My husband, Harry, was born and raised in Illinois, but his heart belonged to Ireland. “I’m one-hundred percent Irish!” he liked to say. His grandparents on both sides were natives of the Emerald Isle, and Harry knew all the old stories about their homeland: Irish saints, scholars, artists and statesmen—Harry loved them all.
When Harry was hospitalized for heart complications, the staff heard all about his Celtic heritage. “He talked about his Irish roots until the end,” the night nurse told me after his death.
The day of Harry’s funeral, God gave us Irish weather: dark and rainy. Except for one stunning moment. During the church service, when the congregation started to sing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,” the sun came out bright and clear. Its rays shined through the stained glass window, directly onto Harry’s casket.
As the congregation finished the tune, the sun went back behind the clouds. Harry’s Irish eyes were smiling down on us from heaven.
Watch and listen as the Irish Tenors sing "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling."
