Dear Sinéad

A letter to the Irish singer of rebel songs that wishes her what she gave me—the gift of calm, and peace, and understanding, and belonging.

Sinéad O’Connor (1966-2023) with her son Shane (2004-2022)

By Michael Judge

Dear Sinéad,

I woke this morning to the news of your death, just 18 months after your 17-year-old son Shane passed away, and immediately heard your voice alongside Shane MacGowan’s—ethereal meets guttural, like the horizon, that place where the heavens touch earth—in your duet “Haunted”:

Do you remember that sunny day
Somewhere in London
In the middle of nowhere
Didn’t have nothing to do that day
Didn’t wanna do nothing anyway

You got a way of walking
You got a way of talking
And there’s something about you
And now I know I never ever
Wanna be without you

I wanna be haunted by the ghost
I wanna be haunted by the ghost
I wanna be haunted by the ghost
I wanna be haunted by the ghost
Of your precious love
Of your precious love…

Listening to the song now, as I’m writing, I realize the truth in your voice—wounded, angry, loving, tender, damning, forgiving—is the voice of my youth.