My favourite Rosary
is one of many, many Rosaries
that we found
when my mother-in-law, Dolores, died.

It’s a woman’s Rosary
with smooth, white,
translucent beads
that slip so easily
through my fingers.

At some stage
the centre piece metal
has broken
and someone has carefully
mended it
using white thread
that has frayed and greyed
over years and years of Rosaries.

One day
when I’m praying the Rosary
the thread snaps.
Thanks to YouTube
I’m able to figure out
how to repair the Rosary
and one day
I emerge from our kitchen
brandishing the mended Rosary –
Ta-Dah!!!

And as I pray the Rosary again
with beads worn smooth
over the years
and which have passed
from one Mrs Murray
to another Mrs Murray,
I feel a strong sense of connection
with Dolores
who so painstakingly repaired them
before me.

And I offer up today’s Rosary
for Dolores –
May she rest in peace.

© Claire Murray, 14th February 2023

Camellias are in bloom
in the garden
that used to belong
to Dolores and Danny
and that now belongs
to us.

One single branch
of camellia flowers
has bloomed early –
covered with blossoms
that are pink, eye-catching
and joyful.

Camellia flowers
make me smile
as I remember Dolores’s delight
when they bloomed
each year.
Camellia flowers remind me
of Dolores
and the pink, cotton jumper
that she loved to wear
and which was the exact same
shade of pink
as her beloved Camellia flowers.

Camellias in our garden
trigger fond and happy memories
of Dolores –
a woman of gentleness, generosity
and God.

Thank you, Lord,
for these camellias
and for the gift of Dolores
in our lives.

May she rest in peace.

© Claire Murray, 11th March 2023

After Danny died
Dolores used to take
great comfort
in visiting his grave,
enjoying the wee dander
through Milltown cemetery
and looking out for
resident bunny rabbits
as they bounded away
across the graves,
white tails flashing Morse code
behind them.

Now it’s our turn
to take comfort
from visiting the grave
that Dolores now shares
with her beloved Danny.
We rarely see the bunny rabbits
but we know
that they’re still around
because they nibbled away
at a tub of primroses
at another family grave
leaving only the leaves
and the stumps of stems.

We weren’t at all happy
with those bunny rabbits!

But a few weeks later
on Dolores’s birthday
we find that the primrose stems
have regrown
and are now covered
with buds,
bursting to open!

Tiny primroses that turn ruination
into blossoming life.
Tiny symbols of hope.
Tiny reminders
of the joy of the Resurrection.

Thank you, Lord,
for these wee primroses
(and thank you
for the bunny rabbits as well!)

© Claire Murray, April 2021

Camelias are in full bloom
in our garden –
beautiful pink, rose-like flowers
dotted on leaves
of After-Eight green.

Seeing the camellias
makes me smile.
They remind me of Dolores
who absolutely loved
these camellias
and took great pride
in the camellia grove i
that Danny had planted
in the garden
even though,
every year without fail
her neighbour’s camellia
would come into bloom
before hers!
(Dolores’s indignation
was really quite comical!)

Today I walk around
the camellia grove
in a garden
that used to belong
to Dolores and Danny
and has now passed down
to us.
Seeing the pink polkadot shrubs
makes me smile
as I remember Dolores.

Today is her birthday,
you see.

I suspect that
as Dolores looks down
from above,
she’s still incredibly proud
of her camellias
and I also suspect
that she’s equally proud
of our wee family.

And in my heart
I wish Dolores
a very happy birthday
as she rests in peace.

© Claire Murray

There’s a darkness
spreading over this planet
starting in China
and slowly creeping
into Italy,
and, from there,
into the rest of Europe.
and into every single country
in the world.

No country is safe.

Governments declare
states of emergency
and entire countries
are in lock-down.
Borders are closed,
flights are cancelled,
schools and businesses close
and supermarket shelves
empty.

This is Coronavirus
and everyone is at risk.

We call into Barnam’s ice cream shop
for coffee.
We are the only customers.
After a while
the door pushes open
and four young children
swarm in,
talking excitedly,
pushing past each other,
darting from side to side
to survey
oh, so many flavours
of ice cream.

Minutes later,
these young children
sit on a bench,
legs swinging,
as they eagerly lick
ice cream cones
that are piled high
with brightly-coloured
ice cream.

These children are absolutely bursting
with utter contentment.

Thank you, Lord,
for these children
who breezed into Barnam’s today
in a whirlwind of happiness,
unknowingly lifting the spirits
of us grown-ups
and bringing a little sparkle of light
and an atmosphere of joy
into the darkness
that Coronavirus is casting
over the whole world.

© Claire Murray

This has been a difficult year
for our wee family –
our first year
without Dolores.
A year dotted
with lots of tiny “firsts”.

Our first Christmas without Dolores
to cook the ham
and the stuffing
and the pavlova!

Our first holiday
without ringing Dolores
to say that we had arrived
safe and sound.

First birthdays
without that early morning phone call
and Dolores ringing
“Happy birthday to you!”
down the phone line.

So, so many milestones
that are a strange mixture
of happy memories
and sadness.

On top of all that,
or maybe because of all that,
grief has taken its toll
on our health too.

This has been such a challenging year.

But today
I spy a tiny clump of snow drops
nestling in by the roots
of a beautiful copper birch tree.
A lovely surprise –
because it’s only January, you see –
still winter!

And this wee clump of snowdrops
lifts my heart –
a tiny beacon of hope
as this challenging year
draws to an end
and a new one
begins.

© Claire Murray, 15th January 2020