“Everything will be okay in the end. It it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a blog – months, to be more accurate. Life bloomed in different directions as I traveled, started writing a novel, visited family, took on two new jobs, and became involved in community theater.

My trip to New Mexico with my husband this summer allowed me to visit some of the oldest churches and shrines in the country dedicated to Our Lady. I hope to post pictures soon.
In the meantime, however, I have been moved to write on a topic of a different history.

Yesterday my husband showed me an article in our local paper announcing the October opening of Ireland’s Great Hunger Museum, the first of its kind in the US (Hamden, Connecticut), and the world’s largest collection of art, artifacts, and printed articles about Ireland’s terrible famine.

From 1845-1852, a million Irish died of starvation and disease as British occupiers exported grains and livestock to Europe and the US, leaving the Irish tenants only blighted potatoes to sustain them. Once the potatoes were gone, many of the desperate starving were reduced to consuming grass. And all the while the English grew fat on the bounty of the Irish fields, watched the Irish “monkeys” suffer, and dispossessed them of their meager homes, forcing them to live — and die — in roadside ditches.

Just to write about it makes my pulse pound.

Many saw no alternative – leave Ireland, or die. I’ve been to Ireland twice, and on my last trip, while in County Wexford, my husband and I stood on the deck of the famine ship Dunbrody, a recreation of an actual ship that carried Irish emigrants to unknown futures in America. The sad irony, of course, was that life on the ships was little better than life in Ireland, and many died during the trip.

One who survived the terrible journey was Thomas Duffy, a young carpenter who immigrated to Baltimore, lived and worked in Washington DC, and served in the Union Army under President Lincoln. He later joined the Irish exodus from the East Coast to San Francisco when Protestants burned Catholic churches and terrorized Irish Catholic neighborhoods.

It is because of Thomas Duffy that I am here to to write my blog. This young man, with his wife, Mary O’Rourke, was the founder of an American clan (and I say clan because we are far bigger than a family) whose living members currently number over 100. We are many, and we are proud to be Irish. We’ve continued to serve our country in the military, we include in our numbers teachers, nurses, engineers, artists, and musicians. We are devoted parents and grandparents. We are people of faith. We are patriots. A century and a half later, we still know that the name Duffy represents struggle, survival, and success. It is a badge we wear with pride.

Not quite a hundred years after Thomas Duffy escaped genocide in Ireland, a young Jewish man named Herbert Sim escaped genocide in Austria. He left Vienna to come to New York as an exchange student under the sponsorship of an aunt. He and his father were the only members of their immediate family to escape the Holocaust, an abomination which requires no further explanation because its name carries the weight of the world’s shame. Herb went on to serve his country in the Army, become a distinguished professor at Notre Dame (talk about Irish pride!), and, with his wife, Sylvia, raise five children — one of whom I married.

When my father-in-law died (may his memory be for blessing), I spoke at his funeral. My brief comments acknowledged the grief of his loss, but also gratitude that he, like Thomas Duffy, found a new life in a new country, and would ultimately bless my life and the lives of so many others who knew him. The good will rise from the bad.

I have a small sign that hangs on a wall in my home. It reads, “Everything will be okay in the end. It it’s not okay, it’s not the end.” I realize that expressed in those words, the sentiment may sound trite or glib, but I really believe the deeper message. We never know the full impact of any event until we see the blessings to which it gives birth.

History paints disasters in broad strokes. One million Irish were allowed to die in conditions we would not force upon animals. Six million Jews were exterminated like vermin. But the blessings emerge in the stories of individuals lives. Thomas escaped the starving bowels of Ireland and I am here. Herb escaped the ovens of Auschwitz, and my husband is here. This is a second marriage for each of us, a new chance at a new life after years of loneliness. From darkness comes light.

I hope to meet Thomas in the next life. I would like to tell him that my heart has ached for his anguish when he saw his homeland turned to rot. I’d like to tell him that I am so very grateful he took a chance on a second chance despite the obstacles. I’d like to tell him how many people are proud to carry his name. And I’d like to tell him that I am proud to pair it with the name of another who was able to turn despair into blessing.

Everything will be okay in the end. I’d like to think wherever he is now, Thomas knows that better than anyone.

Wishing you a space for grace in your life today,

Kate