Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it
There is an awkward silence induced by our own insecurities around mortality
Our pub is on a country crossroads on the foot of the scraggly Wicklow hills. My bedroom was above the bar and our kitchen was beneath it. The lives of my six siblings and I were intertwined in the life, and death, of the customers.
Their stories are part of who we are. The farmers who whispered about the loneliness of working the land on their own. The songs and speeches after county ...
