I read this book while in Ireland. Found it at the dingle book shop and gave it a try. It captivated me and I enjoyed reading every minute of it, especially while in Ireland amongst the sea air, blooming heather and rolling green hills. It talks about how gorgeous county Kerry is. I’ve been staying in west Kerry (Donquin) this whole trip and have to agree. I loved the bits of wisdom found in this story. 💕 Be bold, be brave, what have you got to lose? Don’t let the past steal your future potential. Take the first step to new possibilities and potentially a new you. Be grateful for every minute given to you and to those you love. Bitterness, anger, jealousy, comparison will only steal your happiness. I immensely related to the grief of a lost parent. Loved the various timelines and characters. I couldn’t put it down. Not a revolutionary story by any means but a simple and enchanting tale, tastefully done, and a mystery to hold your interest. Throw in some craic of Irish humor and a sweet love story- I’m sold. Highly recommend!
Favorite Quotes:
you can’t plough a field by turning it in your mind
The deceased? A ribbon wound itself around Libby’s heart, and from somewhere deep within, familiar pain burbled. She’d felt it thousands of times over the years: on Father’s Day, the anniversary of his death, the times friends bemoaned frustrating moments with their dads as though having a dad wasn’t by itself joyful enough.
If we can’t help one another now and again, then what’s it all about?
She wondered what it might be like to fall in love, be swept away, and pine for another human, knowing that it was only when you were with them once again that your heart could possibly be full.
‘You’re far too young to be living in the past.’ It was true, of course, though sometimes she felt she resided nowhere else.
‘You know what they say? Cold feet, warm heart.’
‘Marcus was only sixteen when he left for France, but he’d aged decades three years later. War does that, steals the years, steals futures.’
‘knowing your own mind is said to be the solution to all your problems.’
‘I’ve been here for . . . for . . . for ever!’ He bit his lip, tilting his head to the side. ‘Well, when God made time, he made plenty of it.’
‘Didn’t you know? We Irish are immune to bad luck.’
‘Well. May your . . . health always be like the capital of Ireland.’ ‘Sorry?’ ‘Always Dublin.’
We all make mistakes, which means,’ he conceded, ‘we should all have the capacity for forgiveness, me included. Because holding onto bitterness, jealousy, anger, it’s like . . . buying poison intended for another, then drinking it yourself. And what sort of madman,’ he added, ‘would ever do that?’
‘My father always said: forgetting a debt doesn’t mean it’s paid.’
It seems silly, doesn’t it, that we spend all this time in life not saying things to people that we should, and then it’s too late? We think there will always be time.
But grief didn’t discriminate, Libby had come to learn. No matter how little, or how well, you knew someone, when they’re gone they’re gone, and the sorrow that lingers for years also stems from the future that might have been.
When God made time, he made plenty of it.
That itself was a trick of time, which some people thought to be linear. A ridiculous notion. Time looped and turned out and back on itself, a shifting, slippery thing.
‘Keep hoping,’ he’d said. ‘Hope isn’t rationed, you know.’
to know that, as the years passed, something vital was missing, never a day going by when you didn’t wonder what might have been.
You can be proud of what you do. Be brave.’
‘I lost him,’ she said. It always felt silly putting it that way. Lost him. As if she’d merely misplaced him, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He had been with her, nestled in her memory where no one could take him away.
And all the while, he’d listened, seeming to understand, and she felt a sense that something inside her was rebuilding, a structure that would not cover the old, but would add to it, so that her history would be incorporated into the walls of something new.
happiness was the antidote to so many of life’s ills.
‘Everything that happens to us, everything we do, weaves into the future as though we’re sewing ourselves together with invisible threads.’
She was determined to cherish the parts of the past that deserved to be cherished –
but to let go of the feelings that had, for so long, held her back.