A grief-stricken woman read out a powerful and poignant poem she penned in tribute to her tragic sister who recently died from coronavirus.
Dorothy Duffy's moving words led to Liveline presenter Joe Duffy's voice momentarily quivering with emotion as he thanked her for sharing it.
Rose Mitchell died on April 4 from Covid-19 and Dorothy subsequently wrote the beautiful poem, which was read out on radio in the UK during the weekend.
Dorothy, who grew up in Ballina, Co Mayo, said Rose or 'Billy' as she was called by her family emigrated to England aged 18.
Rose started out training as a nurse in St Charles' Hospital in London and she got married at 26 and had four children, "which were her absolute, total life."
Joe invited Dorothy, who also emigrated from Mayo to England as a young adult, to read the poem and he was full of emotion after the touching recital.
He said: "What your poem does is remind us that behind every figure is a sister, a brother, a father, a son, it's just horrific."
"It's quietly powerful.
"That was so moving, I really appreciate you sharing that with us and I really appreciate you having the courage to actually read it out at this time."
Dorothy, who explained the family nickname Billy, added: "My mother was originally from Belfast and she gave birth to Rose, who was the second youngest, in Belfast on the eve of King Billy's [William or Orange's] birthday so she that it was apt."
The extraordinary poem and tribute to Rose, who died in a nursing home in England, was read out on BBC Radio 4 during the weekend and listeners flocked to stream it.
'My sister is not a statistic'
Tomorrow, when the deathometer of Covid is announced in sonorous tones.
While all the time the bodies still mount and curl towards the middle of the curve, my sister will be among those numbers.
Among the throwaway lines, among the platitudes and lowered eyes, an older person with underlying health conditions. A pitiful way to lay rest the bare bones of a life.
My sister is not a statistic.
Her underlying conditions were love, kindness, belief in the essential goodness of mankind, uproarious laughter.
Forgiveness, compassion, a storyteller, a survivor, a comforter, a force of nature and so much more.
My sister is not a statistic.
She died without the soft touch of a loved one’s hand, without a feathered kiss upon her forehead, without the muted murmur of familiar family voices gathered round her bed.
Without the gentle roar of laughter that comes with memories recalled, evoked from a time that already seems distant, when we were connected
by the simplicity of touch, of voice, of voice, of presence.
My sister is not a statistic.
She was a woman who spanned the seven ages, a mother, grandmother, a great-grandmother, a sister, a friend, an aunt, a carer, a giver.
My sister is not a statistic.
They are not statistics on the deathometer of Covid, they are the wives, mothers, children, fathers, sisters, brothers, the layers of all our loved ones.
If she could, believe me when I say, she would hold every last one of your loved ones, croon to and comfort them and say ‘you were loved’.
Whilst we that have been left behind mourn deep, the loss, the injustice, the rage, one day we will smile and laugh again.
We will remember with the joy that once we shared a life, we shared love, we knew joy and survived sadness.
You are my sister and I love you.
