While Kenyon offers an extensive list of choices to study abroad — a decision that can sometimes be complicated for students on the Hill — I was immediately confident in my abroad destination. I knew exactly where I wanted to go, or perhaps, where I needed to go: Ireland. Growing up, icons of Irish folklore were perched on my grandpa’s bookshelves, next to endless University of Notre Dame paraphernalia. To him, Kentucky, with its bluegrass, was our state, but Ireland would always be our family’s forever home. I listened gleefully to his stories as I dreamed of my ancestry and pictured the isle that would one day call me back. However, family dynamics are difficult, and as those dreams matured, my relationship with my grandfather started to fray. 

When I received my acceptance letter to the University College Cork last spring, I was excited that my aspirations were finally coming to fruition. Part of me thought I should call my grandpa and tell him I was finally going “home.” Unfortunately, my own stubbornness clouded my judgment, and I never made the call. A few months later, he died. 

As I spent the summer preparing for my time abroad, I found myself thinking about my grandpa a lot. I felt guilty. It seemed that the journey I had always dreamed of was actually going to be some sort of international grief counseling. Soon months became weeks, weeks became days, and days became hours until I was boarding my flight to Cork. I was ridden with anxiety and thought constantly about my grandpa. 

Within my first few days in Ireland, I saw the beauty he had once described to me as we sat together in his big leather chair and he told me Irish folktales I am not sure are actually true. Suddenly, I no longer felt angry at him, as I did for so many years. Instead, I felt a wave of relief and forgiveness toward him. It was like we were there together as I explored. 

I’ve now been in Ireland for over a month and I feel more connected to my grandpa than I have in years. I’ve been with him at the peaks of Ballycotton’s Cliff Walk, horseback riding through County Kerry and walking along the north side of the River Liffey in Dublin. During late nights, no matter how annoyed it might make me feel, I am with him among the chants and laughs of the pub dwellers. Fiddles and wooden flutes echo through traditional Irish bars and remind me of the strange songs he used to sing to me as a child.

Making my first month even more special, when I visited EPIC The Irish Emigration Museum in Dublin’s city center, I found my grandpa’s last name, “Bowling,” among an endless list of surnames. While the possibility that this exact entry relates to my family’s ancestry is slim, I have chosen to claim it, solidifying the sense of “home” I had always dreamed of. 

Now that my classes have begun, my time is mostly occupied by long seminars and readings, rather than grand adventures around the 26 counties of Ireland. Yet, I still feel connected to my grandpa. I know that when I return to Kenyon and end my tenure in Ireland, I will still feel everything I am feeling at this moment, and I will be closer to him than I ever was before.