Mayo Alive December
1998
The Passing
by
J.C. Sullivan, Cleveland, Ohio
It is said that we all dream; it's just that most of us
don't remember them upon awakening. Only when the experience
evokes powerful emotions do I remember them in my conscious
state. Such it was, on a recent Friday morning, when the
late and beloved Francis D. Sullivan entered my
dreamworld.
Although my father has twice visited me in dreams since his passing, this was a first for Uncle Fran. He entered during that state between sleep and conscious, when the creative mind floats free between borders, boundaries and the thought process known as rationality. He danced a fine jig, reflective of his Irish spirit. The cap he wore that morning was reminiscent of those worn by the men of Ireland, the land where our family Celtic roots are pre- Christian. He whirled around slowly and bobbed, bowed and skipped. In his state of joy he extended the hand of hospitality and welcome.
Later that same day, my brother Ed's birthday, we 'lunched' at Fado, the newest, Irish Pub on Old River Road in Cleveland's popular flats area, along the Cuyahoga River. Fado is a Gaelic expression for "long ago." Over eggs, rashers, baked beans, Galtee sausages, black & white pudding, tomato, brown bread and a couple Guinness pints, I shared my dream with Ed. In the past, Ed, too, has had similar dream experiences. In a postscript to the conversation I added that I didn't want to be welcomed to the other side too soon. Like all my infrequent dreams that have spiritual/physchic connections, I didn't understand the significance until later that day.
After my discharge from Army service in 1965, I looked up a girl I had met while home on leave the previous year. We began dating and it wasn't long before, on a warm, lazy and sun-filled Sunday afternoon, Karen took me to meet her parents. Her Dad, Jack Kable, was in the backyard relaxing in his easychair. He was obviously unimpressed with me so I agonized in my best fashion to make small talk with him. I knew from Karen that he, too, was an Army veteran and we both had the shared-experience of being stationed for a while at Fort Hood, Texas. Only it was Camp Hood in his day.
After a few minutes of my attempt at one-sided dialogue he spoke. "What did you say your last name was?" "Sullivan!", I replied. "After World War Two I worked in the mill at Republic Steel with a Sullivan," he gruffly announced. "He's now a State Senator. Is he any relation to you?" "Yessir", I replied, "that's my Uncle Fran." My future father-in-law immediately perked up, looked me in the eye for the first time and said, "Would you like a beer?"
Over a cold Bohemian-style Stroh's, beer, 'Grandpa' shared with me how much he had enjoyed Uncle Fran's company and what their friendship at Republic Steel had meant to him. "There was Sully one day," he gleefully recalled, "coming out of the mill's locker room shower in his birthday suit, expounding on some political issue or politician. I got the biggest kick out of him." That was the day I knew I was OK in Grampa's book. , After lunch with my brother that day at Fado, while back in my office, I received a phone call from Karen. Her father, who had been living at Heritage Care in Oakwood Village, was discovered by caregivers to have stopped breathing. He was not responding to treatment and was being transported by ambulance to University Hospital, Bedford, where Karen worked.
The official time of his death was reported to be approximately 4:00pm that Friday. I wonder though if Granpa died that morning. Did his physical body function until later that afternoon even though his spirit had already departed? Or was my dream that morning another of the occasional visions of the 'future' I've seen on occasion, a glimpse at something that was about to happen in our physical world of time and space?
Whichever it was, one of those who greeted him was his longtime friend of fado, Francis.
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