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Anthony McIntyre  ⚑ Amongst those who died in 2025 and obituarised on TPQ was my sister, Lori. 

Alfie Gallagher
Yet the death that floored me, the one that was most emotionally upsetting, the most difficult to come to terms with was that of my closest of friends, Alfie Gallagher.

Almost a year on I am still drawn like a moth to the flame by intensely sad memories of Alfie's passing. It remains raw, the mental sutures keeping the wound in place fragile. In time the weal will lose its angry red hue and fade, leaving only a scar that will blend in with the rest of the psyche. I guess what people put into our lives is measured by the depth of the loss we feel when they depart. A vacuum has been created which will take a long time to fill.

Alfie and myself go back about fifteen years. He began commenting on TPQ under a pen name, always courteously. After a while he acquired the confidence to reveal his identity and gradually began to open up about the trauma in his life. Alfie had suffered depression from a young age. He was diagnosed as having a number of psychiatric illnesses.

When he explained to me that he would be going into St Patrick's in Dublin I told him I was in the city many times each week and would drop in on him. It was an act that would develop into a habit. Every year or almost, Alfie would be readmitted or would have an appointment with his medical team. Whether an outpatient or on the wards, I would head off to see him. If he was an inpatient our forays into O'Connell Street or one of the near-by coffee shops would see our tipple of choice, whiskey or beer, replaced by flat white for him, a cappuccino for me. 

Alfie introduced me to the wide range of teas he would indulge in, bringing me into one of the speciality shops he visited in Dublin to study the blends. The last time he was in hospital was towards the end of 2024. On this occasion at a branch of St Patrick's out at Lucan. Each week would see me head out. The first time we sat and drank coffee on site as he did not have a pass to be off the hospital grounds. After that it was the local pub in Lucan where we would sip Guinness zero zero and solve the problems of the world. I never looked on visiting Alfie as a chore, something that had to be dutifully done. I loved visiting him. It was sheer joy. Our exchanges in the hospital were often about matters like domestic politics, the Palestinian question, Trump, Boston College, Intelligent Design inter alia. 

Many years ago he came and stayed with us in Drogheda. Brilliant at maths he soon had the children mastering the homework challenges which frustrated me. More often I would jump on the train at Connolly and make the three hour plus journey up Ballymote in Sligo where Alfie lived on the family farm. I came to know his nearest and dearest, Frank, Kate, Paddy, Jenny, Katie, Seany and Rosie. Before he went on the dry, we would sip whiskey into the small hours, discussing the problems of the world. Alfie had his own blog, Left From The West. His knowledge of international and current affairs was huge and he had an insatiable appetite first for learning, and then communicating what he learned to those around him. There was little that Alfie did not have insight into. In the farmhouse kitchen his mother Kate would ask him to sing towards the evening's end. He had a great voice that amazed me.


Over the decade and a half that was our friendship we did so many things together that it would take a book to detail them all. There is so much to recall and as much that has been forgotten. Going to soccer matches in Sligo to watch the Drogs play the Rovers, eating out in Pizza restaurants, shopping in either Dublin or Sligo, drinking in the pubs of both, visiting the grave of William Butler Yeats, the intense exchanges . . . Alfie could be intense to the point of fixation. If a problem could not be solved it didn't stop him from trying to find the solution. So much comes flooding back. 

One of my enduring memories of Alfie was our talks on the phone. I would leave the house with the dog and immediately ring him. Along the Boyne we debated whatever was under the sun, even beyond. Two hours later as I approached the front door on my return journey I would tell him it was time to hang up. Alfie was focused, fastidious, fascinating - never boring. That Boyne river walk is one that I have never made since.

Alfie was a kindred spirit, although there was no detectable spiritual side to him. Like myself he was a physicalist, believing that what the laws of physics had not already explained at some point they might. Nothing else would. Ask Alfie about science and he would come up with the answers or well informed opinions. Biology, chemistry, physics, Alfie was super sharp.

He had often spoken to me about how his life would end, by his own hand. Equipped with an inbuilt bullshit detector there was no point in trying to bluff Alfie. Besides, he deserved better. I was philosophical and rational in our exchanges about death. His illness left him feeling life was a curse rather than a gift. His main concern was that his life did not end prior to the lives of his parents. He felt his siblings would cope but not his mother and father. I had asked him if the moment arrived when he made the decision to leave us that he contact me first. On the Thursday before he died I took a call from him as I was rushing to catch a train to Drumcondra for coffee with my daughter. He told me he had a problem. I explained that I was about to hop on a DART and would catch him at some point over the weekend. Long conversations with Alfie tended to help him overcome whatever difficulties he experienced. I thought no more of it, saw no reason to be concerned. Whatever was worrying him could be addressed on the weekend walk and talk. It was a moment that never came to pass. Alfie passed before the call was made.

On Sunday morning I took the most difficult call from his mother informing me that Alfie had taken his own life. She was heartbroken, I was shocked to the core of my being. My fatalism did little to protect me. The enormity and finality of his decision was so suffocating I flailed around in search of understanding. But deep inside I did understand. This gentle soul had been through enough. That he ended his life before his parents had passed, coupled with the fact that he had not rang to inform me of his decision, led me to feel that the pressure became unbearable and he opened the only pressure release valve he could reach. 


For a while I felt he might not have reached out to me as he did not want talked down from the ledge. Now I am no longer so sure, feeling more that the burden of life could no longer be sustained. There was no ledge to talk him down from. The leap had been made.

The journey to Ballymote for his funeral was subdued. Accompanied by my son and daughter, small talk came in small portions. Gazing upon him as he lay in the coffin, the word 'why' crossed my mind. But it was redundant. I knew why.

The following day we made our way to the local cemetery. As they laid Alfie into the ground I held my gaze firmly on his coffin until it sank out of view. Alfie had gone, forever, and with it a part of me.

Yet he left his mark. The joy, love, knowledge, friendship that he transfused into the lives of so many others is where Alfie continues to reside. No longer alive, there are many who feel much more alive because of him.

Eternal Dreamless Sleep, Alfie.

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Alfie Gallagher

Anthony McIntyre  ⚑ Amongst those who died in 2025 and obituarised on TPQ was my sister, Lori. 

Alfie Gallagher
Yet the death that floored me, the one that was most emotionally upsetting, the most difficult to come to terms with was that of my closest of friends, Alfie Gallagher.

Almost a year on I am still drawn like a moth to the flame by intensely sad memories of Alfie's passing. It remains raw, the mental sutures keeping the wound in place fragile. In time the weal will lose its angry red hue and fade, leaving only a scar that will blend in with the rest of the psyche. I guess what people put into our lives is measured by the depth of the loss we feel when they depart. A vacuum has been created which will take a long time to fill.

Alfie and myself go back about fifteen years. He began commenting on TPQ under a pen name, always courteously. After a while he acquired the confidence to reveal his identity and gradually began to open up about the trauma in his life. Alfie had suffered depression from a young age. He was diagnosed as having a number of psychiatric illnesses.

When he explained to me that he would be going into St Patrick's in Dublin I told him I was in the city many times each week and would drop in on him. It was an act that would develop into a habit. Every year or almost, Alfie would be readmitted or would have an appointment with his medical team. Whether an outpatient or on the wards, I would head off to see him. If he was an inpatient our forays into O'Connell Street or one of the near-by coffee shops would see our tipple of choice, whiskey or beer, replaced by flat white for him, a cappuccino for me. 

Alfie introduced me to the wide range of teas he would indulge in, bringing me into one of the speciality shops he visited in Dublin to study the blends. The last time he was in hospital was towards the end of 2024. On this occasion at a branch of St Patrick's out at Lucan. Each week would see me head out. The first time we sat and drank coffee on site as he did not have a pass to be off the hospital grounds. After that it was the local pub in Lucan where we would sip Guinness zero zero and solve the problems of the world. I never looked on visiting Alfie as a chore, something that had to be dutifully done. I loved visiting him. It was sheer joy. Our exchanges in the hospital were often about matters like domestic politics, the Palestinian question, Trump, Boston College, Intelligent Design inter alia. 

Many years ago he came and stayed with us in Drogheda. Brilliant at maths he soon had the children mastering the homework challenges which frustrated me. More often I would jump on the train at Connolly and make the three hour plus journey up Ballymote in Sligo where Alfie lived on the family farm. I came to know his nearest and dearest, Frank, Kate, Paddy, Jenny, Katie, Seany and Rosie. Before he went on the dry, we would sip whiskey into the small hours, discussing the problems of the world. Alfie had his own blog, Left From The West. His knowledge of international and current affairs was huge and he had an insatiable appetite first for learning, and then communicating what he learned to those around him. There was little that Alfie did not have insight into. In the farmhouse kitchen his mother Kate would ask him to sing towards the evening's end. He had a great voice that amazed me.


Over the decade and a half that was our friendship we did so many things together that it would take a book to detail them all. There is so much to recall and as much that has been forgotten. Going to soccer matches in Sligo to watch the Drogs play the Rovers, eating out in Pizza restaurants, shopping in either Dublin or Sligo, drinking in the pubs of both, visiting the grave of William Butler Yeats, the intense exchanges . . . Alfie could be intense to the point of fixation. If a problem could not be solved it didn't stop him from trying to find the solution. So much comes flooding back. 

One of my enduring memories of Alfie was our talks on the phone. I would leave the house with the dog and immediately ring him. Along the Boyne we debated whatever was under the sun, even beyond. Two hours later as I approached the front door on my return journey I would tell him it was time to hang up. Alfie was focused, fastidious, fascinating - never boring. That Boyne river walk is one that I have never made since.

Alfie was a kindred spirit, although there was no detectable spiritual side to him. Like myself he was a physicalist, believing that what the laws of physics had not already explained at some point they might. Nothing else would. Ask Alfie about science and he would come up with the answers or well informed opinions. Biology, chemistry, physics, Alfie was super sharp.

He had often spoken to me about how his life would end, by his own hand. Equipped with an inbuilt bullshit detector there was no point in trying to bluff Alfie. Besides, he deserved better. I was philosophical and rational in our exchanges about death. His illness left him feeling life was a curse rather than a gift. His main concern was that his life did not end prior to the lives of his parents. He felt his siblings would cope but not his mother and father. I had asked him if the moment arrived when he made the decision to leave us that he contact me first. On the Thursday before he died I took a call from him as I was rushing to catch a train to Drumcondra for coffee with my daughter. He told me he had a problem. I explained that I was about to hop on a DART and would catch him at some point over the weekend. Long conversations with Alfie tended to help him overcome whatever difficulties he experienced. I thought no more of it, saw no reason to be concerned. Whatever was worrying him could be addressed on the weekend walk and talk. It was a moment that never came to pass. Alfie passed before the call was made.

On Sunday morning I took the most difficult call from his mother informing me that Alfie had taken his own life. She was heartbroken, I was shocked to the core of my being. My fatalism did little to protect me. The enormity and finality of his decision was so suffocating I flailed around in search of understanding. But deep inside I did understand. This gentle soul had been through enough. That he ended his life before his parents had passed, coupled with the fact that he had not rang to inform me of his decision, led me to feel that the pressure became unbearable and he opened the only pressure release valve he could reach. 


For a while I felt he might not have reached out to me as he did not want talked down from the ledge. Now I am no longer so sure, feeling more that the burden of life could no longer be sustained. There was no ledge to talk him down from. The leap had been made.

The journey to Ballymote for his funeral was subdued. Accompanied by my son and daughter, small talk came in small portions. Gazing upon him as he lay in the coffin, the word 'why' crossed my mind. But it was redundant. I knew why.

The following day we made our way to the local cemetery. As they laid Alfie into the ground I held my gaze firmly on his coffin until it sank out of view. Alfie had gone, forever, and with it a part of me.

Yet he left his mark. The joy, love, knowledge, friendship that he transfused into the lives of so many others is where Alfie continues to reside. No longer alive, there are many who feel much more alive because of him.

Eternal Dreamless Sleep, Alfie.

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Anthony McIntyre Obituary

2 comments:

  1. Simon11:47 PM, January 10, 2026

    A heartfelt and appropriate eulogy for an undoubtedly brilliant, fun and loving man. I didn't know Alfie except for interaction on the Quill and he was indeed always courteous in every comment.

    I felt your grief from reading this. I'm very sorry your friend has died. A tragic loss for so many. May all who knew him find solace in remembering him.

    ReplyDelete

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