Importance of remembering those who have passed stressed by Offaly columnist

NOVEMBER has arrived wrapped in quiet mystery, a month steeped in memory and meaning. The days grow shorter, the air cools, and the natural world begins its slow surrender to winter. Yet beneath the stillness of falling leaves and fading light, a sacred whisper calls us to remember, to pause, to slow down, to be still, to grieve, to pray, to give thanks, and to hope.

This is the month we honour the Saints and the Holy Souls, those who have walked before us, those who now rest in God’s eternal love, and those we still miss with an ache that never fully leaves us and that no words can fill. November is our Act of Remembrance Month, a time to bless graves, light candles, whisper names we still love aloud, and believe, with faith that transcends tears, that love is stronger than death.

The horizon of hope

Earlier today, I stood on the promenade in Salthill and was struck by the horizon, how it appears to be an end, but of course it is my vision that is limited, not the reality of what lies beyond. November often feels like that, a horizon between what is seen and what is unseen. It reminds me that those we have loved and lost are not beyond that horizon, they are simply further along the road of light. I believe that the dead are not distant. They are nearer to us than we can imagine. Their love, once human, has now taken on something divine, something sacred, tender, vast, encompassing.

As John O’Donohue once wrote: “When we lose someone to death, we lose their physical image, but they slip out of visible form into invisible presence.” They continue to accompany us, unseen but deeply felt, guiding the unfolding of our lives with compassion and care. “We give them back to You, O Lord, who first gave them to us; yet as You did not lose them in giving, so we have not lost them by their return…Life is eternal and love is immortal, and death is only an horizon, and an horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.” How often I whisper those words I heard at the funeral of my young niece Aoife in the stillness of my daily prayer in front of the Blessed Sacrament. They comfort me, not because they erase grief, but because they reveal that love never ends at the shoreline of this life. The sea between us shimmers with the light of God’s promise.

A shrine of memory and hope

In my kitchen sits a small shelf altar, my shrine of memory and hope to those who have gone before us marked with the sign of faith. Upon it are photos of faces I will never forget, my grandparents, my wife’s parents, my aunts and uncles, my beautiful niece Aoife, dear friends Donal, Mary, Rosabel, Della and David… and so many others whose laughter once filled the air. Each November evening, I light a candle there. Its flame dances gently, flickering against the photographs as if whispering, “They are not gone from you, only gone before you.” Some of them died way too soon. Their absence left an emptiness that mirrors the bare trees outside. Yet, that same emptiness bears a strange fullness, because love, even when wounded by loss, does not die. In that little shrine, I see not just what I have lost, but what I still hold, a love that memory keeps alive, and faith redeems with promise. “For your faithful people, Lord, life is changed, not ended.” (Funeral Liturgy, Preface for the Dead)

READ NEXT: All systems go for third annual Christmas panto in Tullamore

Remembering as an act of love

As we enter into November, I often think about how remembering is not merely an act of the mind, it is an act of love. To remember someone is to let them live again in your heart. It is to bring them back into the circle of your being. When Jesus, on the night before He died, took bread and wine and said, “Do this in memory of me” (Luke 22:19), He wasn’t just asking to be remembered, He was giving us a sacred way to keep His presence alive. In every Eucharist, memory becomes encounter; remembrance becomes presence. Each time I gather at the altar, I know heaven and earth meet. I am not only with Christ but with all those who have gone before me, my loved ones, my friends, my friends, my colleagues, the great communion of saints and souls. The veil thins, and eternity feels closer than my own breath. “I am with you always.” (Matthew 28:20)

Lessons from the falling leaves

As autumn fades and the trees release their last leaves, I am reminded that letting go is part of living. Nature herself preaches a quiet sermon about death and renewal. What seems to die is not lost, it returns to the earth to feed life again. So too, our loved ones have returned to the Source of all life, where every tear is wiped away. Their passing invites me not only to mourn, but to live more gently, more gratefully, more awake to the gift of now. “For everything there is a season…a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4)

When grief breaks through

Grief comes in waves, sometimes quietly, sometimes like a storm. It has no timetable, no rulebook. A scent, a song, a photograph, and suddenly I am undone. And that’s okay. It has visited me many times, at gravesides, in hospital rooms, on lonely walks. I have wept privately, sometimes even unexpectedly and a few times, during my work trips to Africa, I cry for days at the sight of children and people dying from poverty, their faces etched forever in my heart. Grief is love with nowhere to go. It is sacred. It is holy. It means that what was shared was real and precious. Like the disciples after Jesus’ death, I sometimes find myself behind locked doors, fearful, lost, numb. And just as He did then, Jesus comes to me in my grief, through my locked heart, whispering, “Peace be with you.” (John 20:19). His love enters even the places where I feel paralysed. It reaches through despair, breaks through fear, and reminds me: “I am the resurrection and the life.” (John 11:25)

Light in the darkness

As the days shorten, I see how human beings instinctively turn toward light, candles in windows, lanterns in churches, candles on advent wreaths and stars on Christmas trees soon to come. These lights remind us that hope is not extinguished by the dark. I think of the psalmist who prayed, “My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning.” In that waiting, I sense a promise: that the darkness will not have the last word. That every soul, every tear, every name whispered in prayer is known to God and held in His light.

READ NEXT: Second phase of community climate action programme commences in Offaly

The power of love

“What God creates, God loves; and what God loves, God loves everlastingly.” If there is one thing stronger than death, it is love, a love that does not fade with distance or time. It was love that brought Christ to the Cross, love that rolled away the stone, and love that will one day raise us too into the fullness of life. The saints and souls we remember this month remind us that love is never wasted. It transforms us, sustains us, and draws us closer to the heart of God. “Love never ends.” (1 Corinthians 13:8). Even in the sorrow of death, I hold to Christ’s promise: “Today, you will be with me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:43). Death is not the end, it is a doorway. Pope St. John XXIII once said, “The devotion to the memory of the dead is one of the most beautiful expressions of the Catholic spirit.” When we pray for those who have gone before us, we are participating in something divine, something sacred, the great communion of mercy. Those in heaven and purgatory remain bound to us by love, by prayer, by faith, by hope. We are still one family. As the Catechism reminds us, purgatory is not punishment, but purification, the soul’s gentle preparation for the fullness and the power of love. So we pray for them, as they, in turn, will one day pray for us. “What God creates, God loves; and what God loves, God loves everlastingly." Those words have become an anchor for me. If there is one truth that outlives every funeral, every tear, every goodbye, it is this, "love never ends." (1 Corinthians 13:8). Our loved ones are not lost to us. They are closer than we think, transfigured now in God’s eternal light, whispering prayers for us, guiding us unseen, loving us still with the power of God's eternal love.

Living gently, loving deeply

If November teaches me anything, it is this: life is short, fragile, and infinitely precious. We do not know what tomorrow will bring. So let us live today with gratitude and tenderness. Be gentle with those around you. Everyone carries a hidden grief, a quiet sorrow. If we remembered that, the world would be a kinder place. Smile more. Forgive more quickly. Tell people you love them now, while you can still look into their eyes. “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” (Ephesians 4:32). A little word of love during a person’s life is worth far more than all the speeches after their death. Don’t wait. Don’t leave it too late. As that beautiful old poem says: “If ever you are going to love me, love me now while I can hear you, while my eyes can meet yours, while my heart still beats. Don’t wait till I am gone and whisper love to a gravestone. Love me now, while I am living.”

Thought for the week

As your thought for the week, find a quiet corner, perhaps a windowsill, a table or a little shelf altar in your house. Place a candle there. A photograph. A flower. A prayer. Pause each evening. Whisper the names of those you love who have died. Tell them what they meant to you. Thank God for their presence in your life. Then, in their honour, do one simple act of kindness, a phone call, a visit, a word of forgiveness, a smile offered to someone struggling. Let your remembering become love in action, for that is how we keep them alive, not just in memory, but in the way we live. Let me leave you with one of my prayer poems about remembering, "Loving and Eternal God, In this month of remembrance, we bring before You all those we have loved and lost. Gather them gently into Your eternal light. Comfort those who grieve; heal what is broken in us by their absence. Teach us to live with open hearts, to love without fear, to forgive without hesitation, and to remember with gratitude and hope. May perpetual light shine upon all who have died. And may the peace of Christ, who conquered death and rose to life eternal, dwell within our hearts this day and always. Let us always remember, “Ní imithe uainn atá siad, ach imithe romhainn. - They are not gone from us, but gone before us. Amen."