The Death of a Son

I think it was the matter of factness in the way he mentioned it that struck me. Maybe it was the fact that it was simply thrown out there in the comments section of an article in a surfing forum. But then again it could have been the gut searing sadness I felt as I imagined what he had been through.

When someone shares a story about the parent's greatest fear - outliving their child - to a group of strangers on the internet, it sends this wave of unrest right through you. It's almost too intimate for the context. A naked and bared soul, sitting amongst comments about the last surf they had with their kids or how despite over zealous encouragement their kids had not followed in their dad's footsteps and had taken up mountain biking.

The lead article was a beautifully written piece about a surfing father, paddling out on a big day, watching their young son go through the anguish and fear of whether they follow him. The article was an evocative description of the pacing, nervous son standing on the beach - the dad out the back behind the waves not sure if their son would make it but knowing that their decision and struggle was theirs and theirs alone. You can't force your child to paddle through large waves and join you. You can't paddle for them. You can't even actually help them - its physically impossible to push your child through large breaking waves. It's not like riding a bike on stable ground where you can support them then let go at the right moment.

Surfing is ultimately a solo venture. You can be with friends but they can't actually help you in any meaningful way - you have to go it alone.

The story wrapped up with a tear jerking description of the dad seeing their young son scramble over the last wave and paddle up to him wide eyed and buzzing with adrenaline, fear and pride.

The comments section over flowed. It was an anonymous forum for surfers - but by the comments, tone and in-jokes you can tell that some know of each other and that 98% of the comments are male and aged between 25 and 60.

There were lots of wistful comments from older dads about kids who failed to take up surfing. There were some young dads asking urgent questions about how young is too early to start pushing their kids into waves. The was the occasional mention about surfing with their kids still after many years.

Then the one comment came.

It started easy, talking about the joy of surfing with your children then my heart broke open. This father explained that just a while ago, after several years (I assumed of his son struggling with mental health issues) he finally agreed to come surfing again. He described the joy of friends, the sun, the waves, the connection - and how that very same day, after being out in the water together his son decided to take his own life.

It was like the world just paused and took a deep, long held breath and then gasped for air.

Then comments flooded in. The few simple words of "so sorry", the shock of loss, the unknowing, the sadness. There was a virtual room of men putting their arms around this anonymous father and sharing the pain.

There but for the grace of god go I.....

I wondered deep about this man's path. Where does he share this pain? How does he make sense of it? Who does he talk to? What do his mates say? I imagined some small coastal town, the Friday beers, the mates sitting around not knowing what to say, the wife at home in her own unknowable grief, the disconnection, the searing knife wound that rips through his chest when he sees his son's room, his wetsuit, his unused surfboard, the bike, the favourite coffee cup.

I can tell myself it is just life and that this happens - but it still doesn't stop the fear and the uncertainty of the randomness of this world. It still doesn't help me make sense of that son's pain. It never lets the image fade - of the son, sitting out the back in the ocean with his father, sharing a connection or a knowing smile that appears to the father like the parenting dream.

Look at us! We're doing it! Maybe those years of the sullen teenager in the darkened room are behind us. Maybe there is a light. Maybe - just maybe - he will get through this.

But the dark voice is too strong. The pain overwhelming. The weight of life too great. No release, no letting up, no reprieve. Like being held down wave after wave after wave until there is no option but to just stop fighting.

I don't know this guy. I don't know his son or even what town he lives in. But there was something that connected us and every other man, brother, father or son on that forum that day.

I just hoped that the connection made it's way out to anyone else nearby who was suffering under the unbearable weight of this world and who was fighting for breath or hoping for some hand to reach down under the water and bring them up - to the light, to the air, to this life.

If you, or anyone else you know would benefit from a space to connect, talk and be heard - then please pass on the website information and get in touch to talk further about what we can do for you, a group of local men or boys or anyone else you think needs the support.