My current pitiful attempts at ‘running-to-get-fit’ often take me past a lovely peaceful corner down by the lakeshore. It looks like a flower-bestowed grave – there’s even a little engraved stone – but it’s not. It’s just a memorial to a guy. A good guy. A guy I knew.
Liam Durkan came into our then-workplace in 1998 to organise us all towards ISO 9001 Certification. My first impression of him was that he was Clark Kent; suited, bespectacled, hiding inner strength beneath a mild-mannered frame… boy, was I right.
Liam Durkan came into our then-workplace in 1998 to organise us all towards ISO 9001 Certification. My first impression of him was that he was Clark Kent; suited, bespectacled, hiding inner strength beneath a mild-mannered frame… boy, was I right.
(Photo - John Mee)
Me and Liam had to shuffle a lot of paperwork together over the next few years. There was many hours locked up in a stuffy room, thrashing things out. I came to like him a lot. He was cool and understated but he had a wicked sense of humour and a keen eye for a bit of fun.
We were in the pub after work one evening and I was suffering. I had an ingrown toenail and I was being utterly miserable about it to anyone who would listen to me. Liam was full of genuine sympathy, “There’s nothing worse than a sore toe,” he agreed as he made for the bar.
Somebody prodded me. “What kind of a gobshite are you?” they asked, “going on at that man about your bloody toe. Don’t you know he has cancer?” I did know he had cancer, I knew he had it bad, but I had forgotten. I had forgotten enough to lay my own minor twinge at his door for sympathy and he was cool enough to have plenty to spare for me. It was easy to forget that Liam was unwell, he certainly would never remind you.
Liam suffered from his cancer for all the years I knew him. It never defined him at all. He was so many things to so many people, but he was never simply ‘cancer’.
I remember getting pissed with him, one night, after we finally got our ISO accreditation. I can count the times in my life when I have been pissed on the fingers of one hand. For me it’s partly an exercise in trust in the company I am in. There was no problem letting rip with Liam though, he dealt with it in the best way imaginable – he got pissed too.
I played golf with him a few times (back when I played). There was a Different Liam. That was the closest I ever seen to the Clark Kent guise coming off and the Man of Steel beneath showing out. Golf was a serious business to him and he played it earnestly and well. Conversely, he truly hated to be playing badly. I remember a little white ball stuck in some tree at Ballinrobe and a seven iron being smashed repeatedly off a low stone wall. “Emm… Liam, it’s only a game mate…” (said from a fair distance away).
And that memorial to Liam down by the lake is no random thing. While others would have been laid-low and focused on their own tribulations, Liam was at the lake, physically and spiritually, fighting and working to improve the amenity, get lighting on it, tidy it up... It’s a beautiful place now, a good place to be remembered for.
Liam died in 2004. I had to go and look that up. It feels more like two years ago to me, that’s how time seems to go these days.
I think we live on after we die, at least in the way people remember us. We’re a bit shy about remembering those who have died, at least out loud where everyone can hear us and remember too.
There’s no real point in this week’s post, I’m just remembering Liam.
We were in the pub after work one evening and I was suffering. I had an ingrown toenail and I was being utterly miserable about it to anyone who would listen to me. Liam was full of genuine sympathy, “There’s nothing worse than a sore toe,” he agreed as he made for the bar.
Somebody prodded me. “What kind of a gobshite are you?” they asked, “going on at that man about your bloody toe. Don’t you know he has cancer?” I did know he had cancer, I knew he had it bad, but I had forgotten. I had forgotten enough to lay my own minor twinge at his door for sympathy and he was cool enough to have plenty to spare for me. It was easy to forget that Liam was unwell, he certainly would never remind you.
Liam suffered from his cancer for all the years I knew him. It never defined him at all. He was so many things to so many people, but he was never simply ‘cancer’.
I remember getting pissed with him, one night, after we finally got our ISO accreditation. I can count the times in my life when I have been pissed on the fingers of one hand. For me it’s partly an exercise in trust in the company I am in. There was no problem letting rip with Liam though, he dealt with it in the best way imaginable – he got pissed too.
I played golf with him a few times (back when I played). There was a Different Liam. That was the closest I ever seen to the Clark Kent guise coming off and the Man of Steel beneath showing out. Golf was a serious business to him and he played it earnestly and well. Conversely, he truly hated to be playing badly. I remember a little white ball stuck in some tree at Ballinrobe and a seven iron being smashed repeatedly off a low stone wall. “Emm… Liam, it’s only a game mate…” (said from a fair distance away).
And that memorial to Liam down by the lake is no random thing. While others would have been laid-low and focused on their own tribulations, Liam was at the lake, physically and spiritually, fighting and working to improve the amenity, get lighting on it, tidy it up... It’s a beautiful place now, a good place to be remembered for.
Liam died in 2004. I had to go and look that up. It feels more like two years ago to me, that’s how time seems to go these days.
I think we live on after we die, at least in the way people remember us. We’re a bit shy about remembering those who have died, at least out loud where everyone can hear us and remember too.
There’s no real point in this week’s post, I’m just remembering Liam.