I have explained my involvement in the “Petals of Hope” project to many people over the past fifteen years. As I would start to talk, especially for those who live in Northern Ireland, their usual reaction would be to interrupt me, to tell me where they were when they heard about the bomb. Up to the present, several have shared their memory of that moment, some even recalling the finer details such as the clothes they were wearing or the location of others around them.
“When I heard about the bomb, I was in the caravan...” “When I heard about the bomb, I was in the garage...” “ When I heard about the bomb, I was going to my sisters...” “I was driving when I heard about the bomb...”
This listener would have no idea of the pattern of the opening responses. I have heard it so frequently, that I almost anticipate this reaction, allowing them the chance to tell me, as it shows their connection with the incident and how much of a shock it was for them.
Over this past eight months or so, when we have been back in Omagh working on the most recent phase of the experience, I’ve been conscious of a change in the response. Admittedly, I was quite taken aback the first few times I heard it.
“When I felt the bomb, I was in my friend’s house...” “When I felt the bomb, I was in the office...” “When I felt the bomb...”
This change from “hearing about the bomb” to “feeling the bomb” is significant as it indicates how widely the impact had stretched. The vibration of the destruction resounded far beyond the devastatingly physical impact on the immediate, right to the listener or the stranger who lived miles away. The immeasurable shock and pain stretched beyond those in this land. Their echo returned to Omagh in heartfelt sympathy and love, demonstrated in the sending of flowers, gentle words, prayers spoken. Without these, the “Petals of Hope, Ray’s of Light” could not have happened.
Malachi O’Doherty and I have been in Omagh, listening to conversations from various people who responded to our public invitation, as they where involved at one aspect or another of the original project. As you will hear when you listen to the stories, some left flowers, cleared them away as part of their council job, took part as a child or young person in the workshops as part of the arts project through their school or as a member of the Carrickmore sewing group, while others received pictures as bereaved families. We acknowledge that many, for their own reasons, have decided that their involvement now stays within those early days of 1998-99. This too, is fine. We respect your silence but all are invited to listen or read the collection of experiences.
One fundamental theme shines through both phases of this creative expression and may be the reason, if any, why this tactile process has worked. In a simple play technique, we mixed mulch and pulp with delicate flowers, into basins of water, piece by piece, practicing the ritual of rhythmic movement. This allowed us to find feeling from our hands to our hearts, as our heads tried or maybe stopped trying to make sense for a while.
By working alone or in small groups, in silence and humility, without questions, hope started to appear and like “a sea-change”, we were changed. The result has given a different sense of worth in this memorial.
One of the contributors describes Omagh as a “running sore” and there are those who still grieve and know great loss. Yet there has been much said about how the people of Omagh rallied together, supported and cared for each other, being gentle when they needed it and this capacity is still within their community.
I originally trained as weaver and naturally look for patterns in shapes and colours. There are many in these stories. Collectively, they display an array of sometimes darker shades, touching on extreme pain while others are more tactile: showing depth of dignity and humanity. Beauty is evident in all, including the most painful and it wasn’t our place to exclude them for this reason, it is more important to share them.
It continues to be an amazing privilege to be present along side some of those who were effected by such an atrocity. Your strength inspires me and has taught me much more than I can express.
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