It was a small, almost hidden message that captured the essence of Aoife Shelly’s life. In the hospital, while her family kept vigil at her bedside, an alarm went off on her phone. When they reached for it to silence the alarm, they found a note in her notifications: “10pm: Time for Prayer.”
In the midst of devastating sadness, this quiet reminder revealed something profound about the young woman they loved — that beneath her bright smile, her sporting prowess, her musical gifts, and her quick wit, Aoife was a woman of deep, lived faith.
I did not know Aoife personally, but her grandfather Tom is from our parish. The outpouring of grief and love from all who knew her has moved me, and countless others, to offer a tribute to her life — especially during these Easter days, the great Christian season of hope beyond death.
Aoife Shelly was just 21 years old when she died suddenly on the 30th of March, but in her short life she had already made an extraordinary impact. Friends, teammates, teachers, students, neighbours — all spoke of her energy, her kindness, her fierce loyalty, her quick humour, and her quiet leadership.
In sport, she excelled at camogie and football, not just through skill but through a spirit that inspired others. She was a true teammate — always encouraging, always lifting those around her. Her sense of humour was legendary too. One story captures it perfectly: a four-year-old boy wandered into the shop where Aoife worked and said he was looking for a job. Without missing a beat, Aoife handed him a toothbrush and told him she needed the floor swept!
In her studies to become a teacher, Aoife had already made her mark. Those who worked alongside her said she was born for the role — naturally gifted with a sense of how to reach young people, to encourage, to believe in them.
Her funeral Mass at Clonakenny Church Co. Tipperary was a heartbreakingly beautiful celebration — full of sorrow, but also full of light. Her uncle, Fr. Eamonn, who had flown home from the United States, celebrated the Mass. A family friend, Fr. Pat Fogarty, gave the homily, speaking with the warmth of someone who truly knew and loved Aoife. It was a funeral unlike any other: soaked in grief, yes, but also overflowing with faith and Easter hope.
Fr Eamonn shared another poignant memory. Coming into the little church in Clonakenny while Aoife was in hospital, he noticed candles lit around a small stool near the back. Only later did he realise that this was the stool where Aoife had often sat when she sang with the choir at Mass — another quiet testament to how naturally her faith was woven into her life.
Symbols of Aoife’s life were brought forward during the Mass — a sports jersey, a musical instrument, Taylor Swift tickets, a set of schoolbooks, her rosary beads. Her 14-year-old brother Eoghan movingly explained the meaning of each. Aoife’s grandmother Ann sang the Psalm in Irish, her voice filling the church with beauty and sorrow. At the end, Aoife’s parents, Joe and Clare, stood with incredible courage to speak of their daughter — painting a picture of a life full of laughter, love, faith, and friendship.
Easter teaches us that even in the darkest hours, life is not ended, only changed. Aoife’s passing is a terrible sorrow. But her light has not gone out. It lives on — in her family, her friends, her students, and the communities she blessed by her presence.
As we continue to celebrate Easter, may we remember Aoife’s quiet reminder to pray, to love, to live life with courage and laughter. She has entered now into the life that has no end.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a hanam dílis.
Fruits of The Holy Spirit
I have to make a confession. Following the election of our new Pope Leo XIV I took great comfort that for the next few years at least, the most prominent American in the world will not be the President of the United States! Thank you, Holy Spirit, for your sense of humour.
Maybe not from Pope Francis…
Following Pope Francis’ death, the following piece went viral and it was attributed to the late Holy Father. Some dispute the origin of the piece but nonetheless it is a moving tribute to our hospitals and those who work in them:
The walls of hospitals have heard more honest prayers than churches…
They have witnessed far more sincere kisses than those in airports…
It is in hospitals that you see a homophobe being saved by a gay doctor.
A privileged doctor saving the life of a beggar…
In intensive care, you see a Jew taking care of a racist…
A police officer and a prisoner in the same room receiving the same care…
A wealthy patient waiting for a liver transplant, ready to receive the organ from a poor donor…
It is in these moments, when the hospital touches the wounds of people, that different worlds intersect according to a divine design. And in this communion of destinies, we realize that alone, we are nothing.
The absolute truth of people, most of the time, only reveals itself in moments of pain or in the real threat of an irreversible loss…