Humans of Dublin Ireland - Stories of Care, Empathy & Love

I was nineteen when I started working weekends in a small café just off Grafton Street, the kind of place where tourists came in dripping rain from their coats and regulars knew…

I met Pat on a wet Tuesday morning in Phibsborough, the kind of morning when Dublin seems to be made entirely of bus spray, grey sky, and people pretending they are not…

I met Nurse Bríd on a Tuesday morning in the Mater, the kind of wet Dublin morning where everyone arrives carrying rain on their shoulders. My father had been admitted after a…

I put the first shelf outside our house in Phibsborough because I was lonely and too proud to say it out loud. It was the spring after my father died, and the…

I first met Martin on Christmas morning outside a parish hall near Smithfield, when the city still had that half-asleep look, all silver pavements and closed shutters. I had signed up to…

I first noticed him outside the Mater on a wet Friday in November, when the rain was coming down sideways over Eccles Street and everyone looked like they were carrying bad news…

My son turned eight on a wet Saturday in Stoneybatter, the sort of Dublin day where the rain seems to hang in the air rather than fall. We had balloons taped to…

Every Saturday morning, I bought two coffees from the same little café off Grafton Street. One flat white for me, one oat latte for my wife, Nora. The habit started when she…

I first noticed the bread on a Tuesday morning, when the city still looked half-asleep and the buses on Thomas Street were sighing at the kerb. I had been walking to a…