys who vetoed my minimalist Swedish cookie plan and insisted on the gorgeous, full-throated West 7th Street funeral luncheon from Cossetta’s, good priests and chaplains who prayed with us and indulged our flag requests, the nice woman at Wuollet’s who gave me the two chocolate long johns for free, the neighbors who’ve turned our front porch into a bakery and deli counter, the freelance friends who’ve pitched in on deadlines and bylines, the natural-born fundraisers who mobilized to keep the wolves from our front door, musician friends who helped us transcend words and clichés, the generous brotherhood of the Former Trojan Hockey players and Edgcumbe dads, the staff at Regions Hospital who respected all of our wishes and looked the other way when the harp came into the ICU, and the kids from the Center for Irish Music who played Nick out in style for two straight days and then renamed the U18 band in his honor. (We can’t wait to design the t-shirts… and the baseball caps.)
Ceili bands are for celebrations and dancing, and for now, it’s not the right key for all of us who loved Nick, and are trying to figure out how the future will look without him. So instead I’ll leave you with a Duke Ellington piece his brother Brendan flew all the way from Prague to play for him.
