Uisce Beatha, literally - by Joy Redmond
Intro by Mary McGarry (see below for “Uisce Beatha, Literally” by Joy Redmond)
Growing up only minutes from the sea myself I am very familiar of the quiet power if the Irish Sea especially in winter. Cold, wild, and rugged, just to be present with the endless rhythum of the waves and the expanse of the horizon is grounding. For many, sea swimming is far more than a physical challenge, it is a form of healing. The shock of cold water on the body pulls the breath into the present moment, stills the noise of the mind, and offers a rare kind of reset. In those minutes of immersion, worries loosen their grip and grief, stress, and fatigue are held, if only briefly, by something much bigger than ourselves.
Just as important as the water itself is the community that gathers around it. Sea swimming draws people together in quiet understanding: friends who know when you need the sea before you do, strangers who become familiar faces on the shore, all carrying their own unseen burdens. There is comfort in this shared ritual - in standing side by side against wind and rain, in laughter, courage, and the warmth of a flask afterwards. The sea does not take our troubles away, but it reminds us that we are alive, connected, and capable of beginning again.
What follows is a deeply personal reflection on friendship, grief, and the raw, life-affirming power of entering the sea, a reminder that sometimes the best way to honour those we have lost is to feel fully alive ourselves.
Please enjoy reading this very touching piece of writing by my friend Joy who is a regular sea
swimmer, very talented writer, story teller and all round force of nature.
Uisce Beatha, literally
Written by Joy Redmond - September 4, 2017
It’s good to have friends that know you.
Friends that don’t humour you by a greeing to come to your boring hotel pool and jacuzzi but instead go ahead and plan an open water swim in the WhatsApp group despite the howling winds and lashing rain.
Friends that know, before you know, that you’ll never turn down the chance of a sea swim because ‘you never regret it once you’re in’ and it’s exactly what you need.
Friends that smirk when your car pulls up just in time and tell you there’s a flask of black coffee for after even though they usually take milk which you can’t stand.
We all stand in the dune sizing up the huge waves and the violent white horses and say ‘sure we’re wet already in the rain’.
The lifeguard battles the elements to forbid us to swim until she recognises us and says ‘Oh you lot, g’wan’.
And we’re off.
It’s so rough we have to choose our point of entry carefully so we’re not thrown up on the rocks.
Knee deep and it’s do or die, choosing between being knocked back or pulled in.
J is off and I follow, C still on the shore waiting for a lull and she’s under.
We exchange panicked looks until her coloured hat reappears and we three are bobbing and screaming and there’s no other place we’d rather be.
We’re being pulled, we’ve risked enough, it’s time to go back.
I’m nearly in and a 10 footer catches me in its surf and slam dunks me to the sea floor like a wet sponge.
There is no room for grief, only survival.
Then the sea is done with me, spits me out and throws me to land.
Perhaps the best way to remember our dead is to feel truly alive.
Daddy, R.I.P. 25/08/17
“The little things? The little moments?
They aren’t little.”