by Lorna Byrne
'Hello, Lorna,' he said in a very soft voice. 'My name is Kaphas. Something special is going to happen for you and Joe, but particularly for Joe.'
'Angel Kaphas, can you tell me when?' I asked.
'Soon, Lorna. You will know when the angels descend on your home.' Then Angel Kaphas rose out of the chair and was gone.
Weeks passed, I don't know how many, and the weather got colder still. Joe remained very sad about losing our baby, and I was too, but I had known in advance and so I had had more time to get used to it. The weather was getting very bad and it was ice cold outside – really, really cold – and it was snowing extremely heavily. As he came back from work, Joe decided to get extra groceries, and I always remember him arriving at the door with his arms full of bags of shopping. As Joe walked in he started to say, 'God, it's cold . . .' but as soon as he said the word God, angels descended on our little home.
It was as if angels were coming through every part of the house: through the roof, through the walls, even up through the floors. Every atom of the house seemed to be full of angels. It's something that had happened to me before – and still happens – when something very special is about to occur. I knew this was the something special that Angel Kaphas had spoken of – something special for Joe.
Joe continued '. . . You never know, tomorrow morning we might not be able to get outside the hall door with that snow.' It was stacking up pretty high outside, and there were reports on the radio about roads blocked and traffic not being able to go up to Leila because the road was covered in snow and ice.
That evening we had the fire going – there was a power cut and so this was our only light – and I remember feeling nice and snug in our little cottage. The children were in bed asleep, we had plenty of fuel and food in and it felt lovely; it felt safe. Around ten o'clock Joe and I were sitting at the fire enjoying tea and sandwiches and we talked about the baby we had lost. As we sat there we gave it a name.
The room was shining with the angels and I noticed some angels going into our bedroom.When they came back into our little living room I heard them say of Christopher and Owen, 'They are sleeping peacefully, like little angels.'
Everything became silent; there wasn't a sound. I got up out of the chair and peeped out the window; it was pitch dark outside, except for the snow, which left a glow in the darkness. I was a little anxious and excited. I did not know what the angels were going to allow to happen, but I knew it was going to be special.
The next minute there came three knocks on the window – of course, Joe and I nearly jumped out of our skins. He said, 'Oh God, somebody must be outside.'
As he was getting up out of the chair, three knocks came on the door as well. I said, 'They must be freezing. Maybe it's Mum and Da, maybe they had to come up for something.'
'They are out of their minds to travel on a night like this,' Joe said.
Joe was surrounded by a whole host of angels, but, of course, he didn't realise it. Suddenly I knew what was going on and started to laugh. Joe said, 'Why are you laughing?'
'There is no one outside the door,' I said. 'I know who that was.'
'Who?' asked Joe.
'It was our baby,' I said, 'he was saying goodbye. He was just giving you a physical sign to help you to believe, by knocking.'
'Go away out of that! Don't be talking such nonsense,' Joe said.
'Go out and open the hall door and you won't see any footsteps in the snow.'
I had to laugh again at the expression on Joe's face. The room was full of angels. I knew angels had brought my baby's soul to knock on the window and now he had gone back with other angels. I didn't need to see him, our little son – he did this for his dad, to help him to believe.
Joe opened the hall door. The snow was up against it; it was nearly a foot deep and it fell in onto the mat; the freezing cold air came in, too. Joe looked out and he could not believe it – there were no footsteps in the snow. He looked and he looked to see if he could find any footsteps in the snow; of animals, birds, of any kind. He stepped out into the snow. Joe went white in the face; he couldn't believe it. He looked at me and shook his head, saying, 'Oh my God, that's just too much!'
Eventually, he came back in, closed the hall door and I said, 'Don't worry, sit down by the fire and get warm. That was your son, our baby, saying goodbye. He was leaving with all the angels to go to Heaven, off to where he should be. Now, you can let him go.'
Joe cried there at the fire; we held each other in our arms and we both cried. We were very peaceful, though.
'Wasn't it wonderful that our little baby did that for us?' I said to him, 'that the angels allowed something like that to happen so we would know that our baby's okay, that it's all right. That was our child thanking us for being his parents.'
Da had a habit of dropping in to see us out of the blue – mostly in the evening. I always loved this. One day, I was out working in the garden, pulling weeds and hoeing between the rows of potatoes – we were now growing most of our own fruit and vegetables – and Christopher was helping me. Although he was only about five, he was always anxious to help.
As I heard Da's car pull up outside the gate, I turned around. The two boys cried out 'Granddad'. Christopher ran through the potatoes and tried to open the gate, with Owen toddling behind. The gate was tied with string, so I picked Owen up and helped Christopher to untie it. The gate opened and Owen wiggled in my arms to get down. Christopher greeted Da as he got out of the car. He was in fishing gear and wearing his favourite hat – a tweed hat with colourful fishing flies in it. He'd had the same hat for years and he wore it every opportunity he got, and he always treated it with loving care.
Da greeted the kiddies with a pet on the head – he always did that and sometimes I would say to him, 'They are not dogs you are petting, Da!' and he would laugh at me.
'The garden is looking great,' said Da, as Christopher pulled him in the direction of the potatoes.
'When the children are finished showing you all the vegetables we're growing come in and I'll have tea ready,' I said.
Owen, who was now about three, was first back into the kitchen and arrived with a tumble and roll. He was born prematurely and, as a result of not having developed fully before birth, his hips swiveled much more than normal. He could move so fast that I would hold my breath as I watched him, and he could tumble over three or four times and still end up back on his feet. It was as if he was double-jointed from the waist down.Many times, when I saw Owen tumbling and I was holding my breath, I would see flashes of angels spinning around him in every direction, protecting him. Seeing the way he tumbled you would expect him to break bones – but he never did. The doctors in the hospital said that Owen's hips wouldn't develop properly before the age of seven, and I often said to Joe that I couldn't wait for Owen to reach that age so that I could breathe easily.
'Lorna,' my father asked, 'would you and Joe and the kiddies like to come on holiday with your mum and me in the summer – down to the little cottage in Mullingar?'
I was delighted. Joe and I had never had a holiday; we had never even gone on honeymoon. I was thrilled at the idea of a break.
'That would be great,' I said, 'of course we'd love to come. I hope Joe can get the time off.'
Joe had recovered from his appendicitis, but I could still see the red mass of energy around his appendix, so knew it would flare up again. He had recently got a job at the local carpet factory – it was hard physical work in unpleasant conditions, washing and dying wool – and most of the time he worked the night shift. This work can't have helped his health, but we needed the money.
One of the few benefits of this job, other than the small, but regular, income, was that Joe had access to cheap undyed wool. I had done little knitting as a child, but now with access to this wool, I took to knitting with a vengeance, even though all the jumpers I knitted were the one colour – the colour of sheep! I knitted Aran sweaters for the children, for Joe and for Da. My da loved his sweater and wore it
a lot of the time he wasn't working.
This day, Da and I sat down and had a cup of tea and talked for a few minutes. The children were delighted too; they asked their granddad so many questions about where the cottage was, what it was like, whether there were trees in the garden.
'The garden is wild, with lots of trees and grass as tall as you. There is a boreen as well, all overgrown like a jungle. You'll have a great time.'
'When can we go?' They kept asking, and I told the children, 'not until your Granddad and Dad gets holiday.'
Da had his tea and he went outside into the garden with the children for a little while. 'See you, Lorna, I'm going now,' he called out.
The day before we were due to go on holiday was a really warm, sunny day with hardly a breeze, but as I was hanging washing on the line this strong wind suddenly came up. I knew it wasn't an ordinary breeze and I started to laugh.
'I bet that is you, Hosus!' I said. 'What are you doing blowing away my washing on me. What are you up to?'
Then he just appeared. As usual, he was playing tricks and trying to make me laugh. Then he disappeared again, just like a light evaporating into the air. He is a wonderful angel. That day, I caught my son Christopher standing there, looking in the same direction and staring, and I knew by his eyes that he saw what I saw. He never mentioned it then, nor since; maybe he has forgotten about it; maybe, though, when he reads this book he will remember – that I don't know, I will just wait and see.
The day we were off on holiday, I was worrying how we were all going to fit into the car. Da's car was not big, and we had a lot of luggage and all the changes of clothes for the children. The children were out in the garden watching anxiously for their Granny and Granddad, and when the car pulled up to the gate the children let out such screams of joy.
Christopher and Owen immediately climbed into the car with their toys and Da and Joe somehow managed to fit everything into the boot. Off we went towards Mullingar, in County Westmeath, some fifty miles away from Maynooth Joe talked quite a bit, but I stayed quiet within myself and played with the children.
We got to the cottage late; it was almost getting dark, but there was a beautiful full moon and a bright sky packed with stars. The little stone cottage was lovely – nice and cosy. I just felt happy to be there.Mum and Da slept downstairs and we all slept upstairs. I slept really well that first night.
During that holiday, Da and Joe did a lot of fishing on different lakes around the area, and Da brought the children and me out in a boat, too. The children were so excited about being on the water and the boat bobbing up and down, even though we only went a short distance from the shore and back in again.
Da had had an accident in the garage a few years before, and since then had been unable to do heavy physical work. Even though Joe wasn't particularly well himself, he did a lot of work on the cottage that holiday that was impossible for Da. I helped too. We put plasterboards up on the walls to protect them from the damp, which was a difficult job as one of the walls was very high and the plasterboard was very heavy. On a couple of days we worked all day until the evening but, by the end of the holiday, we had succeeded in finishing the job.
On a few evenings, Joe and Da went fly-fishing. One evening I told Joe I'd like to go for a walk on my own and I asked him to stay with the children. I wanted to be by myself so that I could really talk to the angels; not just quietly, but aloud, so that they could actually walk beside me in a physical human form. It was about eight o'clock in the evening when I went off. I knew there wouldn't be that many people down by the lake at that hour. I crossed the main road and took a left turn down a minor road to reach the lane that leads to the lake. Instead of turning left for the lake, I decided to go straight on and, as I walked, I said to the angels, 'Now you can walk alongside me. I know you are there in spiritual form, but I need you to appear in physical form so that I can talk to you.'
Angel Michael appeared beside me and walked in time with my step. He put his hand on my shoulder, and that felt good. As we walked along the road, Angel Michael said, 'A little further up the road, Lorna, there is a forest to the right. Let's go for a walk there.'
When we reached the forest it looked overgrown and very dark. 'I can't go for a walk in that forest,' I said. Michael took my hand and, as we walked, the brambles moved apart and we had a path. We came to a little opening in the forest, looking down across the fields and the lake. Sometimes it is nice just to walk and know that the angels are right beside me and that I have nothing to fear; but that night, walking through the forest with Michael, I had a vague sense of something watching me.
I didn't give it much thought, though, and I didn't ask Michael about it.
Next morning, after breakfast, Da invited Joe to go fishing with him again and off they went with their fishing gear. I called after them to bring some fish home for our tea. Da said he'd try, but he couldn't promise, and they headed off down to the lake. Mum was busy out in the garden, doing something or other with flowerpots, so, when I had cleaned up, I went off with the children down the boreen and where the trees were; it was a wild place and they loved it there.
Later, Mum and I went off walking with the children down towards the lake, enjoying the last day of our holiday. We talked to people we met on the way: some were holidaymakers like ourselves and some were local people Mum had got to know. When we got down to the shore of the lake there were a lot of families there. The children and I played in the water; they enjoyed picking up stones, throwing them and watching the splash and feeling the ripple of the water hitting their legs. There were tears when it was time to head back to the house.
Shortly afterwards, Joe and Dad arrived home with some trout. Dad took the trout outside and showed the children how to chop off the head and the tail and clean them out. 'Ugh,' the children went, 'Ugh!'
'That's an easy thing to do,' I told them. 'I learned how to clean out fish and cook them as a child. It's great to know how to do it, particularly when you can cook them over a campfire.'
No sooner had I said this than Christopher wanted us to build a campfire to cook the fish. Unfortunately, we had to say no because we were going back to Maynooth that night. We did eat the lovely trout, though, but it was cooked in the kitchen. As soon as we were finished tea, we had to clean up and then pack the car.We arrived back at Maynooth and Mum and Da went home – the holiday was over.
We never had very much; I used to ask the Lord, 'How on earth do we survive?' But we did. I always seemed to manage on a shoe string. I would count coppers and grow vegetables to make things stretch. There was no such thing as buying new clothes for Joe or myself. Every now and then my mother would say she had a bag full of clothes – I don't know where she got them from, but they never suited me, they were always too big and made me look like a granny. Sometimes, but not always, there might be trousers or jumpers in the bag that would fit Joe. We would laugh and say, 'Beggars can't be choosers.'
Many times, my engagement ring was a godsend. Pawnbrokers were a blessing for us, as for many families in Ireland at that time – there was almost always a queue. I remember occasions when we went into the pawnbrokers and came out with money in my hand, feeling like a millionaire. On occasions when we didn't even have money for bread and butter to put on the table, Joe would thumb a lift into Dublin, with my engagement ring in his pocket, and head straight for the pawnbrokers. He would get maybe ten pounds for it and then, over time, we would save up to get it back again. What a lifesaver that ring turned out to be!
Joe was given a bicycle by a neighbour: an old man down the road who had asked him to help him clean up his house and garden and, out of gratitude, gave him his old bicycle. It only needed cleaning up and a few minor repairs. I thanked God and the angels for the gift of the bicycle, and the old man for listening to his angels. Joe could now cycle to work at the carpet factory.
Despite the shortage of money, those years were great; they were wonderful times when it was lovely to be alive, to see my chil
dren smiling and to see Joe being able to enjoy life for a while.
The summer after I lost the baby, Joe had a great idea. He went off to the bicycle shop in Celbridge and made a deal: in return for two weeks of cleaning the bike shop and sorting out all the bicycles and bits and pieces in the yard every evening, he would be paid two bicycles – an adult's one and a child's one. Then, with Owen on the back of Joe's bike, we could all go on outings together.
So, every evening after work he went to the bicycle shop, and by the time he got home it was after midnight. But it was worth it – at the end of the first week he brought home a child's bike. It was badly in need of repair, though, and in many ways it looked like a piece of junk. Halfway through the second week, the man in the bike shop gave him the adult bike and this one looked much better.
Christopher was very excited about getting a bicycle and, with his help, eventually we got the bikes all fixed up. Christopher, who was a very skinny young lad at the time, was out there helping his dad, learning how to oil the chain and fix spokes and all that kind of thing. He also learnt how to cycle very well.
I always remember the first day we decided to cycle to Donadea, some six miles away, for a picnic. Joe said six miles was a long cycle for a five-year-old, so we'd have to see how far we would get before Christopher got too tired. Joe had a seat on the back of his bike for Owen and I had the bags with the picnic on the back of mine.
I was worried about Christopher, knowing it was a long cycle, but I shouldn't have worried at all, as he was well able for the cycle. We did stop every now and then to have a little rest, though, or walk a little with the bikes.
After that, we went to Donadea for a picnic as often as possible and had lovely times. It had a stillness and peace, particularly in the evening time when everyone had gone home. There was also what many people called a lake, I called it a pond, with ducks, and there was a little bridge to a tiny island which had four trees and a few picnic tables, but no grass.
