My late husband came from hunger, as we Boston Irish say, recalling the Great Famine from 1845-1852, that drove our people out of Eireann to North America against our will. In honor of his birthday, which is 1 September, I wanted to say a few words about his spirit. He was not Boston Irish, but he knew hunger as a little boy, and that’s enough for kinship on an elemental level. He was the love of my life, and that’s enough for me.
He taught himself to read, since he had no help with that at home. That’s the hallmark of a serious intelligence. He had one of the most inquiring minds I’ve ever met. He had a dream while he was writing his books that provided a lot of his inspiration. In that dream he was a little boy again. I have just one picture of him when he was about 3 that’s just so cute, so when I think of him and his dream, I look at that picture of him beaming and looking hopeful. In his dream, the Universe asks him what he wanted to know, and his response was “everything!” That’s my old man, a true seeker.
I love you and I miss you, my Morris. You were just the best husband and friend to me, forever and ever. Semper Fi, my love.