For the moment, however, we had to begin our journey of recovery as best we could. Our neighbours were at hand for the first few days. They had been immensely helpful, bringing food, making sure that those who came were fed, and generally keeping us company. I had the idea of leaving Thurles and buying a house elsewhere, but the goodness of our neighbours made me reconsider, and we have remained in
the same house that we built in 1972.
But life had to go on and we had to set out on our road of grief as individuals and as a family. Our house became a place where sorrow was audible in that first week after the funeral. I often listened and shuddered as I heard the wailing and weeping
of various members of my family from different rooms. I felt helpless, and when I was not working I just sat and brooded.
The world seemed a dark place. I could see no light, and felt utterly pessimistic. Lethargic. Depressed. Defeated.
Extract from When a Child Dies. Footsteps of a Grieving Family. Published by Veritas.
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