It’s funny the things you remember about a loved one. Sometimes it’s their acts of kindness, their infectious sense of humour, their charisma. For me it is the clear image of the little hairs on my father’s fingers as we quietly enjoyed a pint of Guinness together just the summer before he died.

It was a time when my Dad helped soothe me from the woes of life as a third year undergraduate student during an eight day retreat in Cobh, County Cork, at a home of contemplative nuns.

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