The Blessing

Near the end of Peter and Suzanne’s wedding ceremony, the priest called me forward. I walked to the front of the beautiful old church in Alte, gripping my iPhone tightly.

It was a hot August afternoon in the Algarve. Thirty-nine degrees Celsius. About a hundred of us had gathered there. Fans and bottles of water had been provided before the ceremony. There was beautiful music in the church. A friend of the couple was singing sweetly.

The music of angels.

Peter, my nephew, and Suzanne were sitting in front of me as I stood at the lectern. Peter had been named after his grandfather, my father, Peadar Bairéad, a teacher and Irish-language poet. Dad died in 2019 at the age of 94. My mother, known to all of us as Patcheen, had passed away too. She died of cancer in 2020 at the age of 82. Peter and his sister Chloe had been very close to their grandparents.

I looked directly at Peter and Suzanne when I said these words:

“There is no doubt but that both Peter’s grandparents, fondly known as Dada and Patcheen, are here with us today in spirit, celebrating this great occasion of Peter and Suzanne’s wedding.”

Then I read an extract from a poem my father had written for my mother. There was complete silence in the church as I read.

Ach a chéile chaoin álainn na míne,
Guím ort rath agus séan,
Ó éirí go luí geal na gréine,
Is anonn go lá bocht an tSléibhe…

Then I read the English version.

My gentle, beautiful wife,
I wish you joy and good fortune,
From the sun’s bright rising to its setting,
And onward to the Day of Judgment.

Dad had written another fitting poem many years earlier as a wedding blessing for Sinéad and me. This time, I only had to change two names.

“With Peter and Suzanne’s names taking the place of ours, I’d like to pass that blessing on to them.”

Le focaluisce beannaithe,
Sea baistimse an bhainis seo,
Is guím tuile bheannachtaí
Ar Pheadar is ar Shuzanne.

Rath is séan is ádh orthu,
Gan chíos, gan chás, gan léan orthu,
Ach sliocht ar shliocht a sleachta seo,
Faoi shíocháin chaoin Mhic Dé.

Beannacht Dé go deo orthu,
Mar dhrúcht anuas ón spéir orthu,
Is mo bheannacht féin go buan orthu,
Mar chosaint, is mar spré.

Then I read the translation.

With these words as holy water,
I bless this marriage
And pray a flood of blessings
Upon Peter and Suzanne.

May prosperity, happiness and good fortune be theirs,
Free from care, trouble and sorrow.
May their children and the generations after them
Live in the gentle peace of the Son of God.

May God’s blessing rest upon them forever,
Like dew falling from heaven,
And may my own blessing remain with them always,
As a shield and a treasure.

I returned to my seat. The priest looked out at us.

“Well, I’m not going to try to say anything after that.”

A little while later, we were outside under the blazing Algarve sun.

The reception was held at a large country house, Monte do Serrinho, near São Bartolomeu de Messines. Most of the guests were taken there in black SUVs. Sinéad and I drove ourselves so that we could leave before the end. Drinks and appetizers were served first. Later, we sat down for dinner. The speeches came during the meal.

Eddie, my brother-in-law and Peter’s father, stood up. He had lost his notes, but carried on anyway. Peter had always been on the move as a boy, he told us. Running off. Hard to know where he was. His teachers had their work cut out for them too.

“How ironic,” said Eddie, “that Peter himself ended up going into teaching.”

Suzanne’s father, Hugh, spoke about his only daughter, about everything she had achieved and the wonderful person she had become. He was very happy to welcome Peter into the family.

Then Sam stood up, Peter’s best man and a loyal friend of his for many years. He took us back many years, to a park where he and his friends, Peter among them, had been drinking cider. The cider had not agreed too well with Sam’s stomach that night. There had been an embarrassing incident. Peter helped him through it and never told anyone what had happened.

“There isn’t a better or more loyal friend in the world,” said Sam.

Then Peter stood. He thanked everyone and spoke about Suzanne. She had played football competitively. She ran. She trained. She liked to win. Apparently, the two of them even competed over sleep. Peter explained that they both took getting a good night’s sleep seriously. They liked to go to bed early.

The first time he visited Suzanne’s parents, he was nervous. At some point he blurted out to Hugh:

“Suzanne and I love going to bed early.”

Hugh made sure Peter had a bed of his own that night.

After dinner, the music started. Peter and Suzanne danced beside the swimming pool. Later, they came back towards us between two lines of guests holding sparklers in the darkness. They danced again. At one point, Peter swept Suzanne backwards almost to the ground, then pulled her upright again. They looked as though they were enjoying every minute of the night.

Sinéad and I left before midnight. The dancing continued into the small hours.

Earlier in the evening, Peter and Chloe had come over to me. They told me the reading in the church had affected them deeply. They had almost felt that Dada and Patcheen were there in the church with them. They said it had brought tears to their eyes.

Peter and Suzanne’s children, Hugh and Rose, had been in the church too. Chloe was there with her husband and their young child, Riley. She was six months pregnant.

I heard my father’s words again:

May their children and the generations after them…

And the blessing Dad had written for Sinéad and me many years earlier had travelled all the way to the Algarve. That afternoon, I passed that blessing on to Peter and Suzanne.

Only the names had changed.