Page 3 of Bumping into You

All three of my coworkers nod in agreement.

“Helping people,” I say, “making a difference one life at a time, that’s what really makes it worth it.”

“Your mom would be proud of you,” says Johnny.

“Thanks.” I look at the ground, hoping they’ll take the hint that I don’t want to talk about her. It’s been one year since I lost her, but it still feels like a fresh wound.

Growing up, it was just me and my mam. We were inseparable. It’s why I stayed close to home for college and live in the Boston area to this day. When my mam was in her twenties, she met my dad in Ireland, fell in love, and followed him back to the States, his home country. She left Ireland and came to Boston with nothing but a bag on her back. After she and my dad got married, they moved into my childhood home, and she and I have lived in the same house ever since, even after my dad left. Thinking about her absence still leaves me feeling empty.

“I agree,” says Captain Frank, entering the locker room. “Your mom would be proud of you. I know it’s hard not having your mom around anymore. Anyone can tell you’ve been different this past year. Your mom would want you to get your spirit back. She’d want you to go on this vacation.”

A lump forms in my throat. Captain Frank’s been a father figure to me since I started at this firehouse. I don’t know what it is about him, but it seems like he naturally falls into that position for most of the crew. They have all becomemo thaeghlach, or my family, to me since my mam got sick.

They stepped in to help with Mam whenever they could or cover my shifts when she got worse. Mam and I always had a homemade meal from someone in the crew, which helped to make me feel like I wasn’t alone in everything.

I push the lump in my throat back down. Changing the subject from my mam, I say, “I don’t know if I’d call a wedding a vacation.”

“You’ll love it!” says Brianna. “Paul and I went on a cruise last summer, and it was a blast.”

“Yeah,” I say, “from the sound of the wedding itinerary, it’ll be acraic-filled, jam-packed week, so I will definitely be doing a lot.”

“I’ll bet all the women will be falling all over you with your Irish accent,” says Mitchell.

“I still can’t believe the Boston accent hasn’t worn on you after all these years,” says Brianna.

“Ha,” I shrug, “with how strong my mam’s accent was and how she made sure we were always surrounded by other Irish families here, I’m not surprised in the least.”

My mam had flourished in the large Irish community in the Boston area. I grew up fully immersed in the community, and even though I’ve only gone to Ireland once to visit my grandparents, I’ve never lacked for learning about my roots. Mymam was proud of her Irish heritage and instilled that love deep into me. Growing up in the States didn’t remove my Irish accent.

“And he’s definitely not complaining about all the ladies it brings him,” says Mitchell, elbowing me in the ribs.

“Not as many as you would think,” I reply. “Anyway, I’m not the relationship type. Sure, I’ve dated, but I’ve never wanted to settle down.”

Before she died, my mam had been on me for years about settling down and giving her grandchildren, but that just wasn’t the life I wanted. I had no desire to be a father—a husband—not after my father left my mam to raise me all on her own. But before my mam passed, I’d made a promise to her. I can still remember a delicate wisp of hair poking out from her headscarf, her frame draped in loose-fitting clothes. She looked so vulnerable, a drastic contrast to the resilient and strong woman I grew up with before she had cancer.

“A chroí,” Mam had said, “I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything,” I replied, coming to sit down next to her on the couch and taking her trembling hand in mine. She’d been in treatments for a while, and they made her tired and frail.

“Don’t just say that. You have to really promise me. Soon I might not be here, and I don’t like to think of you by yourself.”

“Mam, don’t say that. You’re getting your treatments; the doctor says they’re working.”

“Hush,a chroí, and listen to me. I don’t like the thought of you being alone in this world. I want you to promise me that when I’m gone, you won’t stay alone,” she said softly.

“I won’t be, Mam. I have my friends and coworkers—”

“That’s not what I mean,” she cut me off. “I’m not going to tell you not to mourn me, but there better damn well be a limit. One year,a chroí, that’s all I will allow. After that, I want you to really try. Try and find acailín deas, someone who makes you happy,who fights for you, and laughs with you, and makes it so you no longer feel alone.”

“Mam—”

“I’m not done,” she continued. “I want you to put yourself out there, date someone for a while, really try. You’ve never been one for long relationships, and that breaks my heart.”

“I’m not the relationship type.”

“Don’t be an eejit. You’re the most loving and caring lad. I should know because I raised you up right. Now promise me you’ll put your all into forging a relationship with someone who deserves the kind, sweet lad I raised.”

Patting the top of her hand, I gave her a sad smile. “I promise, Mam.”

---