THEY were a very happy family and they always seemed to be doing things together. Going up the mountains to look for holly or ivy or snow in the winter, or having picnics to identify trees and birds in the summer. You would see them in a shopping centre laughing together, which made it all the more terrible when the father died after three months in hospital, aged 41.
Ian, who was nine, knew his father was going to die because it was agreed they would all discuss it. So when he was in his father's room at the hospital there were a few man-to-man chats, and his father said that soon he would stop breathing and wouldn't be around the house any more. He would always be there in spirit and people weren't to get sad and weepy but remember the good bits.
Over and over his father said that he wasn't afraid, and that seemed to help Ian a lot.
He would sit at home in the evening and say things like "I don't know why there's such a fuss about dying, Dad says there's nothing to it", but everyone would break down and cry when he said it. So soon he stopped saying it.
And when his father did die, Ian hardly said anything at all.
Until the night before the funeral when he said he wasn't going.
It was as simple as that.
There was, of course, pandemonium. His grannies, aunts, uncles and family friends all took a turn at persuading him, but with no success. They said it was a way of saying goodbye to his father.
"I said goodbye," Ian was firm. "I said goodbye on Friday aftemoon when I was there and he gave me a hug. I don't need to say goodbye again."
They said for his mother's sake it would be good to have all the family in the church and at the graveyard to stand by her. But Ian said there would be plenty of people there - dozens, maybe hundreds. And he was not going to see a box with Daddy in it. And then stand and watch the box being put into the ground as he had at Grandpa's funeral. That's all there was to it. He would not go.
So the family had a real crisis on many different levels. There were those who said it would look very odd if the eldest boy were not present at his own father's funeral. Then others said it didn't matter how it looked - that wasn't the point. The point was that afterwards he would always be sorry. Guilty, even. They must now, for his own good, force him to face it, otherwise he would regret it all his life.
And others said that if the child was terrified of the burial now, that fear would only grow greater later on. People said that if he was allowed to get away with it, defying custom and dignity at this age, it would set a pattern.
Others said leave the child to choose. His mother was in the last category, saying that if he had said goodbye to his father in his mind then that was fined with her. She said that there was not to be one more word about it. The other children would accompany her. Ian had her full support.
THE day of the funeral presented another problem. They couldn't leave a nine-year-old boy alone in the house. So a family friend agreed to stay with him, in the guise of getting things ready. Ian was helpful and considerate and put out ashtrays and table napkins. The friend was arranging for a tray that he could take to his room, assuming he did not want to meet the mourners. But she couldn't have been more wrong. Ian was there at the door greeting people, accepting sympathy, passing food.
It was just the bit about Dad being in a box that he couldn't take, he explained to people.
In the months afterwards he became upset when there was any talk about the funeral. He would not go to the grave with the rest of the family and leave flowers. When there was any mention of choosing a tombstone he would get up and leave the room.
In many ways he seemed to have adapted to the loss of his father very well. But there were also signs that Ian was hiding his feelings. He became clipped and reserved. When people said "Your father would be proud of you," he changed the subject briskly.
Someone told Ian's mother that Barnardos over in England had a service called the Orchard Project in Newcastle. That wasn't much help to her, but on the off chance that they might have something similar here she rang them and they said they were just setting one up. It was to be called Solas.
So Ian went to see one of the counsellors. In a cheerful room which had games and toys and things that did not seem serious or threatening, he talked.
It's sorting itself out already. Ian was very nervous of the whole idea of coffins. How would you breathe in them? He had forgotten that you wouldn't be breathing.
How would you get out to go to heaven? Or to where your spirit would be?
He did like thinking about his father and remembering things, but he didn't actually like talking about his father in front of people - because it made them sad. So in order not to see the tears coming into his mother's eyes he thought it best not to mention his Dad at all. That way she didn't get upset, so he thought the best thing would be never to mention him again.
E is one of many children who will be helped by the new bereavement service run by Barnardos in Ireland. These are people who, through their work over the years, know a lot about children and what upsets them. They say that there are excellent services in many of the children's hospitals for children who themselves have terminal illnesses. But so far there has been nothing to help the young cope with sudden death and accidents.
You might think that this is a bad enough thing to help children through, but of course there are even worse things to cope with, such as a violent death, a murder, a suicide in the family, where hardly any kind of explanation will make any sense.
But every loss is a huge tragedy in the family concerned, even if it is a peaceful death after a life well lived. So it is timely that there should be some guidelines on how to talk to children about death, how to observe their reactions and how to encourage them.
They advise you to use the real words, "death" and "dying" rather than euphemisms such as "gone away" or "sleeping", since these can be more confusing and threatening to children in the long run.
You can get a free copy of these guidelines by writing to Barnardos, Christchurch Square, Dublin 8, enclosing a self-addressed A4 size envelope with a 32 pence stamp. Remembering that it costs a lot of money to provide this service - none of it Government-funded - you might want to send a little donation too (that's just my idea, they don't say that).
The bereavement service for children was officially opened this week. It has an advice line which you can ring on weekday mornings from 10 am. to noon at 01-473-2110.