People often ask me why I choose to work in the area of children’s grief.

I was 12 years of age when my father suicided. I remember the day vividly. I recall initially being told that my father had “had an accident” and that he would be okay … as though I was too young to realise the strange-looking long charcoal-coloured vehicle parked on our driveway was a hearse. I knew my Dad wasn’t okay. And I would soon learn that it was no accident.

Not only did my Dad die that day. My family as I knew it, changed forever.

I recall, even from that young age, being very aware of how differently my sister (three years older), my mother and I, grieved. I grew up with a real curiosity. I had questions about suicide (of course), and about grief. What is it about coping with the death of a loved one that allows some people to be able to find ways of carrying on and still living happy and fulfilling lives, while others get seemingly ‘stuck’? What does ‘helpful’ grief support look like? And, why isn’t there more support for children? These were just some of the questions I spent my teenage years contemplating and my adult years finding answers to.