I PRAYED SO FAST I COULDNT STOP OR AIDEN WOULD DIE I TOLD MYSELF
I prayed so fast... I couldn't stop or Aiden would die, I told myself
Cathy Gallagher, whose brother Aiden (right) died in the Real IRA attack, has rarely spoken publicly about her loss. With her father Michael spearheading the campaign for justice, she left him to speak on the family's behalf. But on the eve of the 10th anniversary, the 30-year-old gives her own candid account of the heartache and anger that has dominated her life after Omagh
"God handed me a pair of glasses that changed my view of the world forever. Until that day, I guess I lived with a false sense of security, how I wish I still did. At 20-years-old my carefree life was about to come to an abrupt end. Little was I to know, not only was I about to lose a brother, but in turn I would lose my whole family in some form or another.
On that morning, I spoke with Aiden. He was in his bed sleeping off the night before, with jeans and shirt still on, I knew it must have been a good night.
I stood at the foot of his bed brushing my teeth noisily, trying to wake him. He grunted and settled down for his second sleep so with my cue to leave I headed into town. I never imagined that this would be the last time I'd ever see Aiden. I relive that moment in my head. Trying to preserve every last artefact, it's all I have left now.
I was in our family kitchen when the bomb exploded. The glass in the windows shook and I felt for sure that every window in the house had broken.
Mum rushed into the room in a panic. She told me it was a bomb. I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and watched as a black puff of smoke encircled the town.
I was speechless. I switched on the TV for a newsflash. It wasn't long before reports started coming through, followed by the death toll. I turned it off and placed a white candle on the window. Dad was waiting at the leisure centre for news.
Family started arriving, my stomach was churning over and over. I felt so helpless, all I could do was pray, and that I did. I locked myself in the bathroom and kneeling at the edge of the bath, I prayed so fast and furious that I was getting muddled. I couldn't stop or Aiden would die, I told myself, so I prayed harder and harder until I was exhausted. I bargained with God and made promises to Aiden, silly things like, I would clean his room, iron his shirts and make him snacks. Sadly this wasn't to be.
As the night turned into morning, the house resembled a wake with almost every seat taken. I felt claustrophobic, like I wanted to scream or hide. I had all sorts of emotions running through my veins.
As the clock ticked on, I heard the front door open. I sat at the kitchen breakfast table looking into the hallway. My legs where buckling from under me with sheer fear of what I might be told. I'd gladly wait another 14 hours to hear the news I did.
My mother was in the hall with her eyes fixated in the direction of the front door. Daddy walked down to meet her and without a word opened his arms and cradled her tightly. His face was pale and tear stained. Gripping each other, they wept like children.
It's a hard thing to watch your parents in a state of agony like this. They stood for what felt like hours. This could not be happening.
I felt overcome by anger, I had waited so long for so little, I was angry with God, with Aiden, with everything. So many things were racing through my head, I wanted to know where Aiden was now, who was with him when he died, did he just lay there on the street on his own with no family to look after him, did he suffer, was he killed instantly?
He was so strong at 6ft 3ins, why couldn't he handle the blast? My head was wrecked with so many questions. As I looked at the cups piled on the worktop I felt a surge of rage to swipe them on to the floor. The next few days would come and go as a blur, like a zombie. I couldn't sleep, eat or even change my clothes.
I wanted time to stand still, how could I face the future knowing Aiden couldn't. It just seemed unfair. I felt guilty when I ate the foods he loved, I couldn't watch the TV shows we enjoyed together and I was afraid to smile in case people thought I had forgotten about him. I was living in a turmoil.
I was like a caged animal, frustrated, confused and angry. I still didn't believe he was dead. I even convinced myself that he never existed, at times I couldn't even remember what he looked like. As though I was watching a movie, I was disconnected to what was happening around me.
I've often asked myself, if it is better to be the victim or the survivor?
As my father began his campaign, with Omagh Support and Self-Help Group, we as a family were fully supportive. We certainly couldn't have predicted the lead role he would take, never a public speaker, this would take quite a bit of getting used too. More often than most, Dad could be found in raggy oily clothes with a blackened face and hands, to see him wear a suit was something of a novelty.
Many judge the man, on the short interviews they watch or read. Not always the serious, solemn character they see, but in fact he is one of the most humourous people I know.
The Omagh Support and Self-Help Group's work often proved controversial. Outspoken and inquisitive, it wasn't long before the group became unpopular in many circles. Without any real grasp of the group's purpose, many see it as a sore in the side of a society trying to bury its failings. Resentment, jealousy and bigotry were to follow.
Many victims' groups actually believed the Omagh families received favoured treatment by the Northern Ireland Office, when nothing could be further from the truth.
We struggled and still struggle to get recognition and respect from our elected representatives, local council and communities. Sympathies are quick to fade and it's 'move on' time - 'Bear your loss and get on with your life'.
Campaigning will not bring Aiden back, but it just may well save the life of your brother, son, mother, sister or father from being the next victim. Perhaps Aiden would still be alive today if we stopped accepting our losses so graciously. We are a group of honest, heartbroken people who don't want anyone else to go through a similar experience and for that we are often ridiculed and despised.
But it isn't all doom and gloom, there are some decent, genuine people who have humbled us with messages of support, and for that we continue. Family life never returned to life as before the bomb, in fact, life is now considered in two phases, before the bomb and after the bomb. Two very different lives, two very different people.
Aiden's death has had a profound effect on both my parents. Already overprotective, it accelerated them into suffocation mode. Every time my sister or I left the house they thought we weren't coming back. We were a dysfunctional family living with extra abnormal circumstances and it wasn't long before my sister (Sharon) couldn't handle the pressure anymore. She severed her relationship between my parents and I over four years ago, ending all contact without a substantial explanation.
Living in Omagh was difficult, as my father would say. I would rather spell the word than say it. How could I live in a town that profited so well from the death of my brother. It was eating me up inside and so I had to move.
The Omagh community spirit I read so much about in newspaper articles never existed for me. It was a cruel, cold atmosphere that resented victims' families from getting so much as a pair of new shoes for fear it was compensation received from the bomb.
Speculation and rumour-hungry scavengers feasted on every available shred of our lives. Everything about the town had turned rotten. Sympathy, funding, grants and donations were handed out like sweeties to Omagh's clubs and organisations.
Businesses wanted their cut from the action too, with the 'give a day to Omagh' gimmick, encouraging shoppers into the town. But even more distasteful than that, if you could believe, events were run for self profit under the pretence that it was for the Omagh Victims.
It seems, the Omagh bomb was an easy bandwagon to jump on, and all the while, the district council felt it appropriate to contribute a tiny patch of grass as a memorial garden for the victims' families to mourn their dead. Only after considerable pressure from the support group was a fitting memorial commissioned.
Ten years on, and emotions still run high. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about Aiden or speak his name. I am married now and have a husband and son who will never know their brother-in-law or uncle.
I'll always yearn for the days when everything felt normal but I have accepted that it will never be. Aiden has been stolen from my life and I will never let the thieves forget it.
*As told to David Young
Cathy Gallagher, whose brother Aiden (right) died in the Real IRA attack, has rarely spoken publicly about her loss. With her father Michael spearheading the campaign for justice, she left him to speak on the family's behalf. But on the eve of the 10th anniversary, the 30-year-old gives her own candid account of the heartache and anger that has dominated her life after Omagh
"God handed me a pair of glasses that changed my view of the world forever. Until that day, I guess I lived with a false sense of security, how I wish I still did. At 20-years-old my carefree life was about to come to an abrupt end. Little was I to know, not only was I about to lose a brother, but in turn I would lose my whole family in some form or another.
On that morning, I spoke with Aiden. He was in his bed sleeping off the night before, with jeans and shirt still on, I knew it must have been a good night.
I stood at the foot of his bed brushing my teeth noisily, trying to wake him. He grunted and settled down for his second sleep so with my cue to leave I headed into town. I never imagined that this would be the last time I'd ever see Aiden. I relive that moment in my head. Trying to preserve every last artefact, it's all I have left now.
I was in our family kitchen when the bomb exploded. The glass in the windows shook and I felt for sure that every window in the house had broken.
Mum rushed into the room in a panic. She told me it was a bomb. I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and watched as a black puff of smoke encircled the town.
I was speechless. I switched on the TV for a newsflash. It wasn't long before reports started coming through, followed by the death toll. I turned it off and placed a white candle on the window. Dad was waiting at the leisure centre for news.
Family started arriving, my stomach was churning over and over. I felt so helpless, all I could do was pray, and that I did. I locked myself in the bathroom and kneeling at the edge of the bath, I prayed so fast and furious that I was getting muddled. I couldn't stop or Aiden would die, I told myself, so I prayed harder and harder until I was exhausted. I bargained with God and made promises to Aiden, silly things like, I would clean his room, iron his shirts and make him snacks. Sadly this wasn't to be.
As the night turned into morning, the house resembled a wake with almost every seat taken. I felt claustrophobic, like I wanted to scream or hide. I had all sorts of emotions running through my veins.
As the clock ticked on, I heard the front door open. I sat at the kitchen breakfast table looking into the hallway. My legs where buckling from under me with sheer fear of what I might be told. I'd gladly wait another 14 hours to hear the news I did.
My mother was in the hall with her eyes fixated in the direction of the front door. Daddy walked down to meet her and without a word opened his arms and cradled her tightly. His face was pale and tear stained. Gripping each other, they wept like children.
It's a hard thing to watch your parents in a state of agony like this. They stood for what felt like hours. This could not be happening.
I felt overcome by anger, I had waited so long for so little, I was angry with God, with Aiden, with everything. So many things were racing through my head, I wanted to know where Aiden was now, who was with him when he died, did he just lay there on the street on his own with no family to look after him, did he suffer, was he killed instantly?
He was so strong at 6ft 3ins, why couldn't he handle the blast? My head was wrecked with so many questions. As I looked at the cups piled on the worktop I felt a surge of rage to swipe them on to the floor. The next few days would come and go as a blur, like a zombie. I couldn't sleep, eat or even change my clothes.
I wanted time to stand still, how could I face the future knowing Aiden couldn't. It just seemed unfair. I felt guilty when I ate the foods he loved, I couldn't watch the TV shows we enjoyed together and I was afraid to smile in case people thought I had forgotten about him. I was living in a turmoil.
I was like a caged animal, frustrated, confused and angry. I still didn't believe he was dead. I even convinced myself that he never existed, at times I couldn't even remember what he looked like. As though I was watching a movie, I was disconnected to what was happening around me.
I've often asked myself, if it is better to be the victim or the survivor?
As my father began his campaign, with Omagh Support and Self-Help Group, we as a family were fully supportive. We certainly couldn't have predicted the lead role he would take, never a public speaker, this would take quite a bit of getting used too. More often than most, Dad could be found in raggy oily clothes with a blackened face and hands, to see him wear a suit was something of a novelty.
Many judge the man, on the short interviews they watch or read. Not always the serious, solemn character they see, but in fact he is one of the most humourous people I know.
The Omagh Support and Self-Help Group's work often proved controversial. Outspoken and inquisitive, it wasn't long before the group became unpopular in many circles. Without any real grasp of the group's purpose, many see it as a sore in the side of a society trying to bury its failings. Resentment, jealousy and bigotry were to follow.
Many victims' groups actually believed the Omagh families received favoured treatment by the Northern Ireland Office, when nothing could be further from the truth.
We struggled and still struggle to get recognition and respect from our elected representatives, local council and communities. Sympathies are quick to fade and it's 'move on' time - 'Bear your loss and get on with your life'.
Campaigning will not bring Aiden back, but it just may well save the life of your brother, son, mother, sister or father from being the next victim. Perhaps Aiden would still be alive today if we stopped accepting our losses so graciously. We are a group of honest, heartbroken people who don't want anyone else to go through a similar experience and for that we are often ridiculed and despised.
But it isn't all doom and gloom, there are some decent, genuine people who have humbled us with messages of support, and for that we continue. Family life never returned to life as before the bomb, in fact, life is now considered in two phases, before the bomb and after the bomb. Two very different lives, two very different people.
Aiden's death has had a profound effect on both my parents. Already overprotective, it accelerated them into suffocation mode. Every time my sister or I left the house they thought we weren't coming back. We were a dysfunctional family living with extra abnormal circumstances and it wasn't long before my sister (Sharon) couldn't handle the pressure anymore. She severed her relationship between my parents and I over four years ago, ending all contact without a substantial explanation.
Living in Omagh was difficult, as my father would say. I would rather spell the word than say it. How could I live in a town that profited so well from the death of my brother. It was eating me up inside and so I had to move.
The Omagh community spirit I read so much about in newspaper articles never existed for me. It was a cruel, cold atmosphere that resented victims' families from getting so much as a pair of new shoes for fear it was compensation received from the bomb.
Speculation and rumour-hungry scavengers feasted on every available shred of our lives. Everything about the town had turned rotten. Sympathy, funding, grants and donations were handed out like sweeties to Omagh's clubs and organisations.
Businesses wanted their cut from the action too, with the 'give a day to Omagh' gimmick, encouraging shoppers into the town. But even more distasteful than that, if you could believe, events were run for self profit under the pretence that it was for the Omagh Victims.
It seems, the Omagh bomb was an easy bandwagon to jump on, and all the while, the district council felt it appropriate to contribute a tiny patch of grass as a memorial garden for the victims' families to mourn their dead. Only after considerable pressure from the support group was a fitting memorial commissioned.
Ten years on, and emotions still run high. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about Aiden or speak his name. I am married now and have a husband and son who will never know their brother-in-law or uncle.
I'll always yearn for the days when everything felt normal but I have accepted that it will never be. Aiden has been stolen from my life and I will never let the thieves forget it.
*As told to David Young
Further Information
Publisher: BELFAST TELEGRAPH
Ref: BT10An/20
Published Date: 14-Aug-08
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