Loss rewires the brain, sends us to another place. We make connections that ordinarily might seem strange, we imagine things that are not there, as we try to navigate grief. In July 2018, my brother Stephen died from cancer. The months before his death were a devastating time for all of us who loved him. But in the midst of that there was a seed of gratitude that we had the chance to be with him, say our long goodbyes. During that time, after Stephen’s terminal diagnosis, I often thought of families who never got the chance to say goodbye, whose loss came out of the blue.
The previous year, the brave crew of Rescue 116 had died in a crash at Blackrock Island, and I often wondered how they coped. They never got to say goodbye. Listening to Capt Dara Fitzpatrick’s sister Niamh speaking on the radio about her loss, I felt a strong but unvoiced sense of connection with her and an empathy for people, like her, who have lost a loved one suddenly and brutally. It was only towards the end of this creative journey that I plucked up the courage to reach out to Niamh, and I am hugely grateful for her kindness and generosity of spirit in playing a part in this piece.
That kindness and generosity is a hallmark of people in the Mullet, a community that knows more than most about loss at sea. On behalf of our company, I want to thank each and every person who has supported and joined us in making this play. Perhaps it is because of some of the hard histories of this almost-island in the Atlantic that the spirit of empathy thrives. There is wisdom here too – a recognition that while the ocean can be cruel, we can’t turn our backs on it. That is because, whether we are standing on the shore, or swimming in the tide, the sea also gives back, gives life, connects us.
Tom Swift, September 2022