JIM O'SHEA
Counselling Service

Breda wrote – After Mass all his little friends were coming up to us; it was
heartbreaking, it hurt so much. I’m sure my family felt
it badly. I was deep in shock & completely withdrawn
as we walked out behind the hearse. I wanted to
walk to the graveyard & my uncle Joe came too – a miserable twosome, but I couldn’t have survived without Joe. My mother’s family are unique. We finally reached
the grave & I just stood swaying, feeling as weak as a straw, staring into the hole that was his burial ground, his bed forever. They were lowering down the coffin slowly. I felt dead inside, like I was in a terrible trance.

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

My reverie was soon shattered by preparations for the removal

to St Patrick’s graveyard. Walking down the aisle after the coffin
was harrowing. I was afraid I would collapse. I wept uncontrollably,
all my anguish pouring out as I walked the final
steps of the journey that had started on Sunday 18th on the
road to the hospital. The beginning of the journey was one
of optimism and hope that my child was not badly injured;
the end was the stumbling footsteps of a grieving family
to the graveyard. Breda recorded what it was like for her:

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

One of the prayers in particular rang out with
an unnatural clarity, and seemed to transport me with the
soul of my child being led to Heaven by the angels:

May the angels lead you into paradise;

Maythe martyrs come to welcome you

And take you to the holy city,

The new and eternal Jerusalem.

May the choirs of angels welcome you

And lead you to the bosom of Abraham;

And where Lazarus is poor no longer

May you find eternal rest.

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

Breda was angry as well as shocked. It was inconceivable to her
that her brother was in a coffin before the altar. This was not fair:

The church was crowded. Two funerals – he couldn’t even
have one for himself. I hated being there. I thought I
would pass out, I felt so weak. The Mass was a blur; my Uncle
Joe & I clung together for support.

As for myself as his father,  I wanted the Mass to go on. The longer it lasted the longer I would be near my child. I did not want it to end at all. But it drew
to a close with the words, ‘The Mass is ended. Go in peace’.
But peace was something I did not know for a long time. The funeral rite that followed remains clear in my mind. I was drawn into it, experienced every word of a rite thatI had heard so often, but was never moved by it. But now it
had special significance. Every word meant something to my sensitised mind.

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

Bill recalls trying to be strong. That is how I remember him.
I did not see him as a teenager any longer. Mentally I was
somehow placing too much of a burden on him. Perhaps he sensed what I was thinking. He felt overawed by the great congregation,
and, like Deirdre, does not have many memories of that day: — I
think I was trying to be too strong. I remember wondering
how my family would survive this – especially Mam.
I did not think she would be able to get through this.
I honestly thought she would end up in Clonmel [the
psychiatric hospital]. I was thinking more about everyone
else than myself.

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

There was another coffin beside his. Another family in grief.
I felt a sense of anger that Cathal did not have this ceremony
for himself. I was also conscious of my family beside
me. I wished I could help them. Make this nightmare go
away. They were engrossed in their own thoughts. Surviving
in their own individual ways. Deirdre had strong physical
symptoms of distress throughout the Mass, and wrote
that she could not control the shaking in her legs. Mentally
she was still in shock and cannot recall anything about
the Mass or what went on.

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

On that morning surrounded by this vast congregation, I felt
utterly alone. As the priest recited the prayers of the Mass, which
I had heard so often, I stared at the coffin. I imagined Cathal
lying silently in the darkness of the coffin. I wanted to taste
the bitterness of loss. But how I would love to see the face
of my child again. To hear his voice. To see his mischievous
smile. To hear him play the flute, as he teased me that
he was a faster learner than I was. It would never be. I would
never see his face again, nor hear his voice. I felt a strong
desire to open the coffin and look on him; a kind of despairing
thought.

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

One of my past pupils, Gerard O’Brien, a wonderful singer,
and now a solicitor working in Thurles, rushed from Dublin
to prepare the students for the singing at the funeralMass.
I am still moved to tears when I hear the hymn Be Not Afraid.
It always reminds me of the sadness of losing Cathal.

Be not afraid,

I go before you always,

Come follow me,

And I will give you rest.

You shall cross the barren desert,

But you shall not die of thirst.

You shall wander far in safety,

Though you do not know the way.

You shall speak your words in foreign lands,

and all will understand.

You shall see the face of God and live.

With heightened senses every word entered my being. I felt

so lonely listening to its cadences. I pictured the barrenness and
the vastness of the desert; I felt the loneliness of this vast world
stretching far away into the horizon. But, in the midst of
all the horror I found it somehow very healing. It is one of the
most healing memories for me. It made sense of the funeral
rite, not just as a religious one, but as a healing one. And
it has lasted down to this time. I don’t go to many funerals,
and when I hear this hymn it brings me back to February
1990, and I feel the sadness again, for the bereaved, but
mainly for myself.

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

As we entered the Cathedral yard once more we experienced the
sympathy of a huge crowd, many of whom had taken time off
work to come and pray with us. As I entered this beautiful building,I again saw the grey uniforms of all the students of Thurles Christian Brothers School, who had been marshalled by their Principal, An Bráthair Seán Ó Dúgáin. I found this  profoundly
moving; the most moving part of the funeral rite. I am eternally grateful to An Bráthair Ó Dúgáin for his kindness and support during that time, and for bringing all the students to the funeral. It still moves me when I think of it, because I associate it so closely with Cathal in his school uniform in the coffin before the altar.

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

I awoke depressed, lonely and terrified on Tuesday 20th, the day
Cathal would be buried. Our neighbours came to support us, trying in vain to divert us, getting the breakfast ready. Mary’s sister Breda was ill, and my daughter Breda was trying to help her before we set off to the Cathedral for the funeral Mass. For Frances, that morning was ‘as surreal as the mornings before. My disbelief had abated none. I dressed in something black. No make-up again. Very little food. I was cried out from the day before and numb. I felt like I was walking underwater. Every movement felt laboured. I told Breda that I wished I had a photo of Cathal in the coffin looking dead; I needed that to remember he was gone.

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