When Dad, Darren, and the Gardaí went down to the sitting room to where Mam was with the younger boys to break the news, and the screaming started, I held her even tighter. Right there on the floor of my kitchen, I cradled her in my arms, feeling every one of her sobs and cries in the deepest part of my soul. “‘Shh, little darling…’” “You’re s-singing.” Sniffling, she clung to my chest. “‘Here Comes the Sun.’” I was singing. I was doing whatever I could to make this better for her. “That’s m-my Granda Murphy’s s-song,” she hiccupped. “You remember me t-telling you t-that?” “Yeah.” I remembered
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