Memorial for our brother, Daniel Joseph Sullivan
18 April 1955 - 30 December 2005
In our hearts you live on in loving memory.
Daniel filled our lives with abundant kindness, laughter, and music.

Daniel lived in Cork City, Ireland, where he died in a tragic accident on December 30, 2005. He was a poet, and a wonderful jazz musician - alto and soprano saxaphone, clarinet, percussion - in the John Coltraine and Miles Davis "free avant garde jazz' style - and a teacher in Cork University Schools Programmes.

Daniel is survived by two brothers, John and Jerry, and four sisters, Maireid, Noreen, Carmel, Genevieve "Viva".

Those who truly love are always together in the world of infinity. We try so hard to dance amongst the stars, sail into the pneuma of our ancestors, inhale the spirits; yet we are always so ill-prepared for the death of a loved one.

Always, always, something good will come from something so tragic: The intertwining of sorrow and love, so deep, rising up in love with gratitude.

Report on our trip to Ireland for Daniel's funeral, January 2006
By Maireid Sullivan

It has been a difficult trip to make but it has become a great body of comforting remembrances for my sisters and me. The warmth of family and friends really were a gift from our brother who would want us to embrace it in full, always...

The memories are still resonating in me, as I strive to scoop it all up into consciousness, from my expanded heart.

As I reflect on my experiences in Ireland, I have been finding new ways to think about the purpose and meaning of life. All life is sentient, and humans have created complex mechanisms for communication, but, like the fish that doesn't know reality above the water line, we can only surmise the existence of a 'higher' reality than the one we are immersed in.

Life is full of secrets. Every fragment of life holds secrets, and we come to consciousness by finding creative ways to share our secrets.

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Two of my sisters, Viva and Carmel joined me in Ireland.
(Our sister Noreen stayed in Melbourne with our mother who turned 85 on 27 Jan.)

When ever we were asked why we were visiting Ireland, people expected us to say we were holidaying. But when we told them that we were here for our brother's funeral, the mood instantly changed. Every single person stopped what ever they were doing, to embrace us with real compassion and gentleness.

We were surprised to see so many cousins we've never met before at the funeral in Cork city, where Dan lived. I remember playing with the 1st cousins, three sons and a daughter of my mother's brother John, when we were children. We lived in the country, on the family farm, so we didn't see them a lot, but I remembered them clearly. They all have children and grandchildren now. One has 6 children and three grandchildren, the others each have two or three children, and there are many beautiful babies. We went to two of their homes for meals and 'crowds' of people showed up.

On one evening, four of 1st cousin Jerry's 'children' took us out on the town, and introduced us to 'interesting' new drinks, and we had a great night of the 'craic' - they ranged in age from 38 to 16. We were able to joke and laugh a lot, which was a great relief from the convulsions of grief and the intensity of intertwining sorrow and love for our beloved brother Daniel. Dan had a great sense of humour - a very lively "caustic and perceptive" sense of humour, as one of his friends succinctly put it.

After clearing out Dan's flat, and sorting through his treasures, we took his ashes to West Cork, to the Bantry area where we grew up. We gave a lift to a close friend of mine, Journalist Paul O'Donoghue, who was visiting Cork city when we arrived there. We drove west with him and we stayed in his very comfortable house in Bantry.

Our oldest friend, Sophia, who played with us and baby-sat for us, still lives near Kealkil, at Lisheens, next door to our old family farm, and she has kept in contact with us across the years. My mother is a second mother to her. We stopped at her house for tea and lunch, before heading down the road to the old cemetery where many generations of my mother's family are buried. We sprinkled some of Dan's ashes there and I gave a little speech. This is at the foot of the farm we grew up on, which is clearly visible as you turn south from the cemetery and look up the hill.

When my father married my mother, he bought the farm from my uncle, who inherited it, because their mother and aunt still lived there and my uncle felt that my mother was better able to care for them, and he didn't want to farm. Our beloved gentle uncle Denis RIP became a landscape gardener instead.

Right across the field from the grave yard is an ancient holy well, called Lady's Well, now dedicated to Mary. The shrine is a grotto of various sized statues of Mary, put there by locals over the generations. At the base of the grotto is the ancient well with healing waters. There is a kneeling rail surrounding it. Every year on the weekend of 15 Aug. (the Feast of the Assumption of Mary) people come from far and wide to pilgrimage on 24 hr vigils there. We sprinkled some ashes in the stream that rushes past the shrine.

Paul filmed and photographed all of these little rituals for us. He was a wonderful support to us, because all of this was very emotionally charged.

That night Paul took us out 'on the town' - Bantry is a very picturesque harbour town. (Co. Cork has strict limitations on buildings. You won't see a tall building anywhere, even in Cork city itself.)

We met up with another cousin, for more tall stories and laughter, and over the evening we visited four cosy pubs, each with fires blazing, including one that our father frequented when he visited the town, with my brothers and me tagging along sometimes. That pub used to have a hardware shop in the front and a bike shop at the back, so it was popular with country people in those old days.

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Next morning I left the house before dawn at 6:30 am and spent three hours exploring the town and harbour. Lucky for me, my sister Noreen, who stayed behind in Melbourne, gave me her long down coat. That coat was perfect for the journey. I wore normal clothes, and with that coat I was warm in 0 degree winter weather.

Since I was in no hurry, I stopped when I saw a horse grazing near a fence. I walked slowly up to him, and gently caught his attention. He was the softest, gentlest creature, and I went into a really lovely communication with him, there in the early dawn, neither of us in a hurry.

Later that day we went to our father's grave to bury a large portion of the ashes, at The Abbey, overlooking Bantry Bay. This is a large O'Sullivan family plot. Our father died in 1978 RIP.

Sophia arranged to take us up to the old family farm, which was sold to Con and Nell McSweeney long ago. They still live there. Their daughter Rose, a veterinarian, manages it now and loves farming. It is a real model farm, set on the crest of the hill - with extensive views across the valleys all the way into Bantry Bay. Rose allowed Paul to take my sisters in her 4x4 to the back of the farm to see the ancient forts, which I'd seen in earlier years. I wanted to stay behind to have tea with Sophia and Nell. Nell is an extraordinary woman, age 75, and full of mystery. I could have stared at her for days! She had THE most piercing eyes. Her movements were crisp and sharp, and she revealed a penetrating sense of humour. I don't know if I will ever be able to reconstruct the extraordinary perspective of her observations and conversational slant!

Following that visit, we went to our old house down in the village, Pearsons Bridge, where Dan was born. Our father built the house (he made the cement bricks too!).

By the time he'd finished building, there were 5 children (with another two to come).
After we moved there, he decided to go back to America, because, to quote him,
"There is too little for too many and too much for too few." He was an equestrian horse trainer, and couldn't make a go of it in Ireland, so he went back to the United States and supported us from there until we all moved to San Francisco when I was 12.

So, the two youngest, Dan and Viva, were born in that house, on the banks of the Ouvane river swollen with trout and salmon, flowing under the bridge at Pearsons Bridge. We loved playing in that river in the summer time. We sprinkled more of Dan's ashes over the bridge, and then went back toward Bantry, to the mouth of the river, at Ballilickey, where the Ouvane meets Bantry Bay and the Atlantic ocean, and there we sprinkled the last of Dan's ashes, into the wind and the water.

Next morning, as I left the house at 8:30 am, I heard someone call my name! Richard O'Sullivan aka Dicky Pok, had heard we were in town, and he came looking for us! He searched Bantry for a rental car, found ours, and sat outside until someone emerged from the house. Lucky it was me, because I sat at the the same desk with him at the National School in Kealkil. He reminded me that just before we left the school to go to America, our teacher Master Vaughan lined us up and every student in the school shook our hand to wish us well on our journey to America. Richard has wonderful smiling eyes and a great memory for recitation. He and his wife have 8 children. They run their farm near Kealkil, at Ahilmore, and own a house in Bantry so their children can attend school more easily. He bemoaned disheartening EU restrictions and regulations on farmers in Ireland, but acknowledged the support farmers receive in compensation.

All of these significant reunions with so many members of our extended family happened because of Daniel. I still see his smiling face before me and I can hear his chuckle. I see him playing the saxophone. He was a truly gifted musician. Beloved Daniel was the heart of our family. He entertained us all of his life. He was completely dedicated to his music and his poetry. I have a large case of his writings to go through as time goes on. He was a very private person, with absolutely no interest in entering public life other than to play his music. He was always focused on his inner life, expressed in his music and writings. And I know he loved his friends, because they all loved him so dearly, and we all will miss him very much.

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