Every writer will tell you, at some point there will be an assignment you don’t want to do. Dread doing. In fact, dread the thought of it even appearing on the horizon is recoiled from.
To flesh out the point with a few less serious examples – in an overall sense – think of Sean Boylan retiring as Meath manager or the chaos surrounding the Leinster Final of 2010 or, much more recently, the shambolic disgrace which saw Ireland’s two Nations League fixtures against Israel going ahead.
However, to put a bit of shape on what you will ingest here after, I’m sure at least some of you will have noticed that at the time of my mother’s passing a little over a year ago there wasn’t anything keyboarded in this space.
It may well be the case that the urge will land some day out of the blue and what will be will take its course. But for now that crossroads will be avoided. However, in the context of what you will read hereafter it’s a case of hoping against hope the day would never come.
However, if even the mightiest oak tree takes enough of a battering from a storm it too cannot but give way. And so it has been in recent days that the communities of Dunboyne and much further afield are once again grief stricken following the passing of Mrs Michelle Mitchell.
Michelle was one of the strongest, bravest, most inspirational people I – or many of us – have ever had the blessing of encountering in life. To be now referring to her in the past tense is heart breaking and devastating beyond belief. But then, if I and so many others feel that way, it’s impossible to quantify what her husband, my cherished and loyal friend Ray, her children Sarah, John and Louise and the wider Mitchell and Meehan families have been, are and will continue to be going through.
The oak tree analogy was, I felt, the best to capture and illustrate the gravity and longevity of Michelle’s battle with the scourge that is cancer. It was very much a case of the irresistible force coming up against the immovable object. Such was the amount of times it appeared the mountain was about to become too much for her to take on.
But, then again, as the amazing lady herself always used to say, “I have cancer, it hasn’t got me”. That was her mantra, always in control, always looking forward to the next challenge, the next event. And, you know, the amount she managed to pack into her life despite all of the incalculable suffering she went through for more than two decades is truly astonishing.
Firstly, she became an integral part of the Mitchell family business, Dunboyne Oil, as she, along with Ray’s late mother Patricia, looked after the administrative side of the business while himself was out tending to the public’s need. Outside of the oil business, though, Michelle was very much an entrepreneur in her own right.
Giving of her time and seemingly endless patience imparting the intricacies of crochet to Lord knows how many people in the locality and from who knows where else. Then there was the embroidery business – wherein she made tops and other apparel for St Peter’s GAA Club, Inspiration Cycling Club, Dunboyne Motor Club and the Purcell/D’Arcy Academy of Irish Dance. They are only the ones known to yours truly off the top of my head, I have absolutely no doubt there were many others.
Because, as has also always been the case with her husband, the amount of good Michelle did for people without fanfare or favour – because even the thought of seeking same would be abhorrent to either of them – is probably too voluminous to ever be recorded definitively.
Amongst the numerous tributes which have poured in since news of her passing cast another cloud of grief over so many at the weekend, one which absolutely stood out was that from Ursula Purcell-D’Arcy of the aforementioned Irish Dance ensemble.
Ursula detailed the fact that Michelle was actually one of her first pupils when she began running classes in the early 1980s. And, as is often the case with those vocations – which is what they are, whether it be to a sport, something like a dance troop or a craft/creative activity, it was passed on to the next generation.
Which, as these things tend to play out, led to Michelle throwing her mighty spirit, energy and enthusiasm behind Ursula’s rapidly growing dance troop. Whether it was by way of being there to support her own kids or fundraising for their many trips down the country or abroad or – at different stages – helping with costumes.
However, of all the business ventures she had going – and there always seemed to be something – personally speaking, the especial favourite was without doubt the Christmas cards. Which were all Dunboyne centred. My only regret was not getting a whole load more of them off her when she had them.
Mind you, even though a percentage – if not the whole lot – of any monies raised were going to local charities, typical of the woman herself, I nearly had to have an argument with her to get her to take the few bob off me. And only after she’d thrown in an extra half dozen without me noticing!
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If my memory of timelines is any way right – by no means guaranteed – I was around 22 when news first broke that the bright, brave star who illuminated so many of us, had been attacked by the parasitic thing beginning with C. If that chronology is any way right, it would mean the couple’s youngest, Louise, was very small indeed.
Yet they all just ploughed on. Brave facing hardship which the thought of even thinking about would leave most of us reluctant and/or unable to get out of the bed. That very thought hit me like a speeding freight train the first time our paths crossed after her initial diagnosis.
To my utter shame and embarrassment, I didn’t recognise her wearing a red bandana – battle scar of the war she had become embroiled in. There’s absolutely no problem in this corner admitting that on very few occasions before or since did I openly sob without giving a damn who saw or heard me.
It was just such an upsetting shock to see what that disgusting disease had done to somebody so strong and courageous. That said, in a surprise to absolutely nobody who was blessed to ever cross her path, it was Michelle herself who ended up reassuring and comforting me.
“Don’t you worry, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon”. Seldom if ever has anyone epitomised those words with such bravery, fortitude and inspiring courage. Alas, the storm has given the giant oak one more belt than it could withstand. The brightening smile blotted out by a cloud of grieving sadness.
Michelle, my strong and brave beautiful friend, I cannot believe the vile beast finally got you. How you fought so hard for so long only you yourself could know.
Sleep well my lovely friend, your suffering is over.
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