“Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got a hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.” – George Bernard Shaw
Words to describe Peg Murphy Hanagan: Grace, strength, humility, kindness, and above all else, love.
Two months ago, I asked my mother to articulate the main message of her life.
Her words:
“We are here to love everyone, and especially to be close to family. It’s so important and so easy to get disconnected. You have to put the effort in. And your family can grow.
Love is unlimited. It takes precedence over everything else.
Knowing you are loved by someone and that you love that person is so important. That kind of love saves us. To do that, you must have devotion, in a practical sense.
Your father wasn’t easy. Sometimes we needed a break from each other. I always knew I was the love of his life, and he was the love of mine. He still is. I talk with him all the time.”
And she did. We all knew she had a direct line to the other side, even as she was so grounded in the here and now.
I’d like to say to my sisters and brother, and my children and nieces and nephews and grandson Jack and grand-niece Lily—- that having a mother, a nana, and a great grandmother like ours leaves us with quite a responsibility to do something good in the world, and to share the love.
Peg Hanagan made of her life one long beautiful prayer. She taught everyone close to her, which were many, the power of pure intention laced with love—which is a prayer by anyone’s definition.
From my mother I learned the power of devotion grounded in fulfillment—how to be true to one’s self while loving others fiercely.
She taught me to set my course, and especially when things got difficult, to choose to make something out of my suffering and not to waste it in self-pity, but to turn it into something that could help someone else—wisdom and compassion.
She had so much wisdom, that stemmed from one of her amazing superpowers. She was a master of acceptance….of what was, of people, of all that life brought her. This gave her a tremendous life force and what seemed like endless vitality, because she didn’t waste her energy complaining or regretting or wishing something was different than it was.
The day before she died, she said to me, “I have lived a wonderful life, and I wouldn’t change a minute of it. I have no bitterness toward anyone, and if they have any toward me, that’s their problem.”
She had great boundaries!
She could turn lemons into lemonade better than anyone I knew.
She knew how to make love multiply. Her family is the proof of that, and it is ever growing.
This past year Mom actually wrote a book—the story of her life, from growing up with a father in vaudeville, losing her brother Billie in World War II, then living through the Great Depression. And Henry. Her beloved Henry, my wild card Dad who became a better man because of her. She had quite a few things to say about him, and they were all good.
She wrote about memories that belonged only to her, and she went about the task of sharing her stories with such earnestness and joy, as she did everything in her life. This is a treasure for all of us, and it will be done soon.
I asked her a few days ago what she wants to share at this last chapter of her long and beautiful life.
To quote:
“I have lived a long life and learned a lot of lessons. The first one is that people and life are not perfect, and we will be disappointed many times.
The second is that we are going to have to make choices. We can choose to be angry and resentful which is more destructive to you than the person you’re angry with. Chances are they have moved on.
Third we have to choose what kind of a person we want to be. Power and wealth are particularly hard to handle. You can choose it to control people or help them. Always choose to help people.
Mind you, Christianity has 10 commandments, and Buddhism the 4 noble truths and the 8-fold path, but my mom said it all in 3 simple, practical truths. She didn’t waste words. She spoke from the heart.
Before the final rounds of morphine allowing her to ease into the next life with more peace, she had a few more things to say:
“Even in everyday life, we can feel sorry for ourselves and be miserable or we can be grateful for what we have and choose to do an act of kindness. Maybe it’s just stopping to say hello to someone or making a call to a friend or relative you haven’t been in touch with for a long time. It is the small every-day things we do not for praise and recognition but from our heart, that really matter.
I have made many mistakes as everyone does. It’s important that we don’t dwell on our mistakes, but learn from them and move on. It is my faith and prayers that have guided me through life. I always feel blessed!
I know the hearts of all my family members. They don’t need to be here if they cannot be, because we are always connected. I appreciate each and every one of you. I love you all from the bottom of my heart.”
Those with her to her last breath know that Peg Hanagan was a master of love. She never waivered from the steady, loving presence that she was.
The greatest honor we can give Peg Hanagan at this time is to remember, every day, that she has returned to the fountain of love from which she drew her love our whole lives, and from where she came. When we remember that, we can feel our love for her in our hearts, and continue to tap into that very same fountain. She showed us how to do it.
It doesn’t mean that we won’t sometimes feel a hollow ache in our chest or belly, as we think of going to Nahant and realizing she won’t be making chicken pot pie or fish chowder with corn, or be sitting at the kitchen table with us drinking tea as we absorb her stories and download her wisdom. And as soon as we feel that ache, we can remember who she still is, and how she is with us and lives on in us, and that we can talk with her as always, and know she hears what we are saying, and accepts us just as we are.
Soon there will be two benches at Dog Beach, right across from the house here in Nahant, where we can sit and be with her in a very special way. There is Dad’s bench that says, “A sunbeam to warm you,” and Mom’s bench that will say, “A sheltering angel to watch over you.”
It’s been a precious few days with my family, adjusting to the new normal of life without our mother and nana. I took a walk on the beach the day after she died, and had the thought that her life was one long beautiful prayer, so I wrote this in her honor:
One Long Beautiful Prayer
By Kathleen Hanagan
What does it take
To make of your life
One long beautiful prayer?
Grace, strength, humility, kindnes
And above all else love.
It takes a large measure of devotion
To knowing the darkness of life
As equal to the light.
And a practicality that transcends the ego
And knows what to do,
When
Why
For whom
And always lands on a deep knowing
That bestows a presence
And brings peace
To those in need.
Some say we stumble upon prayer-making
While others say it is born in us.
I say that my mother was a master
Not due to any striving
But because she chose love at every turn.
She made of her life one long beautiful prayer
Because it was the most natural way for her to live.
The legacy left by a master of love
Is to make of our own lives
Long and beautiful prayers
Of gratitude
Acceptance
Service
Whatever lifts us higher
To remember
The essential prayer
At the heart of our lives.
One of my favorite quotes is from George Bernard Shaw, and is the quote I would say embodies my mother’s life more than any other: We got the torch Mom. All of us. I know my family. And to honor you, each of us will pass on the love that is without end.
