The Promise You Broke? The Promise You Kept? The Pledge You Make?

This day last year myself and my friend Gráinne went to see the Roland Mouret x Dragana Jurišić installation in the RHA Gallery in Dublin. Truth be told, I probably would never have gone to see this exhibition if it wasn’t for Gráinne. She was always great at buying tickets to plays, shows, movies or events that in hindsight, I was so glad that I got to experience. She’d never ask if you wanted to go. She just simply sent you a text saying “Put this date in your diary, I’ve bought us tickets and we’re going to see X”. I never once questioned her or turned down an invite as I knew it would be something I’d love. She’d great taste so if she was into it, I knew I would be too.

If I’m honest, when the date rolled around and I looked at the tickets, I thought we were going to watch a straight forward Q&A with Mouret and Jurišić. Back in the day, myself and Grá both worked on a TV fashion show so we were excited to get to see the designer of the famous Galaxy dress — Roland Mouret — in the flesh. Before the talk began we were invited to view the exhibition. I knew nothing about it and queued with Gráinne outside, thinking we’d perhaps see some of Mouret’s drawings on display — maybe even a few of his designs in the flesh. How wrong I was. As we reached the top of the queue, Gráinne pushed me forward insisting I go first. Before I had a chance to argue with her I was being eye balled by what I thought was a gallery employee. She put her hand out to beckon me forward, then, as soon as I did, she put her hand out to tell me to stop. She then stared intently at me for a minute before motioning me to go in. As I did, I realised very quickly this wasn’t a run of the mill exhibit. Instead, you walked through a number of rooms, being told where to stand and when to walk as you were stared at and filmed throughout by a cast of people on camera phones and TV cameras. As you entered and exited each of the rooms you were invited to take a tarot card of sorts. Beautifully illustrated, each one came with an inscription. “The Promise You Broke?”, “The Promise You Kept?” and “The Pledge You Make?”. As I left the exhibition I was dizzy with what I’d just witnessed. I waited for G to emerge and as she did we laughed in nervousness at what we’d just experienced as we tried to process it all. Less than half an hour later, we sat down for the discussion between the two artists and listened as they talked of how their immersive experience touches on the themes of identity and how the act of creating can transform both the artist and those who get to experience the work. It was fascinating. The Q&A over, myself and G tucked our three tarot cards safely into our handbags before heading for some lunch to catch up. As was common with Grá, our day of culture didn’t stop there. She had made other plans for us for that evening — tickets to ‘No More Hotels’ — a night out that involved dinner, a cabaret show with drag artists, singers and performers and a bit of dancing thrown in for good measure. The event was organised to take a stand against all the clubs and cultural venues that are getting torn down to build hotels in their place throughout Dublin and other cities in Ireland. When we sat on the Luas home that night, I couldn’t help but think, once again, if it wasn’t for G, I’m not sure I’d have got to revel in this evening of joy and laughter. In hindsight, I am so grateful I did. Because a week later, Gráinne was in hospital with the news that the breast cancer she had been diagnosed with 18 months previously had returned. This time it had spread to her brain. 7 short weeks later, she was gone.

The week before she passed, she was moved to the Hospice in Harold’s Cross. Myself and a friend went to visit her the evening she’d arrived there and amongst the many laughs and chats we shared that visit, (it says everything about Grá that even though she’d just been moved to a hospice with a terminal diagnosis she was cracking jokes and laughing with us) she asked me what I had planned to do after I finished the current job I was working on. Being a fellow freelance TV Producer/Director these were common conversations we’d have. And I told her “Gráinne, I’m going to finally knuckle down and do the writing that I have spent forever talking about but have also spent forever avoiding”. This avoidance was down to me doubting I would be able to do it — a whole other discussion which I’m sure I’ll share in another post down the road. She looked at me intently and said “Good. You better.” She had always been a champion of my endeavours. My real life straight talking cheerleader who no matter what I undertook, told me that she knew I would succeed at it. As long as I put the work in. When I told her I was leaving my permanent and pensionable job to go freelance a few years earlier, instead of asking me, as so many others had, if I’d lost my mind, she simply told me “You’ll never look back.” A message that I still see every time I open my e-mail account as it was the last thing she sent me on a chat there. Throughout our friendship, she was full of encouragement and kick up the arses that she knew I needed. She’d forward on various writing workshops she’d thought I might be interested in or send me on books she’d bought me about the writing process. And she didn’t just save her cheerleading for my writing plans. She was always one of the first people to buy tickets to come see my choir gigs (two of them she insisted on coming to even though she was in the throes of chemo and suffering a lot with side effects — still taking the time to text me afterwards to share how much she enjoyed the shows). We would have Mrs. Doyle-esque arguments about who would pay for the tickets to events. My favourite comeback from her was when I was insisting I pay for the tickets to our next choir gig. Matter of factly she told me — “Aoife, if you don’t allow me pay for these tickets, you’re paying me to go see your own gig and that is sad.” I still laugh out loud when I think of that one. She was even responsible for getting some treasured footage on her phone that I now have of myself and Hugh Jackman hugging on the 3Arena stage in front of an audience of 9,000 people (again — a story I’ll save for another day.)

The promise I made her that day? In the hospice? About finally starting to write? I had been full of determination that I would keep my word and do just that. But as the great John Lennon once wrote, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” And the writing took a back seat as I dealt with her death, the overwhelming grief which followed and to top it off a global pandemic which shut down the whole world. In theory — with the world at a standstill and no paid work to be found I should have had the time to get writing. I should have been able to keep my promise to G and I should have been writing like a woman possessed. But shoulding all over myself wasn’t getting me anywhere. It just made me feel worse. Being creative during this time was a struggle. I tip my hat to all those people who were able to be creative during lockdown. Lockdown and grief had the opposite effect on me. If I’m being honest, there were many days, where simply getting out of bed was a struggle and so there were many days when I didn’t. Instead I’d find myself pulling the duvet over my head as I binge watched reality TV shows on my iPad — the kind of shows where I didn’t need to engage my brain. Instead they could distract me from it all. (Side note: if anyone needs a list of suitable shows to watch for the same reasons I did, just let me know. At this stage it could be my specialist subject on Mastermind.) Over the past 6 months or so, I’ve slowly pulled myself out of my bed and back into the world and on more than one occasion I’ve sat down to write. I’ve a bigger project in my head that I’ve started and stopped over the last few years and this was the focus of my plans. But again, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed and full of doubt and this time I didn’t have my cheerleader here to remind me that I could do it. The irony is that the only time I’ve felt able to write over the last few months has been when I sit to write about Gráinne. Something she’d have hated as she was allergic to being in the limelight, even though she’d have been the stage mom friend who’d have pushed you into the spotlight at any and every opportunity she could! Today, as Instagram reminded me of our visit to that exhibition a year ago, the last night out we had together, my mind focussed on those three tarot cards we had been given that day. And I couldn’t help but think of the three questions it posed. What would my answer be to those questions now? The Promise I Broke? Well that was the one to G that I’d get writing in February as soon as I could. The Promise I Kept? It may have taken me 9 months longer than I’d thought but I’m here and I’m writing and most of all I’m sharing this with all of you (which quite possibly means just my immediate family but hey, it’s a start!). Something which I find truly terrifying and is quite possibly the root of a lot of my writing insecurity. And the Pledge that I Make? Well that’s easy. That I’ll keep writing. If only as an outlet for myself. Because it’s something I love to do. When I don’t put barriers in my own way and waste my energy shoulding all over myself, I love to write. There. I said it! Writing makes me happy. And so that’s what I’m going to do. Today might be the first post I’m sharing but I pledge it won’t be the last. Apologies in advance about that! I’ll do my best not to turn full Carrie Bradshaw. Not for a while anyway. (I’d need to up my fashion game big time for a start. Not sure my daily wardrobe of yoga pants and hoodies would be to Carrie’s approval.) So here’s to creating and to transforming ourselves in the process. And here’s to keeping the promises we made to those we love and more importantly, to ourselves. Grá mór x