one mum’s journey, and a book to help kids

After the shock of her husband’s death by suicide, Trudy Meehan’s biggest concern was how she would support their two-year-old daughter, Meara.

“There’s obviously grief and shock and — with death through suicide — the stigma that’s still around, the guilt,” Meehan says. “And ours wasn’t the usual story: Our relationship had broken up, and he died after that. A relationship break-up is a big trigger for suicide,” says Wexford-based Meehan, who sees a lot of talk about suicide prevention, but not much about the people left behind.

“We need to have more public [conversations] about the impact on family,” she says, pointing to a survey of people bereaved by suicide in Ireland. 

“It shows people never stop asking ‘why?’, and that we need resources in the community to help people talk about bereavement by suicide.”

Meehan knew on that devastating day in 2017 that she had to “keep standing, keep responding, do all the right things”. She will be forever grateful to the emergency services.

“The ambulance man came in just as I was feeling like I’m going to fall apart. A hero in uniform with an emergency backpack: He moved me out of the way, took all the responsibility from me. It saved me when I was just about to collapse from fear and overwhelm. It was pivotal in helping me keep it together.”

In telling Meara about her dad, Meehan was conscious that two things had to be said: Your dad died; And he chose to die. As a clinical psychologist, she knew she needed to tell it truthfully, but in an age-appropriate way.

But after attempts to revive her husband had been tried and failed, Meehan felt angry. 

“As a psychologist, I know all the negative effects of suicide, and that a predictor for completing suicide is knowing someone who has committed suicide. I was angry at the legacy that had been left for Meara, not just the loss of a parent, but the stigma and that she has now been put at risk for her own future mental health. And her dad was a psychologist, too, so he knew this information. And I wanted to do all the right things for Meara, to help her process.”

Meehan told her daughter the evening her dad died. “She’d have picked up the tension and sadness in people. I didn’t want her to hear it [elsewhere].

“I said, ‘Your dad has died, his heart stopped working. That means his body stopped working and he can’t ever come back to life’. I said, ‘Like taking a battery out of a toy, the toy stops working. The heart stops working, and you can’t replace that’.

“It’s brutal. And all the research says not to say, ‘He has gone to sleep’ — if very young, they’ll think he’s going to wake up.”

Telling Meara her dad had died by suicide took longer. “The guidance is to tell it straightaway, but I didn’t know what to say: It seemed too big. It was six months before I explained the concept that a person can choose to stop their heart. I did it in stages.”

Meehan describes first telling Meara about “a disease called depression that mixes up your thoughts, like a disease of the brain”. She told her that her dad’s heart stopped, but his brain was involved, too.

“I said, ‘When depression is in your brain, it mixes up your thinking and your feeling. You get so confused, it puts you in a lot of pain, and sometimes the pain’s so big people choose to make their heart stop’.

“Meara took it very matter-of-factly. Children live in the moment — they tend to take information at face value, so there’s not always a big reaction.”

Meehan also explained that when people stop their heart, it’s called suicide. “Inquest results are published online. I was very conscious that as soon as she could read, she’d Google her dad’s name and read the details.”

Trudy Meehan pictured in Red Books, Wexford town. Pic: Jim Campbell

Hard questions

Meara is 10 and doing great, but does feel different from other children. Meehan, in working as a psychologist with the HSE, had heard teens bereaved by parental suicide ask: ‘If they loved me so much, why did they leave?’ Meara will eventually ask this.

“I knew this was coming down the line. I tortured myself: How do I answer it,” says Meehan.

From her work and from research, she knew that meaning is important in processing grief. The process of finding an answer to the dreaded question led to Meehan’s just-published The Way Home: An Illustrated Storybook for Children Navigating Traumatic Loss.

“I was walking on the beach one day and, strangely, the idea of soldiers being tortured came to mind,” Meehan said.

“They’ve been trained to be loyal to their country, but they still give away secrets under torture. It became obvious then that pain is stronger than love and loyalty, though in all our movies love conquers all. I had an answer, but the answer itself was quite miserable.”

Meehan needed a story to portray this idea. “From I don’t know where came this idea of an astronaut stuck out in space, his oxygen running down, the physical pain of the low oxygen, the sense of disconnection from home, of darkness all around.

“I felt relieved I had something concrete and relatable that wasn’t terrifying. Even more relieved when I thought that from the astronaut’s perspective, he was completely alone, radio broken, no way to communicate, but the home base is sending messages, a rescue ship’s on the way.

“Towards the end of the story, he decides to cut his safety cord, and he’s floating off into space. Then, we see a rescue ship shining a light on him, he’s no longer alone, and they’re saying, ‘Let’s go, it’s time to go home’.”

Meehan wanted to give young bereaved readers a sense of control and agency, because those are absent with sudden bereavement, so her book allows the child to decide their own ending. “They might say, ‘Too late, he didn’t come home’.

“Meara said, ‘They picked him up, they had pizza and apple juice, and they laughed all the way home’.

“The child knows what happened. I didn’t need to say, ‘They didn’t get him’. The value of art and creativity is it gives them an escape from the horror and the death.”

Power of story

Meehan says the book creates a safe space where children can see their experiences represented and feel less stigmatised, as well as open conversations with the adults who support them.

“Children need stories where they can see themselves, where their sadness is acknowledged, and they are reminded they’re not alone.”

Has her book given her confidence in answering that difficult ‘why?’ question? “Yes: I’ve put a scaffold in place, so when the question comes, I’ll be able to say, ‘Your dad was feeling a bit like that astronaut’. So it’s not a completely new concept; something of the story’s foundation is already there.”

The Way Home, by Trudy Meehan

To help children cope with complicated bereavement, Meehan recommends:

• Be honest, but keep it appropriate for the child’s age and development. Be concrete. Don’t use euphemisms (say ‘dead’, not ‘gone to sleep’). It’s OK to say, ‘I don’t know the answer to that’, or ‘I don’t have the right words to explain that to you, but I promise I’ll find them and come back to answer your question’.
• With growth and maturity, children’s understanding of death increases — they may need to revisit their grief over the years. It’s natural for them to try to understand the loss when they’ve developed a better ability to do so.
• Follow the child’s lead, but offer openings for them to talk — the adult provides space and opportunity, the child decides if they take the opportunity, and when to end. Remember:
  Children may process through movement, play, song, dance, art, making or breaking things, or feeling physical pain. Conversations or processing are often very short and momentary — go with their flow.

For bereavement support, see