Joe’s story

Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine – We live protected under each other’s shadow

I clearly remember that Friday afternoon five years ago. I sat, somewhat nervously, in the conservatory of Pieta House in Lucan on a sunny September afternoon. There were five chairs. I sat in the one closest to the garden. I sat alone for five minutes. A young man walked in followed by his mother. She smiled as she entered the sun lit conservatory. He kept his head low. I was there to speak with Joan Freeman the founder of the suicidal distress and self-harm charity. She had invited me to Dublin after we met on a panel discussion about mental health earlier in the summer.

The young man took a seat in a wicker armchair. Just like myself he had come straight from school.

His school trousers were the giveaway. He had barely found his position in the seat when the receptionist came through to give him directions to the room in which he would meet his therapist.

Both his mother and I sat silently. I looked to my phone as she looked out on the garden.

I spoke first. I knew I had to. The drawings I install have made me do that. They have given me the courage to start conversations. I’m comfortable talking about art and then getting to the deeper side of things. I asked her how she was. She seemed slightly thrown by this question. I guess she had typically begun her conversations in this building by speaking about her son. She had a warm tone to her voice as she replied. She answered, “I’m dying for a glass of water”. I immediately liked her. She reminded me of my mother; dark featured, empathetic and rural. We simultaneously smiled. She got up and walked towards the jug and after pouring two cardboard cups of water we stepped out into the garden. I stood in the glare of the sun as she openly spoke of her unconditional love for her son, her weekly commute on a Friday afternoon, her unwavering determination to support him, her willingness to ease his burden and her stamina to protect and bolster. She stood there dressed in a summer dress but I saw she was dressed for war.

We spoke solidly for an hour and only broke our conversation when her son returned. Her eyes darted to meet his. She asked ‘Are you ready?’ She was consumed by his reappearance. He nodded his head, more raised now. I held back on saying goodbye. I could see she had more pressing things to consider. I often think of that woman. I wonder where she is. Has she put away her armour? Did she win? Or did she lose him?

I was now over an hour waiting. I reached for my phone and scrolled through my emails. I quickly realised I had read my meeting time incorrectly and had arrived one hour early that day. Sometimes our exact and calculated schedules fall apart. It is often in those hours that unforeseen connections take place. I believe they are important and have the capability to provide a much needed jolt of reality.

I was new to the public side of mental health advocacy and very new to public speaking. I try to let the drawings speak for themselves. My meeting with Joan that day was significant. She spoke of her experiences and kindly told me what I was doing had value. Creating art is an incredibly personal experience and I often wonder how people really connect to the questions I ask of them.

Up until that September, I had lost five of my students to suicide in just as many years teaching.

Pieta House was in its fifth year also. Fives seemed to be consistent then. Looking back now I’m not very sure if I was actually that nervous as I sat waiting for my meeting with Joan. However, I now associate that day with a gut wrenching tension. It was later that evening I learned my five had turned to six.

Nothing prepares you as a teacher for that type of loss. Losing one of your own. You are not that child’s parent and not their friend. Professionally, they are your students and nothing more. But as a human being it is hard to make that separation. Parents entrust you with their most precious gift, their child. Some days I am a parent. I can offer them friendship and show them love.

I began a project entitled ‘Our Nation’s Sons’ in the hope of persuading entire communities to address the very real problem of mental health in young men. Ten people a week die by suicide in Ireland, and eight of them are men. I knew I could no longer stand idly by whilst any young man would choose to end his life. As my six turned to seven and nine to ten I watched others speak out.

Niall Breslin was not a name familiar to me. However, over the past number of years he has become synonymous with mental health advocacy. I sometimes find myself walking in other people’s shoes.

It’s how I figure things out. During the past few years I have spent some quiet hours walking metaphorically in this man’s shoes. I became open to his sincerity. I considered the emails he must receive in the dead of night from anguished children and adults and hope he takes spoonful’s of courage for breakfast. I think he does, but collectively we must look after him too. He is one of our own. I’m also hugely grateful to him and A Lust for Life for sponsoring this project and supporting me all the way. It simply would not exist without his support.

Joan stepped down as CEO of Pieta house and Brian took the helm. Her motherly power became his wise and accented empathy. As the new CEO, Brian Higgins officially opened Pieta House’s first centre in the Southeast of Ireland last week. This is a significant step forward for Waterford and the region. Speaking at the launch Brian said “We need to challenge the stigma that leads people to our doors.”

I have, in the past five years, witnessed conversations about our mental health move from the undergrowth and shadows and into the light. We have slowly begun to address the very real issue of our individual and collective mental health. However, we must do more to replace suicide with hope. We are stronger together and as such I have collaborated with A Lust for Life, Pieta House and Waterford Walls to create an iconic piece of urban art in Waterford City. Words alone fall short of expressing our deep turmoil or indeed our hope. An image can hold a power words often fail to achieve.

I strongly believe the foundations for this drawing began on that late summer evening in Lucan. I felt a mother’s determined hope. I saw her son’s burden lessen and him raise his head slightly within the space of an hour. I have seen whole communities come together to raise both awareness and funding for this remarkable charity. In its ten years in existence Pieta House has seen and treated just under twenty-six thousand people.

The former Árd Rí hotel in Waterford is the perfect canvas. This piece of derelict Ireland looks down over the city form the lush green Ferrybank hills. Like Christ the Redeemer, I want people to look up at this drawing and find hope. The drawing is installed to confront stigma, to question how we find our moral compass, to challenge us to build resilience but, above all, it is a symbol of support.