“Hey, Melanie. The two of us should go to Lisdoonvarna. What do you think?”
Staring at the text from Sinéad O’Connor, I gave a little giggle. Sinéad never ceased to surprise, but suggesting that the two of us should go to the famous matchmaking festival in Ireland was unexpected.
“You’re not serious, are you?” I texted back. “Dead serious,” she responded.
“Sinéad, I can’t imagine anything more fun than taking a road trip with you, but how on earth can the two of us go to Lisdoonvarna without ending on the front of every newspaper in Ireland?” I asked. My partner Gerry Ryan’s death 18 months earlier had catapulted me on to the front page of newspapers, making it difficult to go anywhere without being recognised.
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Sinéad, however, couldn’t care less. In typical Sinéad style, she responded that the only thing that would upset her was if a man told the press that she wasn’t good in bed. “Come on, let’s go get us some hairy Irish fellas,” she insisted.
To say that Sinéad was a global superstar would be an understatement. Yet, she never got caught in the trappings of stardom. She remained humble and self-deprecating. Above all, she remained compassionate and caring.
In the days before Gerry died, they were in constant contact – sharing personal and political concerns. She lovingly supported him as he relayed his personal problems. After Gerry’s death, even though we had never met, she reached out to me several times, encouraging me to remain strong amid the hurricane of media stories. “Remember, today’s newspapers line the cat litter tray tomorrow,” she would say. “Let them write what they want. Who cares?”
I’m sure Sinéad did care what people said about her (who doesn’t), but it never stopped her from living her truth fearlessly. It was this courage as much as her music that captured the hearts of millions around the world and why I so admired her.
When radio executives asked her to change her look to be “more conventionally beautiful”, she shaved her head. Despite being raised Catholic, she famously tore up a picture of the Pope during an appearance on Saturday Night Live, in protest of the abuse in the Catholic Church. She held strong political views (joining Sinn Féin) and eventually converted to Islam.
I’m sure she knew the uproar her actions would cause, yet she used the global platform she inhabited to raise issues that were important to her and thus had an impact on the lives of people around the globe.
However, the world can be a cruel place for a beautiful, gentle and fragile soul like Sinéad. Her difficult and traumatic early childhood must have played a big role in her lifelong battle with mental health challenges – something she spoke about openly. Being a public figure, her breakdowns often played out on social media or in the mainstream press, which always struck me as particularly cruel.
There is a recording of a very young Sinéad performing Thank You for Hearing Me. In this live recording she almost whispers what sounds more like a lament: “Thank you for hearing me, thank you for loving me, thank you for holding me.” Perhaps this was all she really wanted – and never got – in life.
Yet, time and time again she bravely fought her way back to balance.
Then 18 months ago her beloved son, Shane, died. Who will ever forget her desperate pleas to him on social media to return to her safely? Of course, it was not to be.
In her final social media posting she referred to Shane’s death. “Been living as undead night creature since. He was the love of my life, the lamp of my soul,” she wrote.
Now her lamp has gone dark.
Sinéad and I never did get to Lisdoonvarna together. I didn’t have the courage, so she went on her own – defiant, as always, of a world that wanted to prescribe to her how to behave.
May you finally rest in peace, Sinéad. The world will forever be a poorer place without your brilliance because ultimately we all know that nothing can ever compare to you.
