JIM O'SHEA
Counselling Service

Breda’s journal records what that evening was like for her: 

We drifted to bed, eventually exhausted, after nothing

to eat, but not hungry at all. I lay in bed with Fran, in

my bed that I had shared for years with Cathal. I knew

that bed would be a terrible reminder from now on. We

used to lie in bed & talk into the night, keeping my

sister, Deirdre, awake. I told him everything about my

boyfriends, boys I liked, etc. It seems stupid but despite

his innocent ways he understood it all, & I knew that.

Deirdre would scream at us to keep quiet, & both of us

would have to climb under the bed clothes & smother

our giggles. He would lie awake waiting for me to come

in from a disco or from meeting my boyfriend.

It was the hardest night of my life. I lay there thinking

of the times I had fought with him over stupid things,

like when he had broken my expensive jewellery box

that some friends in Limerick had bought me. I was so

angry; I had to lock myself in my bedroom, after calling

him every name under the sun. Now I didn’t give a

damn, all my belongings could be broken. I just wanted

him back.

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

Mary was broken-hearted and overcome by the huge crowd,

and Breda had a roller coaster of negative emotions as she

struggled with the appalling reality that was so suddenly

handed to her:

We were swamped with people automatically shaking

our hands. All the time I was feeling alone. I didn’t need

anybody’s pity. I hated it, but I did wish my old

boyfriend was there. I needed him, but I couldn’t give in

to that fact. I was determined to do it by myself.

Our dejected departure from the Cathedral did not bring

much relief. We came home exhausted and withdrawn even

from each other. There was not sufficient energy to sustain

us, and we had to rely on our wider family for support. My

brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law did the best they could, but

they, too, were exhausted. I will always appreciate them for

their kindness. They continued to visit us and be with us for

a long time after Cathal’s death. My own parents did not

know what to do. As a young man, my father, who was the

eldest in the family, lost his seventeen-year-old sister, two

younger siblings and his mother when she was in her forties.

He looked so sad and so helpless. I remember him saying to

me that the pain would get less and less and eventually go

away. Many years before, my parents-in-law had lost two

children and no doubt were now coping with their own

renewed grief. At that time I would have loved to have had

brothers and sisters of my own; my own flesh and blood who

might understand my pain. But who can understand the pain

of a parent who has lost a child! It was a lonely time, and that

loneliness continued for many years.

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

How often had I seen bereaved families in that front seat,

never realising that I would be there at such an early stage in

my life. It was unbelievable. Again a long queue of people

passed by sympathising. This is an important and necessary

part of the funeral ritual, symbolising the support of the local

community, and adding to the healing aspects of grief.

Deirdre, however, cannot recall any of the funeral service. For

her it ‘was like an out-of-body experience, as if I wasn’t really

present’. Neither can Frances remember anything about that

evening in the Cathedral. Bill was supported by his friends:

They distracted me. I was not accepting it. It was like a

break from reality. I actually laughed and joked some –

which is very strange now that I look back. I remember

not interacting much with my shattered family.

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

The crowd that awaited us was enormous. The whole area

around the Cathedral and the side streets were filled with

cars. It was almost like a match day. I wondered what was

going on in the town, and only slowly realised that this great

crowd was waiting for us. We were swamped with people as

we tried to make our way into the crammed Cathedral. The

First and Sixth year students of Thurles Christian Brothers

School formed a guard of honour as we made our way in, and

a great body of students added to the huge crowd in the

Cathedral. I felt greatly moved by the sea of grey uniforms.

We made our way slowly up the main aisle, and took our

place in the front seat, opposite the coffin.

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

Frances, still hysterical, refused to budge:

When the undertaker came to take Cathal, I would not

leave. I was outraged that he was being taken – our boy.

I wanted to be alone with him now that the public was

gone. The other members of my family dutifully left

when asked. But I stayed. I screamed something at the

undertaker. My uncle Pat finally removed me.

Death took us by the hand, and we emerged from the funeral

room, and slowly made our way through the large crowd. I

remember the narrow path as people stood sombrely in a

long line on either side. The hospital seemed to cast its huge

shadow over us as we made our way to our cars. Slowly we

followed the hearse the fifteen miles to the Cathedral of the

Assumption in Thurles. The family were in the front car, still

in disbelief that the body of their youngest member was being

carried in a coffin to repose in front of the magnificent altar

of the Cathedral. He was too young. This should not be.

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

I will never forget that moment. It was a potent reminder

of this unwelcome reality. I felt physically sick as the lid was

closed and stared in horror as the bolts tightened. I could feel

my anguish and my fear increase as I got the last glimpse of

my child. I felt so helpless. What could I do? How could I

bring him back? Is this real? We were all thinking the same

way. Insignificant humans, powerless to prevent death

claiming our child. Death had taken him, and the grave

would claim him. We could not prevent it. Breda wrote that

she was mentally screaming, ‘no way, I’m not going anywhere

& neither is he. How did anybody think they could take away

what was rightfully ours. He was our baby’. Deirdre also

found this moment unbearable, and recalls ‘wanting to stay

with him all of the time, not wanting to be taken away from

him. I remember the screams from all of us when they took

Cathal away, and we had to leave’.

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

Other members of our family wanted all this precious time

with Cathal to be for the family only. Frances records that

she was 

hysterical, just hysterical. I resented every single person

in that place that was not my immediate family. I felt

this should have been for us only. He was ours and we

needed that time alone with him. I wanted to tell them

all to get out. I remember the insane comments people

made by way of comfort to my mother: ‘God needed him’;

‘he’s a little angel now’; ‘sure he didn’t suffer.’

I could see that every comment cut my mother’s soul.

It was those who just cried with her that made any

difference at all. One of my best friends didn’t come to

the funeral or the wake. She said by way of explanation

that we were too emotional a family and she couldn’t

take the excess of grief she knew we would express.

It seemed like an eternity, but finally the long line of people

passing by ceased and the door was closed. Our family were

again alone with our child, and I felt the loneliness of losing

Cathal increase in the silence before the final prayers. I

listened sadly and incredulously to these prayers, and waited

for the coffin to be closed.

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

We all stacked our hands on his chest. I don’t

remember whose hand went first. But each of us

automatically planted one hand on the next. We were

declaring our unity as a family that would always include

Cathal. Somehow his chest felt hollow, as if it would

cave away. I couldn’t bear the signs that he had been

hurt. The blood compacted in his nostrils, the massive

bruising on his neck, behind his shirt collar, and, easily

imagined, down his entire back.

We took our seats and the doors were opened.

The death of a child is what bereavement

psychologists call a particularly enfranchised loss.

What that means is that it evokes widespread sympathy. And

so it was with us. A great number of people slowly made their

way into the room. It was very moving for me. Yet it was also

an ordeal. I was too devastated to really appreciate it until

many years had passed. I was trying to come to terms with

Cathal’s death and meet all these people. Some friends of my

childhood came to sympathise, and I found this very

emotional. Somehow my own childhood and that of my lost

child became entangled in my mind, as I met those childhood

friends long unseen.

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

I touched him – his skin was shockingly cold, like

marble; my brother, a cuddly, lively, warm little boy lying

here like an empty shell. I traced his face, the face I

loved, his eyelids, his forehead, lips, then his entwined

fingers & bloodless hands. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I just

needed to be with him. That’s the only feeling I had.

 Frances recollects how austere the hospital funeral home was: 

Cathal was not at a funeral home. He was in a very small

stone building on the hospital grounds. The building in

its austerity reminded me of a monk’s cell. There was

none of the comforts of a funeral home. And that

seemed fitting to me. His body had filled out since

I’d seen him the year before. I remember thinking that

he would have been strong and broad like my uncles.

The doctor told mammy how strong and well-cared for

he looked. That broke us even more. The needlessness.

The waste.

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

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.