(dramatic music) (melancholic music) (melancholic music continues) - [Mary] Breeda!

Breeda!

Will nobody help me?

I don't know what's going on in this house.

My room, it looks like my room, but it feels like it's a copy and I'm somewhere else, and nobody told me.

(gasping) Oh, I can't do anything anymore, not without this bloody walker.

My eyes, I can't read.

I can't even make myself a cup of tea.

I just feel so useless.

I've been so afraid.

I want to go home.

Please!

I just want to go home!

Jesus, Mary and Holy St. Joseph, everything is bigger in America.

- My mom, Mary Kelly, was an ordinary woman with an extraordinary outlook on life.

She was a woman of great faith in God and in herself.

She always said she was blessed.

Mary Kelly loved to travel, and though she never learned to drive, she really got around.

(chuckles) She was always open to new experiences.

I used to say she'd go to the opening of a donut shop.

She just loved life.

(sighs) And she taught me that, even when she was at the end of hers.

She was wise and funny, and she knew how to make people feel welcome and at home.

When, when I decided to build this family photo album, I realized that it's about considering a life.

And it's not just a pile of photographs, that every picture has a story, and it's so hard to decide, you know, what to put in and what to leave out.

I created this so I wouldn't lose these precious stories.

Here's a young Mary Kelly.

So full of life and optimism.

(Breeda chuckles) I can hear her now.

- [Mary] I see the glass half full.

- Yeah, probably because my father drank the other half.

(audience laughing) (Breeda sighs) - [Mary] I was a lucky girl.

My childhood in Dublin was wonderful.

We lived in the city, but there were woods nearby and we lived right next to Glasnevin Cemetery.

We would play amongst the headstones and monuments all day.

We hadn't any toys.

We played with paper dolls for hours.

My mother died when I was just 21, and as the eldest, I was expected to raise my brothers and sisters.

So I did.

When I met Tom, he took my brothers under his wing and helped them to learn a trade.

Tom and I were married in the Iona Road Church in Dublin in 1947.

Due to the war, brides didn't wear fancy white gowns, and weddings were a Mass in the morning, followed by a nice luncheon.

(chuckles) Soon we had a young family, three boys, and lived in Glasnevin with my father.

Just a few doors down from my best friend, Flor.

I loved babies and children, and enjoyed playing with them.

So many wonderful days at the seaside.

Typical, Donagh would be off to explore, Brendan would need a cuddle, and David would be having a meltdown.

It didn't bother me at all.

It was wonderful.

Now, Flor didn't have the patience for young children and would much rather clean house all day.

So we traded.

(giggles) (audience chuckles) I took her three young ones along with me own, and we'd spend the day at the park while she cleaned both our houses.

My floors were sparkling and her kids were exhausted, and ready for bath and bed.

It was a brilliant plan.

(chuckles) Tom and I bought our first home in Howth near Dublin.

Just a few steps from the Irish Sea.

The boys were in school by now, and Tom had a good job at the "Irish Independent," a Dublin newspaper, as a printer.

(sighs) I had my own garden.

I loved my home.

(sighs) It was, it was just another day.

I had just brought the washing in from the line and had the tea ready for Tom and the boys, when Tom arrived home from work with big news.

He announced that we were moving to America.

An agent from Canada was recruiting for the "Toronto Star" newspaper, and he said they would pay a ship's passage and a high wage for skilled master printers to immigrate.

The thing was, Tom had to enter Canada under a British quota, and that didn't sit well.

Tom Kelly was a fiercely proud Irishman, but his goal was to get to America, and this was his chance.

I was speechless.

I- I couldn't imagine leaving my brothers and sisters, nor my father, who wasn't well.

But in those days, the husband made the decision and the wife was just expected to go along.

I really didn't have much say in the matter.

It broke my heart.

But it was the 1950s and jobs were scarce in Ireland, and I knew that we wanted a better future for our boys.

That very week, my brother left for New Zealand.

Well, he meant to go to New Zealand, but the ship stopped in South Africa.

I think he'd had enough, and he decided to stay there.

Soon Tom left for Canada and my father moved in with us.

So many changes.

I didn't like them.

I didn't choose them.

(Tom inhales and exhales sharply) - [Tom] Holy Christ tonight!

I just wanted to get to America.

Canada was a total shock to my system.

Here I am on the other side of the Atlantic, surrounded by the Brits, pictures of the queen everywhere, even signs that said no Irish need apply.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

It was enough to drive a man to drink.

- [Mary] Not that he needed a reason.

(audience chuckles) Never marry an Irishman.

- [Tom] I was working at the "Toronto Star" newspaper, but I kept me eye out for any opportunity to get to the States.

I had a buddy in Detroit, Michigan, and he wrote to me about a job at the "Detroit Free Press."

So I took the train to Windsor, then the bus across the bridge over the Detroit River.

The minute I set foot in the Motor City, I loved it.

I'd never seen anything like it.

I moved to Windsor and worked at the newspaper there while I applied for my visa to work in the States.

It took a long time, over a year.

I would, uh, (chuckles) I would take the bus to Detroit and I found a place called The Gaelic League.

It was as if I'd come home, (laughs) be Jesus, they knew how to pull a pint.

Once I had my visa and was settled in the job at the "Free Press," I sent for Mary and the boys.

- [Mary] For nearly two years I managed our home, cared for my father, my beloved dog, and our three boys, on my own, mind you.

And now I had to pack up our home, sell the house, leave my father and my dog, (stammers) to join Tom in Detroit.

I honestly don't know how I did it.

I was terrified and excited.

(chuckles) I was working day and night, getting ready for the big move.

We had gotten a television set, and the boys' favorite programs were the American westerns, "Gunsmoke," and all the rest.

They couldn't wait to see the wild west.

I couldn't even imagine it.

I- I barely had time to think about what was actually happening.

I was leaving my family and the only place I'd ever lived.

I was getting on an airplane, for the first time, to fly over the ocean to a country where I knew no one.

The day I left Ireland was the saddest day in my life.

Right up there with the day my mother died.

We had to book taxis to take us to Shannon Airport from Dublin.

A caravan of taxis filled with our family and friends.

Everybody was crying.

They didn't know when they'd see me again.

And I had no idea what lay ahead of me.

(sighs) Try as I might, I will never forget that flight.

Jesus, Mary, and Holy St. Joseph, it was a nightmare.

12 hours on a propeller plane and me with three boys climbing over and under the seats, upset tummies, and plenty of tears, mine included.

I was a wreck when we finally landed.

Tom was there at the gate to greet us and herd us into the big taxi, as we had no car.

As we headed down the highway to our new rental home, the boys, (exclaims) they were so excited, they couldn't contain themselves.

They had their noses pressed against the windows, and they just kept asking, "Where are the cowboys?

Where are the cowboys?"

(sighs) Janie Mac, the only cowboy that was ever spotted on I-94 was the massive Marlboro Man billboard.

And that was years later.

Now, Tom had, uh, found a little, rented a little house, bought a few beds and some secondhand furniture.

He didn't think to get a lamp.

And there were no overhead lights.

We spent our first night in America in the dark.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

What had I done?

I couldn't go home.

I'd sold everything.

- [Tom] I loved America from the moment I set foot across the border.

(chuckles) It was so different from home.

(inhales and exhales sharply) Big cars everywhere.

Music like I'd never heard.

And food that had never occurred to me even existed.

I found a small Italian restaurant with a bar near our new home, and uh, I could hop off the bus a few stops early and go in for a jar (chuckles), or a drink, as you call it.

My new American favorites, Carling's Black Label and Pall Mall.

(chuckles) (exhales sharply) The food was only gorgeous, and I developed a taste for pizza.

I'd never seen it, much less tasted it, and it was the best thing I ever had.

I couldn't wait to share this real American treat with my boys.

(chuckles) They were here, uh, about a week when I brought home a large deluxe Clemente's pizza.

It was loaded.

(chuckles) The boys stood 'round transfixed, as I opened the big box and the steam escaped.

And then our youngest, Brendan, burst into tears.

"It, it looks like somebody threw up on bread!

(crying)" (sighs) I ate that first pizza by meself.

They wouldn't touch it.

Soon enough they were brave and tried lots of new things.

Pizza became their favorite.

(chuckles) (inhales and exhales sharply) We were on our way to becoming Americans.

- The adjustment to life in America was huge.

Sports were a big challenge for my brothers.

They didn't know anything about baseball or basketball, and the football they knew was called soccer here, and nobody was playing it in 1957.

They just wanted to fit in.

They lost their accents.

Donagh became Don.

They learned new sports and made new friends.

America was becoming home.

While my dad went out to work each day and my mom was home alone in a new country.

She had no family here and really knew no one.

She had me by then, a great source of pride.

She loved to tell people that I was her gift from Uncle Sam.

(audience laughing) I was the apple of my father's eye and he called me Beeswing.

I was named for my mom's sister, Bridget, who was always called Betty.

Breda is the Irish version of Bridget, and it's usually spelled with one E. But my mom realized that it was not a common name in America.

She was worried people would call me Breada, so she added a second E. You see, language mattered in my family.

Pronunciation and diction were big deals in our home.

However, my parents never failed to swap out the Ts and the THs.

Yeah, uh, thanks was just tanks.

And three and a third was tree and a turd.

(audience laughing) But God forbid I say a Midwestern steers for stairs, or liberry?

(scoffs) I was corrected every time.

In later years, my mom often called the little antacid tablets, Thumbs.

(audience chuckles) Yeah, I never corrected her.

(sighs) But I think the insults were the best.

My mother's opinion of others was colorful, which was fine until she would forget and use her outside voice.

Well, we saw a woman with really big hair, you know, teased and sticking up.

"She looks as though the rats have been sucking on her hair all night!"

(audience laughing) Or we saw another poor soul.

"She's no oil painting."

(audience chuckles) Or, or if we saw an older woman dressed in younger women's clothes, "Mutton dressed as lamb."

(audience chuckles) My father loved words too.

He even made up some of his own.

Um, crabby old women were bedulas.

Annoying young children were banticles.

Pretty much everyone was an eejit or a little git.

But his favorite, his favorite toast was the traditional Irish slainte, which means good health.

America was a different world from Ireland.

Everything was so far away, and the stores were huge and filled with unfamiliar foods and packages.

They were able to buy a small brick house just south of Detroit on a land contract.

It was one block from the bus line.

A knock on the side door changed everything.

Her neighbor, Virginia Wilson, had come to welcome her.

Mrs. Wilson was pregnant with her sixth child and had already met my brothers, 'cause they were running around the neighborhood with her boys.

My mother called the Wilsons the salt of the Earth.

- [Virginia] Yeah, I saw her at church, Christ the Good Shepherd Catholic Church.

I recognized her.

(chuckles) She was a little thing, and she had her hands full, three boys and a baby girl.

You know, when the Kellys first moved in across the street, we didn't know what to make of 'em.

Tom wasn't unfriendly, but uh, he worked a lot and he wasn't much for visiting.

But Mary was different, so sweet, but clueless, for cripes' sakes.

(audience chuckles) She didn't know how to drive.

She didn't really know anything about America.

She didn't even drink coffee.

(giggles) But we loved to listen to her accent, and we took her under the Wilson wing.

(sighs) Yeah, so pretty soon after that I had my sixth baby, a girl, and we named her Mary Christina.

She was born with Down syndrome.

Pretty bad.

The doctors didn't think she would live, and I was in complete shock.

Egads, I knew about babies, but this baby was so sick and so tiny.

Well, Mary Kelly showed up at my door, she scooped my little girl up into her arms.

It was Mary Kelly who gave my little girl her first bath.

It was rough.

She was blind, diabetic, had heart trouble, and her Down syndrome was, well, she never said a single word her whole life, not even Mama.

We loved her and we took care of her, in spite of what the doctor said we should do.

My husband Raymond said, "No Wilson's going to any institution."

She lived her whole life at home with us.

And from then on Mary Kelly became one of my dearest friends.

- Unlike my brothers, I embraced my Irishness.

I took Irish step dancing lessons, and uh, we went to competitions called Feis's.

My mom even taught me a few poems in Irish.

I was never "Riverdance" material, okay?

(audience chuckles) But my recitations in Irish were well received.

My favorite was a poem called, uh, "Misha Raftery."

It's an elderly man lamenting his lost youth.

(Breeda speaking Irish) (audience chuckles) (audience applauding) Thank you.

Thank you.

I won a medal for that one.

(audience chuckles) - [Mary] Virginia Wilson was the genuine article, a lifelong Detroiter.

She grew up in a part of Detroit called Corktown, imagine that!

(chuckles) Her husband Raymond was a huge fella, a long-haul truck driver, and they loved to camp.

They even invited me to go with them.

(giggles) I'd never been camping before in me life, but I was getting more independent and I just told Tom I was going with them.

And I went.

I made sure I had my tea bags, but I was ready to go.

And they took me to the UP, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

(gasps) I had never seen so many trees in all me life.

I would stay in the camper with Mary Christina while they went off fishing, or whatever they did.

I'll never forget the first time they took me to the dump to feed the bears.

An actual dump with real live bears.

Jesus, I was terrified.

My marriage to Tom was a, a typical Irish marriage, and my newfound American independence caused a lot of strain.

I- I don't think he ever expected it.

I made his porridge every morning and his dinner every evening, meat, potatoes, and a veg.

And God forbid I forget the side plate for the potato peels.

Breeda once said our marriage wasn't so much a union as it was an endurance contest.

(audience chuckles) I think she was right.

There was no such thing as divorce in Ireland, so I never considered it.

I just found my own way.

And Virginia Wilson was there for me.

Virginia and I went through the '60s together.

We joined the Christian Mothers group at church and spent a lot of time working the rummage sales, which was great because we got first dibs on everything.

(exclaims) Oh, we learned, uh, TM, Transcendental Meditation.

I had my very own mantra.

And we, we smoked marijuana once in her basement, just to see what the fuss was all about.

(chuckles) (sighs) We joined NOW, the National Organization for Women and got political.

Petitions, marches, campaigns, the Equal Rights Amendment!

(sighs) Virginia and I even went to see the musical "Hair" in downtown Detroit.

We did it all.

(laughs) Oh, and I'll never forget the time my sister Lillie came for a visit from Dublin.

Virginia had organized a night out at what I thought was a fancy restaurant, Chippendales.

(audience laughing) I hadn't a clue.

They even got me up on stage with the male dancers!

I was mortified.

I never told Tom about it.

(chuckles) Our family grew.

In 1963 I had another boy.

He was born in December, exactly one month after our beloved president was assassinated, and we named him John Fitzgerald Kelly, JFK.

In 1968 we decided to become US citizens and I asked Virginia to be my sponsor.

She quizzed me as I studied, and she said to me, the day that we went to Detroit for the swearing-in ceremony was one of the proudest in her life.

I carry my voter's registration card with me always, and I never miss an election.

I never learned to drive, but I certainly learned to vote.

(sighs) And when our eldest went off to serve our country in Vietnam, I- I felt a sense of pride that I never could have imagined.

He returned home safely, thanks be to God.

And years later, our youngest, John Fitzgerald, enlisted as well.

We love America, warts and all.

(sighs) We were, we were so fortunate to meet so many kind and generous people.

The Wilsons were our neighbors for more than 40 years.

And we remained friends until the end of our lives.

We were so blessed.

But I longed to, I longed to travel home to Ireland to see my family.

Money was tight and transatlantic fares were very dear.

But I scrimped and saved, and in 1972 I was able to take Breeda and our youngest, John Fitzgerald, for a summer holiday in Ireland.

(sighs) It was my first time traveling with my US passport.

When we arrived back in the States, the immigration officer in Boston looked at me, looked at my passport and said kindly, "Welcome home."

(gasps) I nearly corrected him.

When I said home, I meant Ireland.

And then it hit me.

Now that I'm a citizen I am home.

- I'd call my mom a homemaker rather than a housewife.

And I found a tea towel that summed up her philosophy of housekeeping.

"Our home: It's clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy."

Say no more.

(chuckles) (sighs) My mom wasn't a fancy cook, but we were always well-fed, especially when it came to her baking.

She could make scones and soda bread with her eyes closed.

(sighs) But it was her pie, her apple pie, that was her crowning achievement.

She had these magic fingers, and she could take a scoop of flour and a lump of Kerrygold butter, and turn out a delicate, flaky pastry.

And she loved to garden.

She filled our house with plants.

My father hated those plants.

(audience chuckles) He didn't mind them outside, but bringing them inside was more than he could handle.

- [Tom] This house is like a bloody jungle!

I can't even find a place to set down a cup of tea with all the pots and leaves everywhere.

They're sucking all the oxygen outta the room, you know!

(audience laughing) Mary loves them.

She even talks to them, all lovey-dovey and sweet.

Says it makes them grow bigger.

(scoffs) I've me own plan.

When she's out, I talk to them.

(audience chuckles) I curse at them, and I tell them to stay in their pots and out of my way.

I don't mind the garden outside.

In fact, I enjoy watering the plants.

When, when, uh, one of our boys went out west for a few months, he asked me to water the plants in his back garden.

He had a miserable spot hidden behind the back of his garage with a few plants.

Sorriest excuse for tomato plants I ever saw in me life.

Not a single tomato all summer long, and I watered them regularly.

- [Mary] The joke was on him.

Those were no more tomato plants than I'm the queen of England.

He was watering, um, illegal plants, weeds, if you know what I'm saying.

I don't think they ever told him what they were.

(chuckles) My secret is moderation.

I believe in it.

Breeda says I'm the queen of moderation.

I've always been small.

I've kept the same weight most of my adult life.

Good goods come in small parcels, you know.

And my faith sustains me.

My favorite prayer is simply, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

I say it all the time.

Some Americans think it's taking the Lord's name in vain, but it's actually a short prayer for divine intervention.

I make a quick sign of the cross for additional support.

And when it's really serious, it's, "Jesus, Mary and Holy St.

Joseph."

Watch out.

And I always carry a rosary.

Whenever my kids face a challenge, I tell them, "I'll say a rosary for you."

Whenever Breeda would have something going on, she would call me and, and request a lap of the beads.

Oh, dear God.

We managed, I don't know how, to have four children in parochial school at the same time.

Breeda was so proud of her uniform and school bag, going off on the bus to Christ the Good Shepherd.

(chuckles) Every morning, before she crossed the door, she had to say her guardian angel prayer.

Even if it meant keeping the bus waiting.

- Ah, yes, my guardian angel prayer.

"Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light, to guard, to rule and guide.

Amen."

(audience laughing) I made my kids say it too.

One time, my daughter was about six, and she asked me why Nana always said mercy flower, when she was worried about something.

Mercy flower?

Mercy flower, mercy flower?

Merciful hour.

(laughs) My mother was saying a shorthand version of, "Merciful hour of sweet Jesus, please save us all."

Another handy prayer.

Mom always said goodbye with just a simple, "God bless."

Which was short for, "May God bless us and save us all."

On those rare occasions when my father went to Mass with us, he was always a bit too quick when the priest announced, "The Mass has ended, go in peace."

"Tanks be to God!"

(audience laughing) And we had to sit in the back row, so he could make a quick exit for a smoke outside.

(Breeda sighs) (Tom inhales and exhales sharply) - [Tom] We were visiting Ireland and staying with my sister in her 200-year-old row house without central heating.

It was bloody cold.

Every room had a small fireplace except the bathroom.

I will never forget the first shower the next morning.

It was damp and raining, of course, and the bathroom had only a massive cast iron tub, two separate taps, a rubber hose, and a handheld shower.

It was brutal.

Christ, I've pissed harder than that shower.

(audience laughing) Warmer too.

- My mom and her best Irish friend, Ellen Cullen, instructed me early in life on the most important thing, "Never, never marry an Irishman."

It was drilled into me.

(sighs) They, they had their reasons.

Uh, yes, their husbands were charming, but they had very old fashioned ideas about marriage, and they enjoyed their drink a bit too much.

When I was 17, I won a trip to Ireland and I went by myself.

I was so excited to see my aunts and uncles and my cousins, but I was terrified of my first solo visit with my Granny Kelly.

The best way I could describe my Granny Kelly, my dad's mom, is, uh, my dad in a dress with a white curly wig and a giant mole.

(audience laughing) I'd met her once before.

I'd met her just once before when I was 13.

(sighs) She was, uh, not a warm, cuddly grandma.

My Granny Kelly was my only living grandparent, and she scared the living daylights outta me.

So I stayed with my mom's family and visited the Kellys.

First up was my dad's sister, my Auntie May.

She greeted me with a warm hug and a hot cup of tea.

It went downhill quickly.

The minute I sat down in her kitchen, she pounced.

- [Auntie May] Are you going to marry an Irishman?

- (laughs) I'd never marry an Irishman.

- [Auntie May] (exclaims) Sure, they're the finest men on the face of the Earth.

- Oh, yes, um, yeah, I've (chuckles), I- I just haven't met any nice ones yet.

- [Auntie May] Aren't they all grand?

- I muttered something and focused on my tea.

Eventually it was time to head over to granny's house.

Thanks be to God.

(sighs) Auntie May escorted me, and there she stood in the doorway.

My dad in a black wool dress, thick beige stockings rolled at the knees, black leather lace shoes with square heels, and the giant mole.

(audience chuckles) She didn't smile when Auntie May introduced me.

- [Auntie May] Ma, this is Breeda from America.

The cheek of her.

She says she'd never marry an Irishman.

- And then she turned and left me alone on the stoop with my grandmother.

Hi.

She was not a hugger.

My mom had told me that my Granny Kelly never liked children.

She raised nine.

(audience chuckles) Could be why.

It was a hard life.

(sighs) She, uh, she welcomed me into her hallway and her parlor, it was small and dark, and every square inch was filled with framed photographs of her children, her grandchildren, and her great-grandchildren.

She showed me a few pictures of my dad as a young man, and even one of me in my first communion dress.

We were only, I was only in the house a few minutes when she turned around and looked me right in the eye.

- [Granny Kelly] I spent me life raising babies.

Don't you spend your life raising babies.

(audience chuckles) - It was two o'clock.

My uncle was picking me up at three.

I was in survival mode.

I had a, an envelope of family photos to have something to talk about.

Pictures of my mom and dad, my four brothers, our dog, our house, and a picture I forgot to remove, my handsome blonde boyfriend, Jim.

I was 17.

I didn't know what she would say about that.

(sighs) She looked through the pictures and she studied them carefully and asked lots of questions.

And when she got to the picture of Jim, she stopped.

No one in our family was blonde.

- [Granny Kelly] Who's this fella?

- (laughs) Um, that's my boyfriend, Jim.

- [Granny Kelly] Hmm.

He doesn't look American.

- Um, well, um, hi- his parents are, his family is of German heritage.

- [Granny Kelly] Is he a good man?

- Yes.

Yes, he's a very good man.

We, we've been dating for six months.

- [Granny Kelly] Marry that fella!

(audience laughing) - What?

What?

We went from, "Don't spend your life raising babies," to "Marry that fella," in under 10 minutes.

I had whiplash.

(sighs) I don't remember what else we talked about that afternoon, but when my uncle came to pick me up, I hugged her and she hugged me back.

That was over 45 years ago.

I didn't know my grandmother, but apparently she knew me.

I took her advice and uh, I'm still married to this very good man.

- [Mary] Tea in Ireland is not just a nice warm beverage.

It's nearly a sacrament.

(chuckles) Some people think that, ah, whiskey is the elixir of life, I think it's a good cup of tea.

I believe a good cup of tea can solve almost any problem.

Are you cold?

Tea will warm you.

Are you tired?

Tea will wake you.

Can't sleep?

Tea will help.

Whether you're celebrating or wanting to relax, tea is the answer.

Now, to make a proper cup of tea, you need a good rolling boil.

Don't even think about a microwave.

Get a China cup and saucer.

Milk, never cream, and sugar, if you like.

Tea just tastes better in a China cup.

Ah, and one more thing.

Saucers.

Some people think saucers are just for being fancy or for decoration.

Oh, no, no, no.

They're very practical.

They're like a, a little table, a place, uh, for a teabag or to tuck a biscuit.

Drips are no bother.

And it makes it easier to hold a nice hot cup.

Mugs are great, but if you have a teacup, please don't forget the saucer.

It's a sin.

(audience chuckles) When Breeda was a girl, she had, she had terrible pains in her tummy, and I had to take her to a doctor.

I had no car and I couldn't drive, so we had to go to a doctor within walking distance, I- I had no choice.

The doctor examined her and then sent us up the road to a specialist, who examined her again and performed a small procedure and sent us home.

We walked.

Well, the next morning Breeda woke up with a raging fever, and in terrible pain.

I called Virginia and asked her to drive us to the doctor's office, as it was over a mile away.

And then I called Tom to leave work and meet us at the doctor's office.

With no family and few friends, it was so hard to know what to do.

- [Tom] I got the fright of me life when Mary called and said to meet her at the doctor's office with Breeda.

What do I know about this women's business?

I had to sit in the doctor's private office with Mary and Breeda and listen while he explained what was wrong.

He then drew a picture of the female anatomy right in front of me and them.

Just take care of her, for Christ's sake, I don't need to know all the details.

(exhales sharply) Mary should have known about these things.

She's a woman.

It was a terrible time for me.

(audience chuckles) - I had developed a serious infection from the procedure in the doctor's office.

I was hospitalized and had four surgeries.

I nearly died.

I was 13.

I was in the hospital for about six weeks, and then one day I woke up and I felt good.

No fever, no pain.

I- I even overheard the doctor saying, "The funny thing is we don't know what cured her."

And they sent me home without explanation.

Life went on.

(scoffs) I think if this were to happen today, there might've been a lawsuit.

But my parents didn't know the legal system here, or understand what might've been the right course of action.

Being an immigrant presents so many challenges.

I went back to school and when I was 17, I met Jim.

The first time Jim met my father, they were having a chat about cars, and Jim told my dad that he drove an MG, and then added in the tidbit that the sports car was made in Great Britain.

(audience chuckles) - [Tom] I fail to see the greatness.

(audience chuckles) - My parents loved, we dated for years and my parents loved Jim.

When we finally got married, we wanted to start a family.

And that's when we started a journey that we never planned: infertility.

Because of what happened when I was 13.

We were on the infertility rollercoaster for a couple of years when we finally asked ourselves the big question, what was our goal?

Was it to achieve pregnancy or was it to have a family?

Well, we hopped off that rollercoaster quicker than you could say hysterosalpingogram.

And be grateful if you don't know what that is.

First thing we did was we called a local adoption agency, and we were told that due to Jim's advanced age, he was 35, that by the time a baby became available, he would be too old.

Well, it turns out this was not true, but we didn't know any better, so we looked into international adoption.

Another year of ups and downs, forms and references, even getting fingerprinted.

When our son, Daniel James, arrived from Seoul, South Korea, he was a sweet bundle of a boy and he had Jim's hairline.

(audience chuckles) A few years later, our beautiful daughter, Chloe Kelly, arrived.

My dad called her Beeswing too.

And our family was complete with the arrival of Evan Thomas a few years later.

Who knew that the children that we were meant to have would be born to three different women on the other side of the world?

- [Mary] I loved my grandchildren.

And when Breeda was working at the radio station, I would look after Daniel.

She would bring him to me early in the morning, and I saw how excited he got when the garbage trucks came around each week, so I strapped him into the stroller and we would head out the door to follow the garbage trucks around the neighborhood, so he could watch the process up close.

The fellas on the truck waved to him and he was thrilled.

One morning a neighbor stopped, looked at Daniel and said, "What is he?"

He's a beautiful baby boy and he's my grandson.

- (sighs) Our children are immigrants, naturalized citizens of the United States, as are my parents and my brothers.

When my parents came here, they had huge advantages.

They were white, they spoke English, and most Americans found their accents charming, rather than foreign.

You know, whenever I hear someone struggling to speak English, I try to remember, "Yeah, they know more languages than I do."

When we were waiting for our first child, the only tangible thing that we had was a photograph from the adoption agency in Korea.

When Jim and I got the call to go to the airport, we went hours early and just sat and waited.

I saw my mom walking down the concourse, and I saw she had something stuck to the front of her shirt.

As she got closer, I saw she had taken the photo of our baby and cut it into a circle and pinned it on like a badge.

And then she said, "I want to be sure Daniel knows who his Nana is."

- [Audience] Aw!

- And the circle was complete.

It was the immigrant welcoming the newest immigrant home.

My dad retired a few years later.

He got a lump sum and there was a few more trips to Ireland and he even bought my mom a diamond ring because she'd never had one.

However, he told me to pick it out and said, "Make sure you like it 'cause it'll be yours one day."

(chuckles) (audience chuckles) He was very smart.

I love it.

(chuckles) (sighs) My dad never went to the doctor.

He didn't trust them.

He chain-smoked Pall Malls and the only exercise he ever got was getting up from his chair to walk to the fridge for another beer.

Retirement didn't suit him.

He hadn't been feeling well, and I offered to take him to the doctor and make sure they didn't do anything he didn't want.

- [Tom] (inhales and exhales sharply) Oh, no.

No, I'm not able to go to the doctor, I- I- I'm not feeling well enough.

(audience chuckles) A- and besides, they'll do those invasive tests, you know, the blood pressure test.

(audience chuckles) - Just about a week later, early on a Sunday morning, an aneurysm burst in his heart.

He was still in bed.

Mom called 911, but he was gone before they arrived.

(sighs) Tom Kelly was a brave man, and his courage to follow his dream and his vision about coming to America has given me and my four brothers the life that we enjoy today.

He was so proud of being a printer, and he was even more proud of being a strong union man.

Tom Kelly wasn't an easy man to understand or to live with, but he loved us all and we loved him.

- [Mary] (sighs) After Tom died, I lived on my own for the first time in my life.

Our, our family home was still the little brick house across the street from the Wilsons.

It's about 50 miles to the little town where Breeda and Jim live.

Breeda drives in each week to take me shopping.

I love their little place out in the country, and I long to be near my grandchildren, but that would mean leaving my little house and Virginia.

That would be the hardest part of all, leaving my dear friend.

- [Virginia] Yeah, (sighs) that was a sad day, all right.

My husband Raymond had passed and I still had our son, Mark, and Mary Christina at home.

You know, I figured Mary would wanna move out near Breeda one day, but it hit me hard.

My partner-in-crime for so many years was moving away.

Cripes' sakes, it was the end of an era.

Mary Kelly, you were my best friend.

- [Mary] Now, I sold my little house and I bought this condo.

The first time in my life I chose everything.

I even painted me bedroom walls meself.

Tom was the painter and never let me touch a brush.

(chuckles) My kids helped, of course, especially Jim.

He put in a little fireplace for me.

He's a great fella.

(sighs) I- I love my little place by the river.

I'm able to walk the mile to Breeda and Jim's house all the time.

I go to yoga, and the kids are able to stop in after school, and it's great.

- Until it wasn't.

(audience applauding) (gentle dramatic music) (gentle melancholic music) It was a beautiful fall afternoon.

The maple tree outside of her condo was a brilliant shade of red.

We'd been chatting on the phone when she had a violent coughing fit and collapsed.

Jim was home and we rushed her to the hospital.

The neurosurgeon said that she'd had a bleed in her brain and would need brain surgery.

They admitted her and she spent two weeks in the hospital in ICU, and then they sent her home with us to build up her strength, and scheduled brain surgery one week before Christmas.

She was 78, and it could go either way.

The day before the surgery, they had to do a scan of her brain so that the surgeons would know exactly where to operate.

This involved injecting dye under general anesthesia.

I, (sighs) I sat in the waiting area on the edge of my seat.

When the recovery room nurse came out and announced, "Your mom's all set.

You can take her home now."

What?

No, she's supposed to be going up to intensive care.

I walked back into the recovery room, and here is Mom sitting up on the gurney with a big grin.

- [Mary] They said I'm cured and I can go home.

It's a miracle and I'm blessed!

- I told her to lay back down and enjoy the anesthetic.

I had to find the doctor.

The doctors were flabbergasted.

They had never seen anything like it.

They said that there was no trace of the bleed, no damage to her brain, and uh, yeah, we could take her home.

Her brain surgery was canceled.

He also said, we might wanna stop and buy a lottery ticket on the way home.

(audience chuckles) It was our lucky day.

Maybe it was a miracle.

Well, Mom recovered, but she wasn't the same confident, independent woman that she'd been.

She moved in with us and we made room for some of her furniture.

Jim even built a special shelf in our dining room for her precious collection of teapots.

He put up grab bars and rails everywhere.

He even built a porch level with the house, so she could get outside easily.

We wanted her to feel at home.

- [Mary] Growing old isn't for sissies, I'll tell you that.

My legs give me a terrible time.

I have, uh, restless leg syndrome, they call it.

I- I feel as though there are creepy crawlies going up me legs all the time, and I feel the need to get up and walk.

But when I go to take a step, it's, it, it's as though my legs are asleep and I'm stepping into black holes.

It, it's terrible.

I'm so grateful for my buddy here, my walker.

I- I can't take a step without it.

(sighs) But when I go to stand up, I'm often woozy and I'm terrified of falling again.

They told me I should wait a minute or two before I make a move.

Well, here's my secret.

When I stand up, I say one Hail Mary before I take a step.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

Amen."

I figured it out on me own.

(audience chuckles) - They call it the long goodbye.

I missed all of our great chats and all of our trips together.

Mom didn't have Alzheimer's disease.

She had a different kind of dementia.

Vascular dementia.

I learned that dementia is not a disease.

Dementia is an umbrella term.

There are so many different kinds.

Alzheimer's, Lewey Body, vascular, and so many others, over 100 different kinds of dementia.

(sighs) It really is the long goodbye.

I learned so many new terms.

I've always been a fan of sandwiches, yeah?

This was something else altogether.

I was now a member of the sandwich generation.

That's when you're caring for a generation on either side, your mom or your dad, as well as your kids, and you are squeezed in the middle.

Just when you're done loading strollers in your van, you're loading wheelchairs and walkers.

(sighs) I lived in the caregiver sandwich for nearly six years.

Three young teenagers and a mom who was declining.

After years of high blood pressure, her heart grew weaker and she developed congestive heart failure and vascular dementia.

I didn't know what I didn't know.

All I knew was that I loved my mom.

I had no training.

I spent my days being torn between my husband, my kids, my mom, and my work.

I- I have never felt so frustrated, exhausted, and isolated.

No matter what I did, I felt I was letting someone down.

- [Mary] I- I loved being in the house with all the kids.

My little fella, Toby, a Yorkie, was always at my side.

Oh, I loved that little fella, and he was the sweetest dog I ever had.

And I know he loved me too.

He had a song and I would sing it and he would roll his eyes back in delight.

♪ Toby Kelly ♪ ♪ Toby Kelly is the best little doggy ♪ ♪ In the world, bum, bum ♪ (audience chuckles) ♪ Toby is my little fella ♪ ♪ I love him so ♪ ♪ Don't you know ♪ ♪ Toby Kelly ♪ ♪ Toby Kelly is the best little doggy ♪ ♪ In the world, bum, bum ♪ - I'll spare you the rest.

(audience chuckles) Yes, he was a sweet dog, but that song.

Ugh.

Oh God.

My mother kept me on my toes.

Especially when it came to doctor's appointments.

Whenever we met a doctor for the first time, she had an opening statement.

- [Mary] I've been blessed, a miracle.

I'm not like other people.

I'm very petite and you can't give me the regular doses of medicine because I have miniature organs.

(audience laughing) - A- a- and the time she was having a hard time sleeping and the specialist told her she should stop drinking tea?

(Breeda laughs) - [Mary] You might as well tell me to quit breathing.

- (sighs) I wish I could say I handled every situation with humor and grace, but some days were better than others.

I was the only daughter with four brothers, the default caregiver.

Then she fell and broke her hip.

She had surgery and was in rehab for six weeks.

Her dementia got worse.

It would come and go, some days she'd be sharp and herself, and then other days she'd be confused and very, very anxious.

One day she made an announcement.

- [Mary] You're an alcoholic and I'm leaving!

- But, but Mom, I- I can't be an alcoholic.

I don't drink!

- [Mary] Denial.

The first sign!

(audience chuckles) - (sighs) Mom often thought there were two Breedas, and would (sighs) complain to me about the bad Breeda, which I loved.

(chuckles) Get all the scoop.

You know, the bad Breeda, who would make her take mind-altering drugs, like Advil, or refuse to give her tea during the night.

One time she was really cranky and she said.

- [Mary] I want to see both Breedas in here at the same time.

I don't want to have to repeat myself!

- But Mom, you know, there's only, there's only me.

There's only one Breeda.

- [Mary] Oh, and is the other Breeda too busy on her computer to come in and talk to me?

(audience chuckles) (Breeda sighs) - I thought I could lose my mind.

Delirium is something, it's different than dementia.

I had no idea what it even was, but delirium can be brought on for so many reasons.

Uh, dehydration, urinary tract infections, sundowning, ah, it doesn't matter the cause, it's, it's horrible.

- [Mary] Breeda!

Breeda, will nobody help me, please!

(exclaims) I don't know what's going on in this house, but that young one with the weight of him, he can't walk up the stairs, he gallops up and, and I feel the whole house shaking, and I'm terrified it's gonna fall down on top of me.

And I don't know why, but there are two Breedas.

One is enough!

That other one, she's horrible.

She's, she's very bossy, and she's always trying to get me to take more pills and she won't give me tea during the night.

And I- I just want to go home!

Why can't I?

Please?

(sobs) I'm so afraid.

I- I just want to go home.

- I wasn't doing a great job taking care of myself because I was so busy taking care of everybody else.

(sighs) I wasn't getting much sleep.

I was cranky and short-tempered.

My kids often told me to take a nap.

(sighs) The frustration was building, the exhaustion was overwhelming.

It was Thursday, shower day.

I hated giving my mother a shower.

It was so stressful.

She was terrified of falling.

I didn't know what I was doing.

I was so overtired.

I had not been sleeping.

I had changed her bedding three times by noon.

My phone was ringing off the hook, I was late with a proposal for a client.

The dog threw up.

And then at four o'clock, sweet Evan just asked, "What's for dinner, Mom?"

Wha?

What's for dinner?

What's for dinner?

Are you kidding me?

I can't, I can't keep doing this.

I can't.

I did not sign up for this.

I don't know what I'm doing.

I am a terrible daughter and a worse mother.

I- I have to figure something out.

This is gonna kill me.

I just can't keep doing this.

I need help!

(Breed sighs) I finally reached out to some friends and they were so kind.

They were such good listeners.

One of them asked me very gently if I had considered hospice care for Mom.

"No!

She's not that bad."

I thought hospice was strictly end of life, when death was imminent, the last few days, that's what I thought hospice was for.

And my friend very kindly explained to me, "No, that's not all that hospice is for."

Hospice is all about comfort care, and that they can provide support to me to care for Mom.

They can provide medicines and supplies, and people who could help me.

Probably at no cost.

I had no idea.

So I- I called and I made an appointment for a nurse to come out and meet with us.

She arrived just two days later, and she had all the papers from Mom's doctor already with her.

We sat at the table and we chatted for about half an hour.

And then it was time for the big introduction.

Mom was having a good day.

She was already dressed and went back into her room.

(sighs) Mom never wanted to be a burden, and I knew that.

And, and that helped me to break the ice.

But it was, it was a very hard conversation to begin.

"Mom, this is Margaret.

She's a nurse with hospice.

They're gonna help me care for you."

- [Mary] I'm delighted to meet you.

I know all about hospice.

You're a great group.

I'm not ready to croak yet, but I'll take all the help I can get.

- I wish I had a photo of Margaret's face.

The very next day, medicine was delivered to my doorstep.

Supplies, a huge box of disposable underwear.

And then the next day I got a phone call from a home healthcare worker who wanted to set up a schedule to give my mother a shower.

It was the greatest gift ever.

You know, I really believe that hospice saved my life.

That was July, and uh, Mom had a good summer, she rallied.

She seemed to, to get a bit stronger.

And, but well, by middle, end of October, she was really sleeping a lot.

She was sleeping most of the time and seeing people who weren't really there.

The hospice nurses told us that we might not have her for much longer.

Now, Thanksgiving was over a month away, so we just decided to move the calendar up (chuckles), and that we would have a big celebration, a feast, and invite my brothers to come in from outta state with their families, and we would all be together and celebrate Mom.

The reality is that I would not only have to take care of Mom, I would have to feed and entertain all of them.

But my brothers were so excited to come and be together and see Mom, they called her to tell her this.

My brother, Donagh, called her and said he couldn't wait to see her, and he so couldn't wait for a taste of her delicious apple pie.

And that's when things went bad.

(audience chuckles) From that moment on she never stopped talking about the apple pie for the boys.

Every day, all day.

Apple pie.

Apple pie.

Now, the truth is, I did not inherit my mother's hands with pastry.

The few times I have attempted to make a pie have not ended well.

There was a lot of cursing, and the dough was gray and sticky, and tasted salty from my tears, um.

(audience laughing) Yeah, my kids can tell you exactly what a conniption looks like.

So I called my brother.

"What were you thinking when you told Mom you couldn't wait to taste her apple pie?

You know, that means I have to make a pie, she can't make a pie anymore.

And I don't know what you're thinking, but I don't have time for all that."

And he said not to worry, he would bring a pie.

And that calmed her down for a bit.

Well, the big day rolls around.

I have the table set with her good China and her Waterford crystal and her linens.

It looked beautiful.

And she starts asking about making the pie again, when at that moment my brother walks in with a pie in a cardboard box with a cellophane window, and the word Kroger across the front.

(audience laughing) And then, to add insult to injury, a big orange sticker that said "Half off!"

(audience laughing) (Breeda sighs) My mother was appalled, and she refused even one bite of this store-bought pie.

And then when he told her it tasted just like her pie?

(audience exclaims) Yeah, she might have dementia, but she knows apple pie.

Well, we were able to divert her and avoid pie gate, and the evening ended well.

They all left and I was wiped out.

The next day, as I'm packing up her good China, and the Waterford and folding the linens, she starts asking about making the apple pie again.

No!

No, no, no, no, no, no.

The, the boys were here, they're gone.

We don't need to deal with this any longer.

And she would not let it go.

Every day, all day.

I would be loading the washer and, and I could hear the rumble of the walker in the hallway.

And the voice.

"Is today the day?

Are we making the apple pie?

The boys love my pie.

Did you get the good apples?

The Granny Smiths?

Apple pie?

Apple pie?

Apple pie?

Apple pie, apple!"

If I heard the words apple pie one more time I was going over the edge!

I was the poster child of a burned out, stressed out, exhausted caregiver!

For the first time in my life I realized, I could go before her if I didn't get professional help.

So I got the name of a counselor and I made an appointment.

And he asked me why I'd come.

And I started in on my list of complaints.

How busy I was, how little sleep I was getting, how exhausting it was, how hard it was taking care of everybody.

I told him that my mother was obsessed with this apple pie and that there was no need, the party was over, my brothers had already been here, they went home.

We do not need to have to go this, and besides, I'm not good at pie, I don't do pie.

I don't even like pie!

And it was, it was unreasonable.

It was unfair, and it was driving me nuts!

And he was such a good listener.

I knew he'd be supportive, right?

Tell me I was right.

Boundaries, you know, that this was good.

And he set down his notepad and he leaned forward, and he said, "Breeda, you gotta make the damn pie.

I know, I know you're busy.

Just pick a date, write it on the calendar.

Tell your mom you're gonna make the pie.

Get the ingredients, and then just do it.

You won't regret it."

Fine.

(audience chuckles) So as the day rolls around, Mom's having a good day, and she can sit up at the counter, and I had all the ingredients laid out.

The Granny Smiths, the good apples.

I put an apron on her and one on me, and I handed her her favorite wooden-handled paring knife.

It, uh, she didn't believe in apple peelers.

She held the apple up, and even though she couldn't do it, I- I saw that look in her eyes.

And I remembered, she used to peel one unbroken curling ribbon of apple peel.

And I remembered how she used to take my long brown hair, curl it into ringlets, and then set it with bobby pins, and pretty much a whole can of Aqua Net.

I finished peeling the apples and slicing them, as she directed.

And then I put them into the bowl with all the spices.

I handed her the wooden spoon and she gave it a good stir.

And then it was time for the crust.

I did my best.

Okay?

So I'm rolling the dough back and forth and back and forth, and I gave it a few whacks and she gave it a whack.

And there was flour everywhere, on the floor, on the counter, on the dough, on the dog, all over me.

I- I looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy.

Then I wrestled the pastry into the pie pan, and I pl, we took turns placing the individual perfectly spiced slices of apple just so.

And then I took the top crust and I placed it on top, and used the little knife to trim the edge.

Then she asked for the little paring knife and a scrap of dough.

And she cut out three little leaves and we placed them on the top of the pie crust.

The aroma of that apple pie baking was intoxicating.

And as we sat at the table admiring this beautiful pie, she was able to eat a few bites along with a nice cup of tea, and then she said, "This is the best pie I ever made."

And I was so ashamed.

I had been so consumed with being the caregiver, doing the caregiver things, that I missed what she really needed.

I was so busy doing all the things, following the schedule, giving out the medicine, keeping the train running, that I nearly missed what she needed most.

And I was so grateful to be called out before it was too late, because I realized it was never about the pie.

It was about making the pie.

In early December, Mom made a special request.

She asked me to find a priest to give her the Last Rites, or the Sacrament of the Sick.

This is a Sacrament in the Catholic church that is intended to give peace and grace to the gravely ill. Now Mom was not a fan of our local parish priest at the time.

Say no more.

So I had to go to another town about 15 miles away um, and ask that priest if he would make a house call.

It was a very large parish, and we didn't know him personally, but he was, he was very kind, and he agreed that he would come out and give my mom the Sacrament, but that he wouldn't be able to stay long, 'cause he had a very busy schedule.

So we agreed he would come out the following Tuesday.

It was December, the snow was falling.

Um, Mom had been up early, she was feeling okay that day.

She'd had a cup of tea and then she decided she would go back into her room.

And uh, when he knocked at the door, he's a very large man, he was in his late 70s, but he looked very tired.

Hello, Father Will, thank you so much for coming.

- [Father Will] Yes, I- I'm, I'm glad I can help.

Um, well, first of all, you know I won't be able to stay very long.

Is, is Mrs. Kelly able to take Holy Communion?

- Well, yes.

Uh, I don't think she's committed any sins lately.

- [Father Will] No, no, no, no.

I mean, uh, is she able to swallow?

- Oh, yes, yes.

So I brought him into her room to make the introduction.

My mother was laying on her bed with her arms folded and her eyes closed.

(audience chuckles) It was weird.

(audience laughing) He started to, um, unpack his sacred oil, his crucifix and his stole.

And he was about to begin the Sacrament, when she interrupted him.

- [Mary] Now hold on a minute there, Father, I have a question for you before you begin.

Do you know what this Sacrament was called originally?

- [Father Will] Why, uh, do you mean Extremunction?

- [Mary] Yes.

That's very good.

You may proceed.

(audience chuckles) - Well, he got a big grin on his face and he told me that his grandmother was Irish.

And they started talking, and I thought, "All right, I'm gonna leave them to it and go do some work on my laptop."

An hour had passed, and they're in there laughing and talking.

And when he stood up to leave, his entire manner had changed.

Father Will, thank you so much, a- and tell me, will you pray for my mother?

- [Father Will] For Mrs. Kelly?

Oh, no, she's fine.

She's all set.

You I'll pray for.

(audience laughing) - Well, Mom's good days were fewer and far between.

One day she told me she was going on a journey and that, uh, she needed her suitcase.

And I said, "Where are you going, Mom?"

And she said she didn't know, but she was going on a journey.

So I got her good suitcase and I put it next to her chair.

She didn't put anything in it, but I think it just calmed her by having it near.

And then one day, about a few days after that, she called me over to her side.

- [Mary] Breeda, I want you to get me the bus schedule to Dublin.

I- I want to go home.

I- I- I need to go home.

- I didn't know what to say.

I didn't know what to do.

I had nothing, so I did what I always did.

I changed the subject and gave her a cup of tea, and put some music on, but she wouldn't let go.

And she kept asking every day about the bus schedule to Dublin.

One day I was so frustrated, I even tried to explain.

"But Mom, you know, the buses from Michigan to Dublin are not very reliable.

And um, besides, how would you climb up the steps to the bus?"

- [Mary] Oh no, they, they've gotten much better.

And the conductor would help me.

- She was relentless and I was exhausted.

(sighs) One day she was seated in her favorite chair and she was near tears.

Mom, what's wrong?

W- why are you so upset?

- [Mary] It's that Breeda.

She's horrible.

I keep asking her for the bus schedule to Dublin and she just won't get it for me.

- And something in my brain clicked.

(clicks fingers) Mom, don't you worry about that bitch!

I'm here today!

(audience laughing) I'll figure it out!

I had no idea what I was going to do.

I couldn't actually take her to Ireland.

She was too frail to travel.

She couldn't even leave the house at this stage.

What could I do to ease her anxiety?

And (sighs) I remembered how much she loved to travel.

Her suitcase.

She was happiest when she had booked a trip.

"I booked."

Did you book?

"I booked."

She loved, absolutely loved to plan a trip and anticipate it.

And I thought, "Hm!

I wonder if I could make her a fake ticket?"

So I went to my computer and I googled "fake airline ticket," and up on the screen appeared a boarding pass.

So I started to fill it in.

Departing airport, DTW.

Arriving airport.

This was tricky.

I could type DUB for Dublin, or I could go one better.

I typed, heaven.

It took it.

Let's see, travel dates: open.

Typed her name, Mary P. Kelly.

Oh, this is a first class seat.

Yes!

Very nice.

I found some card stock, put it in my printer and hit Print.

And there appeared a boarding pass.

Mom, you don't have to worry anymore.

You're all set.

You're good to go.

- [Mary] Oh, this is great.

I'm going to show Father Will this one.

(giggles) - Over the next few weeks, as people came to visit her for the last time, instead of being anxious and worried, she was so excited to show them her boarding pass.

- [Mary] Wait till I show you what Breeda got for me!

- And they all had a good laugh.

And they told her she was indeed blessed.

I've, I've witnessed a few miracles in my life, but I think seeing the look of delight in my mother's eyes with that boarding pass was my favorite.

She never asked about the bus schedule to Dublin again.

And she kept that boarding pass near to her until the day she died.

When she was gone, I- I was surprised at myself.

I- I wasn't overwhelmed with grief, and I felt so guilty for the relief that I felt, for her and for me.

But then I realized I had been grieving for years.

Dementia is the long goodbye.

But now?

Now I could remember the woman who was so extraordinary and she could be herself again.

(gentle lilting music) - [Mary] Well, here we are, aren't we?

What a journey.

(chuckles) I want to thank you for listening to my Breeda.

I'm so very proud of her.

It's been a few years now and it's so nice to see Tom, and my brothers and sister, my grandson, my parents, and so many dear friends.

I'm with you when you have a nice cup of tea, and when you make my brown bread.

And I love how you keep me close with all the stories.

Although a few I could do without.

(audience chuckles) At my memorial service, which was lovely, a beautiful poem was shared.

Here's a few lines.

(Mary sighs) "Death is nothing at all.

I've only slipped away into the next room.

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by my old familiar name, speak of me in the easy way which you always did.

Put no sorrow in your tone.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed.

Why should I be out of mind because I'm out of sight?

I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.

All is well."

(gentle lilting music) It's been a great journey and I'm home now.

And by the way, the tea here is heavenly.

God bless.

Slainte!

(audience applauding) (gentle upbeat music) (audience cheering and applauding) - Thank you.

Oh!

Thank you.

(gentle upbeat music continues) (gentle upbeat music continues) (gentle upbeat music continues)