There is no reflection this week, I’m sorry, I haven’t the heart to go through Fr Dominic’s “Holy” books to find something suitable, so please allow me the indulgence of a few words of my own. I know that Fr Dominic’s death has come as a shock to many of you; I have been treading a fine line between keeping you updated and maintaining Dominic and his family’s privacy, so I’m sorry if you feel I have been keeping something back.
I saw Dominic last Sunday in hospital, I showed him some pictures from the International Lunch , he was able to identify everyone on the photos and, despite being very frail and tired, he was able to engage and we laughed about something or other. He was so pleased that the event was going on without him and that things were continuing in the parish. He always said that this was your parish, not his, and his legacy will be how we move on, preserving the events & campaigns that he set up and so embraced.
Today is Prisoners Sunday, Dominic loved our Presents for Prisoner’s Children appeal, he loved the chaos of his front room, filled with presents and he got in my way as he hopped from one pile to another, whilst I tried to sort them out, telling me, “God is good, people are good”. Last year I went with him to Pentonville to the family day when the Dads in prison give their children the presents that we collect. We were shown into the family room where the families were sitting together, having lunch. Dominic arranged himself in a corner, chatting to those that wanted to speak to him, but happy to just watch. “We don’t intrude, this is their time”, he told me. PACT, the Prison Charity, who had arranged all this, asked us if we wanted to stay to see the presents being handed out, but after an hour or so we left. It was enough to know that the presents happened, he did not need to be there to see it.
Sometimes I used to get cross that he didn’t always get the formal recognition for things that he did, many things happened behind the scenes because of Dominic. I would tell him that it wasn’t right, he would just smile, “Ah feck it, it doesn’t matter, so long as these things happen. Who needs to know. Go on kid, make us a coffee. “
It was a privilege to make his coffee for 13 years.