The funeral home was the most horrendous of all. It was
then that it hit me very hard that Cathal was not coming
back to us. He was lying in his uniform in the white
coffin, and I knew for certain that he was gone from us
for good, that there was no way we could get him back.
I felt immense grief and sadness. I remember the black
marks on his fingers from the accident. I recall how white
he was … and all of us crying uncontrollably.
Breda’s account recorded at the time shows the trauma of the
family as we clung together, and how the numbness
prevented her from crying:
The coffin lay open … I could see a bandage. I walked
closer & saw what will always be the worst moment of
my life: my brother Cathal, dead. I pictured him
sleeping beside me in my bed, I would sit & look at his
sweet innocent face … this was different. He was white,
colourless, his lips were bloodless but there was blood
around his mouth, his tiny nose was bruised & his
forehead a strange shape. But the worst of it was the
bandage; they had shaved his beautiful hair off, the hair
he was so proud of, which, despite all my dad’s stern
warnings, he refused to cut short.
Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas.
Tags: bereavement, death of a child, grief