On Sunday, 21 May, almost a year to the day since his funeral, Michael Hulman’s friends gathered in Café Kilbride to celebrate his memory. Michael was a gifted musician and engaging raconteur, so we toasted his memory in tune and song, and, it has to be said, we lifted many a glass of wine or beer.
Michael died too young. But then the good often do.
His grave lies now beneath the larch tree, just as you enter the graveyard, on your right. A plain stone has a brass plate mounted upon it, bearing the bare facts of Michael’s life and untimely death from natural causes.
Just like Michael, the little monument is unobtrusive, dignified, understated. Comments in Friends of Kilbride’s visitor book reflect the regard, indeed love, that he engendered among those who knew him best.
There were tears, of course there were. The talented array of musicians played tunes that plucked at the heart strings, hearts already heavy with the loss of our friend. But then Michael’s own words surfaced in our minds, words he recorded on video. He’d had a happy life. He’d loved his music and the friends that his talent drew around him. He stated clearly that he felt he’d lived a full and fulfilling life.
So we took up “the parting glass” and played and sang the hours away, In memory of our friend.
Gute Nacht, Michael.
Liam Griffin. Friends of Kilbride.