JIM O'SHEA
Counselling Service

The only relief I really got was how well Mary seemed to be

coping, although she does not fully agree that she was coping

well. I feel, nevertheless, that she greatly understates her

distress in her journal. She noted how she felt three months

after his death:

I have to say that I don’t feel as desperate as I used to. It

has got a little easier, although it’s still painful. I would

like to mention here things I did to try and heal myself.

I go to town a fair bit. I visit a neighbour a few times a

week. I also joined a voluntary organisation, but only

when I felt ready to do so. I play badminton a lot.

We had very kind friends on our badminton team. They were

a good-humoured lot, and did their best to cheer us up.

Badminton requires a lot of concentration, and this

momentarily diverted us from our sorrow. We were also

aware that one of the women on the badminton team had

lost her brother in a cruel accident five years earlier. She lived

quite near us and was a member of one of the bereaved

families mentioned earlier. We felt that she understood.

Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas

I looked longingly at the happy faces of the children and

their parents, and sadly at the pain-filled faces of Mary and

Deirdre. I felt I had to get away from this happy scene. I did

not envy those fortunate parents, but their merriment and

enjoyment only increased my sense of loss.

Still, we did not give up in our effort to find some kind of

normality, or to escape momentarily from our grief. One of

our neighbours asked us to go to Killarney for a few days. But

the lovely scenery there was no more successful in clearing

our sorrowful mood than the Glen of Aherlow had been. I

felt utterly miserable as I drove through scenery that would

normally have lifted my spirits. I just wanted to be at home,

where I could be myself, and where I could go to my room

and cry. I often went to Cathal’s room to vent my sorrow

alone. This was once Frances’s room, and when she left home

there were times when I went there and wept at losing her to

America. But this was different. I knew that Frances was alive

and would occasionally return. Cathal would never come

back. Now we were left with an empty room. It would always

be a reminder.

Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas

There was no discernable escape from our sadness during

the first year. We made every effort to cope as best we could

and began to go out more in an effort to distract ourselves

from our pain. One Sunday we decided to go to the Glen of

Aherlow with its beautiful scenery. We sat on the wall

overlooking the valley, and gazed at the lovely Galtee

Mountains towering over the patchwork of green fields. But,

our hearts were heavy. Even this small element of enjoyment

eluded us. I felt a dull ache in my heart as I drove to the

Aherlow House Hotel. There was a large crowd of children

there who had received First Holy Communion. They were

dressed in their new clothes, and reminded me of how happy

Cathal was on the day he made his First Communion. He

had a lovely new suit, and looked so innocent as we took

some photographs on the lawn of the presbytery.

Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas

Dotty’s heart was failing, and we took her to the vet hoping

that something might be done. The vet, however, advised that

she be put asleep. Bill was only four when we got Dotty, and,

like the rest of the family, has a great love of animals. He came

to town with us that evening, but did not come to the vet.

Unfortunately, we met him on our way home coming out

of Rossa Street, a small narrow street on which Thurles

Christian Brothers School is located. We stopped, and he

came to the car and looked in the window. He saw that Dotty

was not with us, and guessed that she had been put down. I

felt heartbroken at the look of sadness on his face as he

turned and walked away.

Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas

I am an avid reader, but in that first month I was unable

to read. I have never read fiction since. I always loved fiction

before our tragedy, but the reality of death was so brutal and

so absolute that I find it difficult to enjoy fiction to this day.

Reality is what matters to me. But, I began looking at

television within the first few months. For me, the television

was company. It was like a friend. Most importantly it did not

require effort. I was so exhausted from the expending of

nervous energy and stress, and the effort to do my work, that

it was a relief just to sit and watch. As well as that I found

myself absorbed in whatever programme I was watching, and

this gave me relief from the pain.

One of the saddest memories I have was the death of our

cocker spaniel, Dotty, shortly after Cathal died. The sadness

stems from the connection with Cathal. Both were the same

age. I remember bringing her home when Cathal was an

infant. We had a small red mini-van at the time, and all our

children were in the back cuddling their new black pup, and

minding their new baby brother. Little did we think that our

dog would outlive our new child.

Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas

Around this time I felt that it would be appropriate to put

together an album of photographs of Cathal. I gathered over

seventy photographs, and found it unbearable to look at

them. They brought my child to life again, but only on paper.

The first photograph shows him as a baby in his little white

seat. He has a lovely smile in that photograph and it broke my

heart to look at it. Beside that is a photo of our baby up on

the table with Bill, sitting on a pile of my Ph.D. notes. Mary

typed my Ph.D. dissertation on an old manual typewriter,

and she used to put Cathal sitting in his white chair on the

table so that she could mind him. The album shows Cathal

dressed in his many funny outfits, wearing masks, playing a

guitar (tennis racket), dressed in his cowboy boots, making

funny faces, getting his First Communion, getting

Confirmation, and showing off his new suit. I have only

looked at this album a few times, and each time it is difficult

for me to endure it. We put up some photographs of Cathal

around the house, and I often found myself staring at them,

and still disbelieving that this is all I had left of my child.

Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas

I had also forgotten that I had applied to examine the oral

Irish for the Leaving Certificate, which was held about a

month after Cathal’s death. I was shocked when I got the

letter of appointment from the Department, and I worried

about Bill doing the examination so soon after the death of

his brother. I wrote a note to the examiner explaining what

had happened, and asking that he should not ask Bill

questions about his family. I realise now that I should never

have allowed Bill to sit that examination, nor should I have

proceeded to examine students myself. I should have

contacted the Department of Education, and asked to be

excused. It was not altogether professional to embark upon

examining students in my frame of mind. The school

designated to me was the Christian Brothers School,

Portlaoise. I mentioned to the principal that my son had been

killed the previous month. As principal, he was rightly more

concerned about the welfare of his pupils than about my

plight, and as I was examining one of the students he arrived

in the room and sat and listened, as he was entitled to do. I

understood, but I was enraged that he should have thought

that I was unable to do my job! He seemed to be satisfied, and

despite my pain I successfully examined over one hundred

students.

Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas

Blogged to here 8 April 2013

I began to experience somatic symptoms from the stress of

my bereavement. The skin peeled off my hands, and one

evening at tea I felt a tightening of my chest. I was convinced

that I was going to have a heart attack. I could feel my breath

shortening. I went to my doctor, who was profoundly

sympathetic, and who had visited us on one occasion to

comfort us and felt some relief when she explained that this

had nothing to do with my heart, but was simply a tightening

of the muscles due to stress.

My memory was badly affected. I had to make lists to

remind me of what I needed to do. There were many times

when I was making my way to Thurles, which is only two

miles away, that I had to stop the car and try to remember

where I was going, and why I was going there. It was

dangerous for me to drive in that first month. I had never

realised that grief could affect anyone like this. On several

occasions I had some near misses on the road. I remember

one evening coming home from my uncle’s house, and

unthinkingly crossed the main road as a car was coming

towards me.

Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas

The first public reminder we had of Cathal’s death was the

month’s mind. I found it hard to believe that a full month

had passed. The intensity of the pain of loss had not

subsided. I made arrangements for the month’s mind with

my disbelief as strong as ever. I listened to the priest’s

introductory words, ‘this Mass is the month’s mind Mass for

the repose of the soul of Cathal O’Shea, The Furze’, with

dread. I was aware of being in the public view again and felt

self-conscious and ill at ease. I could hear Mary silently

sobbing beside us. It was an ordeal for me. But it was the first

milestone on my journey of grief, the first anniversary of

several more to come within the next twelve months. At each

one I always tried to see how far I had advanced on the road

to recovery. They were like signposts of progress. Going to the

grave after that Mass had a special significance. One month

dead. Still desolate. Four families on this back road had lost

children before Cathal was killed. The only two boys in one

of these families had died; one of them was killed just above

our house. I felt that they would understand how I was

feeling. I asked some of them how long this pain would last.

They looked pessimistic, and never really answered me.

When I talked recently to Mary about the intensity of

the pain in 1990and my wish that it would ease, she said that

she did not have such thoughts. She simply suffered on in

silence.

Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas