‘Cheer up, tomorrow will be worse’
The Five Stages of Grief
Reposing at Barton Road East, Dundrum, Dublin 14, on Sunday September 28th, 2025, from 9.00am concluding at 11.30am.
Funeral Mass will take place at noon at Supervalu Deli Counter, Braemor Rd, Churchtown, Dublin 14.
Cremation of thoughts and underpants in the front snug in Smyth's of Ranelagh, Dublin 6, with bursting of togs to commence at 14.00pm.
No flowers to the house, the family kindly asks mourners to subscribe to the mailing list in bio or offer dopamine inducing positive (albeit insincere) feedback.
We are gathered here today in loving memory of a habitually naïve and susceptible shadow of a man. A fragile being who is weathering the aftermath of an unadulterated, unchecked and excessive spree of porter in combination with an unwavering continuous vacuum of nicotine inhalation. We congregate here together to acknowledge and admit, confess and communicate the inherent deep psychological failings and clear inability and lack of emotional regulation in the complete collapse and disintegration of self in the direct aftermath of such occurrences. In sharing and disclosing the discomfort and agony through the five stages of grief, together may we rationalise, normalise, lessen and spread the suffering.
This is the word of the Lord.
Amen.
Denial: - Say nothing and keep saying it.
Reality may indeed be a man in his mid 30’s fully clothed lying upside down in a bed not knowing how or indeed when he got there. Yes, there might be the inadvertent pot noodle balancing precariously on the bedside table. Yes, there may be a sockless but not shoeless left foot. So what if there is a fully completed conspiracy documentary titled ‘Flat Earth - To The Edge & Back’ on the laptop. I am not here to diminish the ‘The What?’ ‘The Who?’ ‘The Why?’, all are valid queries, all valid gaps in information but all completely irrelevant until a still and stable cerebral cortex is present. As your phone rings from an unknown number and your large intestine gurgles and churns the last of the curry cheese chip, it is time to use the Irish triceps you were baptised, christened and confirmed with and push all feelings down and fundamentally deny your existence to yourself.
Float above consciousness, rise, pause and attempt a vertical stance.
Anger: - Whatever is begun in anger ends in shame.
Once the bed is made and the natural sunlight hits your blotched, rosacea ridden face you can begin to pinpoint the cause or more importantly, the blame. As the enzymes in your body fight frantically to combat the dermatological outbreaks and a thick application of sudocrem is deemed medically sufficient to resist all other ailments, blame begins to turn inward. To thwart such internal resentment one must look to two infallible sources: a) face east, raise your index and middle finger and repeat after me ’post colonial, intergenerational, epigenetic, psychological trauma’ b) a secondary yet equally as effective, is to shift blame on to others that were present - was it really my fault that Diarmuid's communion went tits up, if anyone is to blame it is Maire-Threase and her belligerent free pours on the Hendrick’s and tonic.
The lesson; is gravity responsible for you falling head first into a pint? Yes. Next.
Bargaining: - Two in the thoughts, one in the prayers.
Crystals, tarot cards, candles, diffusers - the tabernacle of any millennial. As the plume from the embering sage smudge stick rises, don’t forget to remember that higher, surrealist and absurdist powers are at play. Pull a tarot card, read your moon sign, tap into your pagan roots, no one is judging you for chanting a buddhist chakra whilst rationalising how the three remaining squares of single ply toilet paper will be enough. Plea and negotiate with any and all spiritual forces. Through absurdist bartering with yourself and your whimsical spirituality you should be ultimately able to answer and attest for last night's fallibility i.e. Does my abhorrent drinking make me a bad person ?
No. Everyone loves you with a pint in you. You're a fucking legend on the beer.
Depression: - Pain is just french for bread.
As the final drops of dutch courage evaporate through your enlarged pours, a vacant corpse remains - blighted and broken facing what seems its eternal end. As lunchtime melancholy manifests - overwhelming sadness, hopelessness and an utter sense of emptiness resides. Every second-storey window looks like a good idea. The dark clouds move in and there is no alternative, the only feasible option is to wield your epipen - in non medical terms: the carbohydrate kick starter stack. Mandate your local deli counter worker (without making eye contact) with clear, concise instructions: ’Chicken Fillet Roll, Spicy Chicken, Mayo, Lettuce, Cheese’ - pause - ‘Two Jambons’ - pause - ‘Sausage Roll Chaser’. Prepare the IV drip with peach ice tea, a can of Club rock shandy and some flavoured water. Add a last minute chocolate addition at the till and a rogue ‘not really worth it’ pack of skittles for the road home.
Peter De Vries encapsulated it best: ‘Gluttony is an emotional escape, a sign something is eating us.
Acceptance: - No rain, no flowers.
The horrors, the catastrophisation, the overthinking, the night terrors are all coming, but your subscription to amazon prime has long since lapsed, nothing is arriving today. If the doorbell rings don't answer, take the slip and pick up the parcel of mental anguish on Monday. Misery loves company, problems are never best solved alone. Today you are society's problem, let the institution that caused this, fix this. Sometimes it's worse to win a fight than to lose it. A hangover from five crisp clean creamy pints is much more manageable than trying to address an unquantifiable Saturday night spree. We live in a world of refinement not invention. Fred Flintstone invented the wheel, you don't have to. Yes the first will be hard, the second too, maybe even the third but as the fourth pint approaches and that fuzzy feeling of normality hits, take a look in the mirror and watch that rye smile return - look who’s back on top, it's you. The problem is the solution and the solution is the problem.
To live is to suffer but to be alive is to find meaning in the suffering.
Beir Bua agus Beannacht.