Dillon's Corner

Those of us who knew Dillon knew he was a special kind of soul. He was angry at the world, angry at how life had unfolded for him, angry at everyone around him but, more than anything, angry at himself. He poured every ounce of that anger, every thought and every syllable, into his poetry.

I had the privilege of working with him. I can now say, still with much sorrow, that I also had the privilege of finding him that fateful night.

It was the night of one of Ireland's most destructive storms. While Mother Nature wailed and churned outside, Dillon took his last hit, leaned forward, and closed his eyes for the final time.

Dillon had endured two of the worst weeks of his already dark and turbulent life. His best friend and his brother had died only days apart, both lost to overdoses. Those losses brought back memories of his two older brothers, whom he had lost in a similar fashion a few years earlier. His brothers in arms or, as Dillon would say, "Christine's pride and joys."

A few nights before we lost him, I sat in the office listening to his heartbroken sobs during a telephone conversation. He was crying and pleading with the person on the other end.

"Please... just let me come home. Just let me sleep on the floor in the living room."

There was very little I could offer him, except perhaps the worst cup of tea he would ever have.

"Do you want the worst cup of tea in the world?" I asked.

"Go on, why not?" he replied. "Things can't get much worse."

I brought the tea out to him. He took one sip and laughed.

"How the hell are you married when you can't even make a decent cup of tea?"

I laughed with him, grateful to see even the smallest glimmer of light.

"I'm a good cook," I replied.

For a moment, we both laughed.

Then I asked him quietly, "Do you believe in God?"

He looked at me with his dark, sunken eyes and said,

"How can I, Sinéad?"

I wish I had been given the chance to answer him.

But at that very moment, we were interrupted. Someone needed something done, something that could easily have waited.

"I'll come talk to you later, Sinéad," Dillon said.

But he never did.

I'll never know whether what I wanted to say would have changed his mind.

I'll never know.

After he left, I asked the staff to keep an eye on him. I told them about my concerns. In truth, every single one of us was deeply worried about him.

Then the storm came....

We had been called into work early so the day staff could get home before the worst of the weather hit. We had been told we would need to stay a few extra hours the following morning until it was officially declared safe to leave.

I remember entering the building and scanning the CCTV in the office, looking for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. A deep uneasiness settled over me. I knew the night would be a long one.

Because we had come in early, we finished our work ahead of schedule and decided to begin the room checks earlier than usual.

I approached Dillon's room and knocked on the door.

"Staff."

I placed the key in the lock and opened the door.

Dillon!

I screamed his name.

He was leaning forward.

I froze.

Before anyone else arrived...

I already knew.

I wanted to bring him back, just as I had done so many times before when he overdosed. But I couldn't, not this time... he was gone.

The other staff came running into the room. I snapped back for a moment, and then I radioed the office, asking them to bring the medical bag.

The moment I gave them the room number, everyone in the office knew.

Later they told me my scream had echoed through the hallways, down the stairways, and into the office. They knew you were gone.

You broke everyone's heart that day, Dillon.

I told you I would find a place for you in America.

A promise made in jest.

A promise kept nonetheless.

Dillon's Corner.

Little did I know that keeping that promise would begin to heal the part of me that found you on that destructive night.

While a storm raged outside, your storm quietly died down.

You left all of us with your final poem.

"From Garrán na mBráthar, North Cork, brothers in arms we were..."