the Blue Dolphins Special Olympics Club wicklow
I remember Josephine once telling me that the club had moved their Sunday morning training sessions to Loughlinstown. She used to ask me to come along—not to watch the event, but so she could leave with me afterward. On the Sundays her mother wasn’t home, she didn’t want to return home on the club minibus. That’s why I was there—not as a spectator, but as someone she could count on to be at the gate when it was all over.
She did travel to training and other events on the club minibus. That part wasn’t the issue. It was the journey back that mattered to her—the awkward silence, the long detour, or maybe just the sense of loneliness she felt when surrounded by people she didn’t fully trust. She preferred to come home with me. It gave her a sense of comfort, of choice, of something normal.
But not every Sunday went as expected. A few times, the training sessions weren’t in Loughlinstown at all—they had been moved to Greystones. The problem was, no one in her family was told about the change ahead of time. Josephine would show up at the usual place, confused and anxious, or worse, find herself stranded somewhere unfamiliar. It was another reminder of how little consideration the club gave to the real-world needs of its members and their families.
There was even one event we were told would be in Irishtown. Josephine made her plans around that—but the event was actually held in Tallaght. By the time anyone realised the mistake, it was too late to fix. These weren’t just small errors. For someone like Josephine, they had real consequences—missed events, long journeys, confusion, and stress she didn’t deserve.
And then there were the Sundays I couldn’t make it. On those days, if her mother wasn’t around either, Josephine had no choice but to return to an empty house in Wicklow. Those were the days I worried most—when the club’s schedule and silence left her to figure things out alone, without the comfort of a familiar face waiting at the gate.