Because I am most well known as an author who specializes in early Christian history and spirituality, it usually surprises people when I tell them I was not born into a family practicing Christianity. My father’s side were Christian, and this would become important to me later in my life when I discovered our genetic connections to the French and Cathar traditions, but early on it was not a factor.
My mother was of Celtic lines, the West of Ireland and the Scottish islands of Mull and Iona. My grandmother used to say we were people of Island Magic. I was raised in a most beautiful environment, matriarchal and matrilinear. I was the only girl, so I received significant time and attention from my grandmother, who was my greatest teacher. We called her Apple, but her name was Pearl Ethyl Taylor. My oldest brother Kelly gave her that name, Apple, when he was a baby and it stuck. It suited her. She was a true druidic woman. She talked to trees and had a magical house in the forest, which was like my own private Hogwarts growing up. She taught me to not just talk to trees and stones, but to listen to them.
Before Mary Magdalene entered my life, I answered to Brigid and Maeve and the ferocious Morrigan, but that is another story for another day.
Right about the time I turned 21, my beloved grandmother was diagnosed with an untreatable and terminal cancer in the early Spring of 1984. I was packing to move to Ireland, where I was set to begin my first major assignment as an independent journalist. I did not want to leave my grandmother and prepared to put my plans on hold. She would not have it.
”You have to go, Sweet Pea,” she said. “I will not have you stop your life so you can watch me deteriorate. I want you to remember me just like this and not as a helpless old woman decaying in a bed. Besides, I need you in Ireland to help me pass over properly.”
She proceeded to tell me that she had every intention of dying in October, during the period of Samhain - the ancient Celtic festival, wherein the veil is very thin and it is believed to be the easiest time to pass. Both my mom and grandmother had often remarked on how many people made their transition during that season. “October is the best time to pass,” was an autumn-tide refrain in our house.
Grandma Apple then explained that she wanted me to “Wait for her in Sligo, in order to hold the door” so she could pass properly. She had spent my entire life training me in the auld ways, and I was well prepared to do this, albeit very sad. But I also knew it was a rite of passage for me as well.
I left her in Los Angeles in July, and said goodbye to her when she was still wearing lipstick and driving herself to go shopping. It was how she wanted me to remember her. She kept in touch with a few letters, and as her health began to decline in the Fall, I made my plans to leave Dublin for a few weeks and go west to Sligo. There used to be the most wonderful hotel on the bridge there, with rooms which had terraces that were literally sitting in the River Garravogue, sacred waters for Sligo people. I loved staying there and watching the swans glide by; I knew it was the best place for me to wait for my sacred appointment.
I called my mother on the 29th of October, and she told me the end was imminent. But we both knew that my grandmother was waiting for the perfect moment, and she would have it. On the night of October 30th, I dreamed of her coming to tell me to be ready. I held vigil for her for the rest of the night and well into the next day. I busied myself with wonderful memories of a magical childhood, made unforgettable and uniquely powerful by this exceptional matriarch. I thanked her many times in spirit for all she had given me.
Pearl Ethyl “Grandma Apple” Taylor passed away on October 31, 1984, exactly as she said she would.
I had not expected to tell this story right now. But in keeping with the often inexplicable magic in my family, we had another passing this week. This one hurt, a lot, as my eldest brother left this world for the next on October 30th. He passed in his sleep, peacefully - but far too young. I have cried and wailed and ranted at the loss, and I have much to say about it and him in the coming month as we plan for his memorial.
“October is the best time to pass.”
My brother, Kelly Taylor Harkey, was a fierce Celt of a man. He celebrated our Celtic traditions with all his heart. He was a scientist and an extraordinary physician, but within him he held exceptional Celtic magic, which I have always believed made him the best at his work. He was a specialist in women’s health, probably not surprising given the world we came from. He married a strong and equally brilliant midwife in his soulmate Sharon, and has two daughters who are almost unbelievably gifted artists, both named for goddesses: Rhiannon Maeve and Brigit Erin.
When we entered this eclipse corridor within this particular astronomical configuration and during the Samhain period, I knew we were in for some big shakeups and passings. It is the way of things, and I said to a few friends, “Buckle up, Buttercups. It is going to get bumpy here in October.” I could not have imagined how close to home these shake-ups would hit.
Yet, I take strange but real comfort knowing that my brother passed during this sacred period. I know that our ancestors were waiting for him, with pipes, fiddles, and whisky, and fierce Celtic love, as he slipped peacefully across the veil.
I am now the only member left from my family of origin. Over the last six years, I lost both parents and both siblings, and a number of very close friends. I have learned a few things about loss and grief, but also about light and hope and the afterlife. I wanted to share a short list of these with you:
- Life changes, and sometimes ends, in a literal heartbeat. Love hard. Love expressively. Tell the people you love just how much and on a regular basis. Hug them a lot, even when they’re not the hugging kind.
- Always try to part from the people you love most in a way that you would be at peace with if it was the last time you ever saw them.
I have lost so many people in my life, way too young and unexpectedly. One consolation I have is that in most cases my final words to them, even if I thought I was going to see them in a few days, was “I love you.”
- Our time here is short and uncertain. Make the most of it, my friends. Really. This is not a dress rehearsal. We’re not promised tomorrow. Do the thing. Say yes to what thrills you. Say no to what does not. Live YOUR life and do YOUR thing. Someday is a dirty word.
When my late husband Filip Coppens was dying at the age of 41, one of the last things he said was that he had no regrets because he had done more in 41 years than most people would ever dream. He said to me, “Say yes to everything that excites you, no matter who understands your choices.” I have, and it is the best advice I think I have ever acted upon.
- Consider a belief in the afterlife. I have seen so much evidence of it. Filip communicated with me regularly for almost ten years after his “passing.” One thing he said to me which I hope consoles the grieving, is this: “We’re all just in the next room. You can’t see us, but we can see you and are cheering you on every step and helping where we can.”
- Leave space for grief, for yourself and others. Grief is a shapeshifting and terrible thing. It manifests in many different ways. It demands respect. It can make us literally insane. When someone around you is grief stricken, never ever judge their process or the length of it. Do not tell them or expect them to “get over it” or “move on.” Just be there to listen and love them.
Cherish every moment. Seize the day.
I love you.
Blessed Samhain, from the Ancestors.
Merci Beaucoup for again sharing so deeply❣️
I love so much that this writing comes truly from your heart and experience. You have such a gift for writing your experience and what you make of it, Kathleen. My love to your and your family as you say goodbye to your amazing brother.