Last winter, a year after my husband died, I decided to take my first trip to Ireland, birthplace of my ancestors.

I don’t have many regrets in my life, but not finding a way to take my father, Edwin Concannon, to Ireland will always be at the top of my list. There were always reasons why I couldn’t do it — raising a child, financial, not enough vacation time, and then his health.

On my flight to Shannon Airport, while many people were sleeping on the plane, I had my nose pressed to the window like a child, taking it all in. As the plane began to descend, I took out the picture of my father, which I had in a clear protective sheet, and held it up to the window. I knew it would be emotional for me. As I got closer and my view of Ireland became clearer, I began to cry.

Growing up, my father would tell me and my sister, Eva, all about the history of Ireland. Because of him, even as a young child, I was very proud of my Irish heritage. He told me how proud and strong in spirit the Irish are while always keeping faith and hope.

He played his Irish records on his old Victrola and Eva and I would march proudly behind him throughout our railroad apartment in Guttenberg as we giggled. I waited for “I’ll Take You Home Again Kathleen” to come on, knowing he would sing it to me and tell me again how he named me after that song.

Watching him as he sang along to “Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral,” a song of a mother’s love so strong, tears would form in his eyes and I too felt his sadness over the loss of his mother, Bessie Creegan Concannon, who died giving birth to his brother when he was 3, leaving him orphaned in New York City. Many times he told me, “Maybe one day you’ll go to the town where she was born.” At the time it never occurred to me that I might.

Thanks to a series of coincidences and magical chance encounters, I did.

As I held up my father’s picture that morning on my flight to Ireland, I noticed on the back side I had placed the 1885 birth record of his Aunt Anne — his mother’s sister. He’d had it for many years. I took this with me, as an afterthought, to honor her.

Although my father, who died in 2001, and his four siblings were never able to visit Ireland, they repeated the stories their mother and Aunt Anne told them about where they came from. All four of my grandparents’ ancestors came from the west and northwest of Ireland, but Bessie was the only one who was born in Ireland, in the village of Cloone in County Leitrim.

One night from my hotel in Galway, I Googled the church in Cloone where his Aunt Anne was baptized and was surprised to see what I thought was the tower from the church still standing. I asked my niece, who had accompanied me to Ireland, if she would mind taking a ride there with me the next day. Many people tried to talk us out of it, explaining how difficult it is for people not familiar with driving on the left side of the road to navigate narrow, rural roads. We were without GPS, and what believed to be a two-hour trip took us at least four.

I had no expectation other than to see the tower and touch the church doors, which were still there. After many stops for directions, we made it there just as the sun was setting. We took a few pictures and I got to touch the church doors. We walked through the small cemetery and saw the Creegan name on many headstones. I was beyond excited to feel this connection and know that my father’s family walked on the same ground.

As we were getting into the car to head back for the long drive to Galway, I happened to look across the street to the only pub in town. The sign was in Gaelic, but it resembled “Creegan,” I told my niece. I walked in and the only person in the pub was the owner, Tommy Creegan. I joked that maybe we were cousins, and he rang his sister, Dolores Creegan, on the phone, who came right over.

She took one look at me and said: “Oh yes, you’re a Creegan Red. You’re ours.”

She invited us back to her house, and on the walk there I kept whispering to my niece: “I love her.”

As we entered her beautiful, warm home, she threw holy water on us, a ritual blessing, several times. She took Aunt Anne’s birth record and looked through her own paperwork as I watched. I began to pray that she was related to me because I felt an instant connection with her and wanted to see her again.

After several minutes of flipping through pages, she turned to me and threw her hands in the air and exclaimed that we were related: Her grandfather and my great-grandfather were first cousins and best friends.  My niece quickly took a photo as I cried and hugged Dolores.

Having so few family members growing up and then losing my mother, sister, father and husband, all before their time, I’d suddenly found new family members I didn’t even know I had. Yet, I felt as though I’d know them my whole life. I felt an immediate kinship with them. I felt like I belonged. I had the intuitive feeling of predestination — I was fulfilled.

On the plane home, a man sitting next to me asked me if I had family there and again, I cried when I answered, “Yes, I do.” After I returned home, I received an email from yet another relative, who said her mother, Mossi, who is 85 years old, actually knew some of my father’s family members.

She said that the next time I was in Ireland, Mossi would take me to their old homestead. I flew back with my daughter, Kelly, a few months later.

Mossi met us and gave me a file of old papers all about my family. As promised, she took me to my family’s old homestead. Standing on the land where my great-grandparents and grandmother Bessie lived and played gave me a deep connection to Ireland and an even deeper bond and connection to the father I adored. I wished I could share this with him and I wished he could see me there.

I gathered up some stones, and when I returned home I placed them on his grave in Fort Lee. This got me wondering where Bessie was buried. I didn’t know where any of my grandparents were laid to rest. I found a note from 1933 that Anne wrote stating that she just purchased a plot in a cemetery in The Bronx where her sister is buried. I went there three times trying to find her.

On my fourth trip to the cemetery, a caretaker met me and he finally found her.

Poor Bessie was in an unmarked grave since 1933. All around her were beautiful headstones and flowers left on graves — symbols of love and respect. I felt terrible for her. I walked across the street and bought her a beautiful headstone as grand as the others. I added shamrocks — lots of shamrocks.

As I walked into the office to straighten all of the paperwork out, the woman behind the desk told me Bessie was buried with her sister Anne. How wonderful that I found her too — after all, it was her birth record that led me to Cloone in the first place.

As I turned to leave, the woman said: “There’s room for one more in there, you know.” I turned and told her to save it for me. I walked back to the headstone shop and added Anne’s name along with mine. Bessie never knew a grandchild and I never knew a grandmother, yet we were connected by her little boy — my father. I thought that would be a nice way to honor my father, Bessie, Anne and the rest of my father’s siblings.

My heart was pulling me back to Ireland and my newfound family there. I flew back on New Year’s Eve, which happened to be the two-year anniversary of my husband’s death. I was able to obtain Bessie’s original birth record from Dublin and I can now apply for dual citizenship. During this last visit, I purchased a home — the second home of my cousin Delores — in Aughavas, a village next to Cloone. Sometime in the future, I plan to move there.

In addition to the stunning beauty of County Leitrim, the people have been so welcoming. Wherever I go, they say: “Welcome home, Kathleen. You’re home now.”

I’ll carry the love my father gave me in my heart forever and I’ll continue to feel his gentle hand guiding my way.

As I hum the end of the song he sang to me so many times, I fondly recall the words:

“And I will take you back, Kathleen, to where your heart will feel no pain

And when the fields are fresh and green, I will take you to your home Kathleen.”


Kathleen Maloney is an administrative assistant with the Asbury Park Press:; 732-643-4500.  She is working on her first book "Twice Lost" -

Views: 1687

Tags: Leitrim, Opinion, Travel

Comment by Ryan O'Rourke on May 24, 2014 at 1:25pm

I agree with you, Jane ... a special collection of "homecoming" stories from members here would be tremendous.  Great idea.  We'll make it happen.

Comment by Tommy Dullaghan on May 24, 2014 at 11:51pm

Kathy, I know we talked about your story, but reading the words was very moving. I look forward to reading your book someday. I'm glad you and Jennifer had fun with us walking in the parade and I'm happy we met.. Be well , Tommy D

Comment by Maureen Theresa O'Connor on May 25, 2014 at 7:56am

Thanks Kathleen

I enjoyed your story, I hope (when my health is better) to get to Ireland too, I made contact with family a couple of years ago, so I will appreciate if I can get there just as much as you do, thanks again 


Comment by Roberta Foran on May 25, 2014 at 9:40am

This is a beautiful story, deeply moving, it made me cry! Thank you for sharing this homecoming with us.

Comment by Kathleen Concannon Maloney on May 26, 2014 at 8:22am

Thank you everyone! Tommy-great meeting you also and I loved marching in the parade, that was my first time doing it and the very best part for me was getting to wear the green sash-I didn't want to give it back! I look forward to reading your book one day as well.

Comment by Jean Sullivan Cardinal on May 26, 2014 at 12:04pm

What a wonderful story!  On my first trip to Ireland all I could think of was I wish I could have brought my parents.  Since then I have tracked down where both sets of Grandparents were born.  Next year my sisters and I are going to explore where they were born.  I hope I'm half as successful as you were.

Comment by bill keeler on May 29, 2014 at 7:17am

"i'll take you home again kathleen" INDEED!!!! THANK YOU FOR SHARING

Comment by Jean Sullivan Cardinal on May 29, 2014 at 1:48pm

One my first trip to Ireland all I could think of was I wish my parents were with me.  I have now tracked down where my 4 Grandparents are from and my sisters and I are planning a trip in 2015.  Can't wait to go back and see where my ancestors lived.

Comment by Patrick J. O'Leary on May 29, 2014 at 3:14pm

Wunnerful, Wunnerful !! Really outstanding !t is great reading stories like this with the background, search, travel, and eventual success in accomplishing the dream. You had a storybook  upbringing and ultimately,  beautiful discovery of family ties. Got real maudlin  reading your story. Well Done !!

Comment by DJ Kelly on May 30, 2014 at 12:03am

What a  lovely account, Kathleen. You've inspired me to write a blog about my own trip to my mother's Mayo village last year. Jane's idea of having a compendium (perhaps arranged by county?) of homecoming stories is a good one.


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