Much like the other House of Brigid Fellows, I’ve struggled with what exactly to write about in my final blog post. Do I write about the highs and the lows? My hopes and my fears for the future? The smiles and the laughs and the tears and everything in between? All that I’ve learned here, the friendships I’ve made, the memories I’ll never forget? But as I ponder this past year, I can only think of one question: How can I write about an experience that has been deeply unique, so deeply complex, and so deeply metamorphic that I consistently and continually am at a loss for words? If you know me, you know that’s not a very common occurrence either, so this must really mean business.

During my reflection, I decided to reread all of my blog posts. I remember writing each of them so vividly that when I read them now, it feels as though I’ve discovered how to time travel. I see the environment, the mental state, the hopes and fears, all of it. I can even remember when I first felt the inspiration for that specific blog post. And no doubt, when I look back on this one with nostalgia, I will remember nearly crying at the head of our dining table, Sammie sitting on the couch playing her guitar while I watch videos of Ted Lasso. I will remember writing to you somewhere 20,000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean on May 26th (a few days after this blog post was due). And now, I will remember writing to you, alone in the House of Brigid office during Daily Mass on June 7th.

I’ve re-read the contents of this blog post almost a dozen times, and yet, I’m still not quite satisfied. I deleted almost 3 pages of writing because it doesn’t feel right. As I procrastinate this blog post, I’ve come to the realization that I am using the same coping mechanism that I have always used, clinging to the past with an anxious heart fearful of the future. Because when I finally finish this blog post, it will be the first ‘last’ I will experience in the program, the beginning of the end of my time in House of Brigid. And to be quite honest, I don’t know if I’m ready for that to happen.

I’ve never been one to be good at letting go and moving forward — I struggled deeply at the end of high school and college to be excited for a new chapter. I was fearful to leave something I had become so familiar with, grappling with the sorrow of losing the past intertwined with the anxiety of the future unknowns. I wish I could say I’ve learned my lesson and don’t have the same feelings as before, that I fully trust God to guide me to where I am meant to be, but that wouldn’t be true. I’m full of as much sadness and fear as the past, avoiding having to think about the fact that I will actually leave Ireland, that I only have one more Taizé service, 2 more Sundays with the choir, and 6 more weeks before I will be on a flight back to America permanently, with no official plans of returning for an extended period of time. Until now, I have refused to even count the number of days I have left because I don’t want to start a countdown, I am clinging to the present and pretending the future does not exist.

The other day I was reading a book and stumbled upon a quote that hasn’t left my mind since:

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear” – CS Lewis.

Why has it always been and continues to be so hard to say goodbye to something, to some stage of life? Why was it (and is it) so tearful, so heartbreaking, and so fear-striking to leave Oklahoma City in 2017, South Bend in 2021, and now Dublin in 2022? In one of my older blog posts that I wrote when I was grieving my grandmother’s death, I focused so heavily on grief being reflective of love:

“We cannot avoid grief because grief itself is the gut-wrenching result of agape love. It is the consequence of loving others as Jesus loved us, and though grief is hard, living a life filled with love is worth the pain… Grief is the love that reminds us we are never alone. It is a reminder that our lives have been forever touched by a person whose love was strong enough to create a permanent mark on our hearts. And so today, with tears escaping my eyes and a heart still longing for my grandmother, I try to remember that her presence remains within the silence of my heart, guarding and guiding me through the chaos we call life.”

As I re-read my previous posts, this post stood out, and I’ve begun to see it in a new light as I think about my departure from Ireland. In many ways, I now argue that fear is also a result of love, that often the fear I have when I think about leaving Ireland, the anxiety I feel in my stomach, and the tears blurring my vision, these are reflective of the fact that I have loved every moment of my time here. It is the consequence of having loved the people around me, the places I’ve been, and the relationships I’ve developed. It is the consequence of embarking on a journey that has transformed me in ways I never even could have imagined. There is fear because there is love. The fear I hold now is the fear of moving forward and losing the treasured memories and friends I’ve created here. No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I would add that fear is a part of grief as you embark into a new unknown, leaving behind a piece of yourself in every place that you go. Suddenly these laughter-filled, Tiktok-making days will be an echo of the past, a personal, private memoir of my time in House of Brigid.

The grief I experience is so deeply rooted in the pain of having to say goodbye to the family I’ve created. It’s the people that make the places. And here in Dublin, I have been blessed beyond words with a family here that allows me to be unapologetically myself, that has challenged me to grow in ways I didn’t even realize needed growth, and that has supplied me with a lifelong supply of memories.

Throughout the highs and lows, the workplace drama and the household bickers, the tear-filled laughs and arguments, the group hugs, the silent prayers, the heavy-breathed hikes, the Ryanair flights, the TikTok productions, the tea & biscuit set ups, all of it, we created a family here in Dublin. One that holds you accountable, but gives you grace. One that sometimes pisses you off but is quick to apologize and work through problems. One that challenges you to think about things that are so oddly deep, but also things that are so deeply odd. One that pushes you towards a greater understanding of yourself, a greater understanding of relationships, and a greater understanding of my own faith life.

In the spirit of family and of grief and of love, I want to thank the family we’ve made this year.

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To my family of parishioners, thank you for welcoming me so deeply into your sacred community and for helping me to grow in pastoral ministry this year. You’ve enhanced my life in ways that are hard to put into words and I will truly miss all the tea & biscuits, the movies, the soup runs, the prayer services, and the early morning choir practices. Thank you for the wisdom you’ve instilled in me, I hope to see you all again soon!

To my family of the greater House of Brigid community, thank you for being there for support outside of my direct community and for being part of my extended family. The trips down to Wexford and your trips to Dublin are some of my fondest memories, filled with playing mafia, doubles solitaire, and deep philosophical conversations.

To my family at NDNC, THANK YOU. Thank you for teaching me which line was the soprano part, being patient when I didn’t quite know what I was doing (even now), and for filling the office with the sense of family. To Dominique, thank you for continuing to challenge me in music and for helping me to grow confidently in the choir. Thank you for your kindness and Irish accent, for you sense of humour and ability to #keepitreal, and for your cool young aunt vibes/older sister vibes. To Katherine, thank you for all of the TikTok memories (I will never look at that app the same). Thank you for the support you’ve given as a House of Brigid alum and for acting like a cool older sister when I needed one. I still remember our first one-on-one at Farmer Brown’s in Rathmines, when we shared deep conversation over tasty food. To Father Gary, thank you for guiding the office with grace (most of the time) and a contagious smile. Thank you for the silly jokes, the butt-dials, and the free food! Thank you for being the office dad and holding us accountable while simultaneously practicing compassion. Most importantly, thank you for accepting me into this program even though in many ways I was quite a wild card…

And finally, the most important thank you of all:

To my family of the Dublin House of Brigid, words could never begin to describe what it feels like to be writing this. Thank you for constantly challenging me to be reflective of myself, my actions and my faith. Thank you for pushing me to be better in every aspect of my life, even the ones I’m not so confident in. Thank you for allowing me to flourish as my most unapologetically myself version of me. It’s hard to exactly articulate the weird relationship we all have except to say that you are my family here in Dublin. We’ve laughed together, prayed together, cried together (and because of each other), played music together, and, most importantly, learned how to love together. We went from a group of strangers to a family that understood what our definition of intentional community is.

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I can say with the utmost confidence that each of the people I have encountered in the past year have left a transformative and permanent mark on my heart and in my life. When I look back with nostalgia, craving the life I had here, I will remember that the pain I feel is because I loved and was loved unconditionally here in Dublin, true agape love. As Winnie the Pooh says, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” In a year’s time, when I’m drowning in medical school course work and longing for my time in Dublin, I will be grateful that I was touched so deeply by those currently surrounding me.

So in my final blog post, I’d like to end right where I started: with a Ted Lasso quote.

“To the family we’re born with, and to the family we make along the way.”

Cheers to the laughs, the tears, the hugs, the fears, and everything in between. Cheers to my family back home in the US, and cheers to my family here in Dublin.

Blue skies always,

Morgan