A port in the North was my first contact with the island. That summer of 96 we travelled in a Renault19 from the Basque Country to the magical peninsula of Inishowen via Staines.

A mad rollercoaster drive through the country roads in the middle of the night led us to the family home, my adrenaline was high, my nerves were difficult to disguise as we entered the small quiet house.

We accessed through the scullery, a complete new word to me, and there, in a room with a fire, a chaiselong and an armchair was my future then, mother in law, a quiet,thin, bright eyed, friendly woman.

The house was warm, in spite of being in August there was a feeling that some sort of heating had been on. She had prepared us a salad and some ham . The room where I was staying was bright and blue, it also had a fireplace and a big window. Everything was neat, caarefully displayed, I felt there had been some thought and care and I really felt welcome in the family home. I found out , through the secret services , that the room had especially been decorated for the occasion of my arrival.

Most striking to me was the silence, the peace, the simplicity. My nerves had disolved, they were diluted in that comfortable atmosphere, I was embraced by a new scent, there was something in the air there that I loved but I could not describe what it was.

Next morning, after a repairing sleep the bedroom door opened, two littled heads, one on top of the other peeped into the room, they were like out of a Hans Christian Andersen story book, they came to greet me. During this first visit the girls; Áine and Tara, entertained me with their Irish dances, this was a real show! So young and so good, their backs as streched as rails,  moving their feet at the fastest speed one could imagine, the best of the show was Shane under 3 at the time, following everything they did.

I was in awe, with that place, with its inhabitants and the new scent.

That first visit was very special to me,  a few others followed that one, and everytime I was there I enjoyed the slow pace of time, days were long, there was time for everything and sometimes all we did was being there, looking at the crows on the power lines, we took pictures of the changeable skies and the massive big parish church, an impressive building that dominated the whole town. The trip to Culdaff was a must and we were also regulars in Moville, Buncrana and the top of the road where Mary Rose lived totally isolated from society but totally connected to the world through her radio.

During all these visits Granny was there, always very discreet, easily pleased, never said too much,  she spent time reading, nodding off, watching tv and then leaving us early to say her prayers. The evening was the sacred time for her to pray. She left us to do her readings and be by herself with God.

There was something about her, you did not need to exchange much information to find out she was special. A quiet woman that all she did was carefully done and looked after.

I remember the parcels she sent, sometimes with knitting works of art, sometimes with cards for her grandchildren, carefully written, individually dedicated, addressed directly to them and signed by her. And that was the special thing, the way she made things, quietly, carefully and dedicated to the ones she loved.

Unfortunately the frecuency of our trips to Donegal reduced the last years. The last time I was there was when she was preparing herself to leave us.

We travelled to say goodbye, she was at the community hospital, in a room by herself this time. 

As I entred the room I felt it, the room was filled with the same scent that embraced me 25 years before. That scent was the essence of Granny, her goodness and kindness filled the air. She was the scent of love.

Maripi and Mam at Dylan’s baptism – Zarautz 2001