At the start of the Covid-19 lockdown, I bought a pack of 24 sympathy cards.
At the time, my spouse remarked: “You won’t need all of those!” As of Friday past I have used sixteen cards over the four months as friends across the country have lost siblings, parents or partners.
Normally, as per Irish tradition, I would have made an effort to attend the wake - if not the funeral.
Covid-19 restrictions prevented that. Standing on the street I watched three funerals followed by small corteges heading for the graveyard.
I attended a funeral, one of only twelve mourners in the church.
It was emotional to watch. No hugs. No embracing. Not even a handshake. Just a knowing nod in the direction of the bereaved.
The experience of those recently bereaved has been harrowing. Some never got the solace of having the remains brought home. Others could not say goodbye because their relatives died in hospital. Those few who did make contact could only do so by phone, facilitated by those magnificent nurses and health care workers.
There is no doubt that the family of the late Bobby Storey must have some understanding and empathy for what other bereaved families during Covid-19 have suffered. They now share the loss of a loved one in unusual times.
So it is worth remembering there is a grieving family at the centre of the debate over the nature, management and handling of the funeral by the Sinn Féin leadership.
Michelle O’Neill, the deputy first minister, knew exactly what she risked reputationally and in terms of credibility by seemingly ignoring many of the Covid-19 health and safety guidelines which she co-set with first minister, Arlene Foster.
She and her colleagues made a decision that the political priorities of the republican movement would take precedence over all other matters, irrespective of the fallout.
This sentiment was best summed up by a Sinn Féin MLA at an assembly committee who said: “Michelle, the republican family needed you there”.
But what about all those other bereaved families across the general public who had higher expectations of the political establishment to abide by the rules they make? What about their need for comfort and support?
Politicians of all hues seem congenitally conditioned to being incapable of saying the word sorry. They hate admitting that they may get things wrong. Michelle O’Neill is a classic example. Both her and her leader, Mary Lou McDonald, appeared completely tone deaf to the sense of outrage within the wider public.
In denial or delusional for several days, the Sinn Féin hierarchy eventually found a form of apology for Michelle O’Neill. It was more of an acknowledgement than an apology. She said: “I have listened carefully to the voices of those who have lost loved ones. No family’s grief is more important than another''.
But that is not how the events appeared at the church, Milltown and it seems Roselawn too. Ms O’Neill said she understood that people who had been bereaved were feeling hurt over the past number of days. And she was “sorry for that”. That is not an apology for her actions and poor judgment. That is not the minister stepping up to take responsibility.
Of course, now the Sinn Féin leadership are accusing all the other political parties of opportunism and point scoring. Not since Pontius Pilate has there been such a display of false piety. But nobody is buying it. There is now a crisis, but it is a crisis of public confidence not politics.
Thankfully there are those outside of politics, public servants such as Tony Holohan, the Republic’s Chief Medical Officer, who does understand the concept of leadership in terms of practice and example.
He is stepping down to care for his children and his wife who has gone into palliative care. When the history of this period is written, Tony Holohan will be amongst its heroes.
