STORIES OF SUICIDE: Faith Morris's son died at the age of just 13 earlier this year. She is still haunted by unanswered questions over what could drive a young teenage boy to take his own life
IT’S EASY to spot Joseph’s interests from his bedroom wall. There are Guns ’n’ Roses posters, pictures of skateboarders, framed photographs of the Beatles. There’s some graffiti art he was allowed to daub across one of the walls.
And sitting quietly among the obsessions and interests of a 13-year-old boy, is a handwritten note Joseph wrote during his last year in primary school.
“My hopes for the future,” it says, in neat blue Biro. “I hope that I’ll pass college with good grades. If I don’t succeed in college, I hope that I’ll make a band and it goes well. I also hope that I’ll continue skating and hopefully I’ll turn pro. I hope I’ll have a nice wife and a nice family as well. I hope we have a nice confirmation day. I hope the drug problem stays away. I hope I’ll have a lot of money when I grow up. I hope there’ll be world peace. And I hope that I’ll get along with my sister.”
For his mother, Faith Morris, it is unbearable to read those words now. Only nine months ago, he was still thundering around the house like some kind of Energizer Bunny, full of thoughts, ideas and plans for the future. Playing music up loud, breakdancing, whizzing around on his BMX; it was a wonder that his small frame could contain all the energy that was bursting to get out.
It seemed unthinkable that one day the noise, the energy, the bustle would suddenly stop and the lives of his family would be left in stunned and bereft silence.
JOSEPH ALWAYS SEEMED to demand attention. Even as a toddler, he was happiest at the centre of it all. When he was older he loved school, but concentration was a problem. Worried that he might be hyperactive, his mother went to get him assessed. While he registered with high scores for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), he was never officially diagnosed with the condition.
He was interested in history and talked about becoming an archaeologist, but he found it difficult to study subjects like maths, English and Irish. In general, he found the classroom, with its emphasis on rules, structure and discipline, hard to handle.
“If there was a group discussion, he was very good,” his mother says. “At the parent- teacher meetings, they’d say he was full of knowledge, which he was. He could sit there and talk to you about things which I wouldn’t even know about.
“But he found some teachers difficult. I’d say to him, ‘Joseph, you’ve to go in, do your lessons, sit down and keep your mouth shut – don’t be disruptive’. But he found that difficult, because he wasn’t into a lot of the academic things.”
When Faith had another child, she found it harder to devote enough time to Joseph. She did a number of parenting courses to help her cope, although she still found it difficult.
He was developing behavioural problems and had difficulty managing his anger. Some of the therapists put his behaviour down to conflict between Joseph’s mother and father, who had split up following the birth of their second child, Mia. Whatever it was, Joseph was getting older and needed more attention.
“One day, he was around 10 or 11, he took off into town to the Liffey Valley centre with some older lads that I didn’t know. I was up the walls. I didn’t know where he was,” Faith says.
Joseph spent that summer with his father, who was living in the US; he missed him so much that he wanted go back and live there. With his mother’s agreement, he did and over the next two years developed a big interest in skateboarding, music and computers.
When he returned home to Ireland, he seemed to have calmed down a lot. He was more grown-up and less angry. The tantrums were fewer and he seemed more settled than ever.
At home, he was a whizz on the computer, creating his own websites. He was getting more and more into music: everything from the Beatles to Led Zeppelin to AC/DC. He loved hip-hop too and won a competition in Ashbourne with his younger cousin.
School, though, was still a problem. He had made the big transition from primary to secondary school. While he flourished in some classes, in others he seemed to be regularly ending up in trouble. His mother was getting notes home about his behaviour, while Joseph was getting used to being placed in detention.
On top of that, he was increasingly insecure and self-conscious about his size. He was relatively small for his age and was getting teased about it from some of the other boys.
“They’d be slagging him, calling him midget and all this. It was really getting him down. He had me in the utility room, measuring him nearly every day,” his mother recalls. “He took it to heart, but he was able to use it to his advantage as well: it was a big triumph when he was involved in breakdancing for a stage production at school.”
Following a row at school last February, he was suspended for two days: the Thursday and Friday. He insisted he hadn’t done anything wrong. What he was really upset about though, was that he was also grounded at home and so wouldn’t be allowed to go to the local disco; all his schoolfriends were going to it that weekend.
IT’S THE SHEER ordinariness of the Thursday that stands out, in many ways. He was suspended that day and was at home, watching TV.
“After lunch I said, ‘right, it’s time to do some school work’. He was in the sitting room, with his sister, asking, ‘can I just watch the end of this? Just five minutes? Please?’ I said okay and went upstairs with Zac [her youngest boy] , who was two at the time.”
The fact that he wasn’t allowed to go to the local GAA disco the following night seemed to be on his mind.
“Joseph followed me up and was on the bed asking if he could go to the disco. ‘Can I go to it? Why can’t I go to it. Please let me go!’ He’d push and push and push that way. I told him he couldn’t because he was suspended. Then, he went off in huff.”
Faith texted a family therapist she knew for advice on what to do. She knew she had to discipline him, but she didn’t want to go too far either.
While she was waiting for a reply, she went went downstairs and called him. There was no response. She knocked on the door. Still no response. The door was locked. She began to panic. She rushed out the sliding door and into the garden which looks into his bedroom. When she peered through the window, she could see him slumped by his bed.
“I didn’t know what had happened – I just knew I had to get in,” Faith says.
By the time she burst into the room, he was dead. A ligature appeared to have cut off his air supply. She couldn’t tell if it was an accident or deliberate – she just screamed and ran outside for help.
The rest of the afternoon was sheer turmoil. Neighbours rushed to help. One tried CPR on Joseph without success. Faith’s dad happened to be passing and arrived on the scene in the middle of the chaos. The ambulance was delayed when they couldn’t find the house. They eventually took him away, with the paramedics trying to resuscitate him. The family rushed to the hospital, hoping there might have been a breakthrough. At the hospital, the doctors were sombre and quiet. They were very sorry, they said, but after trying everything, Joseph was dead.
Later that evening, the entire community rallied around the family home in Celbridge. Family, neighbours, teachers all arrived. Joseph’s friends arrived as well, standing around in stunned and silent disbelief. They went into his bedroom and signed messages on his bedroom wall.
“RIP Joe, I love you,” says one. “I love you so much – your lil cuz.” Another just says: “Joe – February, 2010.”
WHEN THE CHAOS faded, Faith was consumed by unanswered and unanswerable questions. Was it just misadventure? Or maybe a prank that went horribly wrong? Did he just do it on impulse, in a bout of frustration? And could a 13-year-old boy have any real comprehension of the finality of taking your own life?
Someone told her of a game called “American dream”, a relatively common but dangerous game which involves restricting the supply of oxygen, but it didn’t fit with the way he died. She ruled that out.
There had been other young suicides in the area: a number of teenage girls who knew each other had taken their own lives in the north Kildare area a few months earlier. But Joseph was as shocked by the deaths as anyone and had asked his mother why anyone would do that. She ruled that out as a factor as well. Then, they found a note he had written.
On it, he listed off his family members and said he loved them all. He mentioned that he was sick of being small, of being teased about his height and that he didn’t like what he saw when he looked in the mirror. He was tired of being in trouble and he insisted that everyone else would be better off without him.
Small things. Typical teenage problems. The kind of issues which might have seemed enormous for a young teenager, but which would quickly fade with time.
“After reading that, it seems like it was just a spur of the moment thing. We think it was something impulsive, that it just went too far,” says Faith.
“I can’t think of anything else. Sure, he might have been bad at school, but he was very talented at other things. He seemed to be able to take everything in his stride. He never seemed unhappy at all – the opposite.”
Like many people bereaved by suicide, Faith felt racked by guilt, wondering what, if anything, she could have done differently.
“I wasn’t angry at Joseph. More angry at myself. I kept questioning what I’d done. ‘Did I handle it wrong? Should I have spent more time with him?’
“I’d think back to times when he’d come into the bedroom and say, ‘can I sleep with you tonight,’ and sometimes I would have. But other times, I’d want to go to bed and read. Maybe I should have spent more time with him.”
THE GRIEF IS still raw and intense for Faith. She is continuing to come to terms with the loss of Joseph and still trying to answer questions that have no easy answers.
“It has been very, very difficult,” she says. “I’ve gone to support groups where other parents are bereaved. It’s a comfort to know other people who’ve been through this, or are still going through it. At one time, I wished I’d get a serious illness, so I wouldn’t have to go through it all. When I realised other parents felt the same way, I didn’t feel so alone.”
The support group Anam Cara (www.anamcara.ie) has a been a major help. She attends monthly meetings where parents or siblings are free to share their feelings, or just listen to others, in a safe and friendly setting.
Faith is making progress day by day. Some days are better than others. On the bad days when she finds it hard to cope, Darragh – her partner of seven years – looks after the kids and makes the dinner. That’s a huge help, as is the invaluable support from family and friends.
Overall, she is finding it easier to face the world and to realise that she can’t blame herself for what happened. It’s an ongoing journey with its ups and downs.
The advice she has for other parents is simple: keep talking with your children. Help them with any problems they have or keep the lines of communication open.
Many adults tend to forget how tough teenage years can be. Recent research by a youth mental health group, Headstrong, shows that almost half of young Irish people say they have been bullied at some stage, while one in 10 says they have experienced serious mental health problems, but have not sought professional help. Stress and anxiety are common, but many feel isolated and alienated by the world around them.
But perhaps the most significant finding was that the most resilient young people were those who felt connected to their families and had an adult they felt they could talk to. They are sentiments with which Faith strongly agrees.
“I think all you can do is let them know you’re there for them,” she says. “I don’t have any magic answers for dealing with this problem – but all I can say is that the best way to help is to keep talking. That’s all you can do.”
DO YOU NEED HELP?
The following organisations can help:
* 1Life (1life.ie) Call 1800 247 100 or text HELP to 51444 for one to one text support.
* Samaritans (samaritans.org) Call 1850 609090 (Republic of Ireland) or 08457 909090 (UK including Northern Ireland).
* Pieta House (pieta.ie), the centre for the prevention of self-harm or suicide, 01-601 0000 or email mary@pieta.ie
* Console (console.ie). This charity for the bereaved has a free help-line at 1800 201 890.
* HeadsUp (headsup.ie), a mental health project aimed at 15- to 24-year-olds, has a free 24-hour text service available by texting HEADSUP to 50424.
* Reach Out (reachout.com) is a website aimed at helping young people through tough times.
* Spun Out (spunout.ie) is another website which is run by young people to help address issues such as stress and positive mental health.
* Contact your local doctor (visit www.icgp.ie for national listings) or go to the AE department of your nearest general hospital.
* Other sources of support are available at the HSE’s national office for suicide prevention, www.nosp.ie