Shaughn, A Mother’s Story
By Shelagh O’Brien
February 3, 2023
When my son was in his mid 20’s, he said to me with a smile “Mom I promise you I will have my sh*t together by the time I’m 30! I will be a self-supporting, contributing adult.”
We sort of laughed together that day, recognizing that he’d seen his fair share of challenges so far in life. I responded something like “It’s okay Buddy, you’re doing great, you’ll get there!”.
But in early October of 2015, a few hours after a wonderful dinner celebration with our family for that very same 30th birthday, my son Shaughn hung himself.
He was relatively sober (post-mortem blood levels showed a modest alcohol level, and zero drugs). His computer history showed he did some searching about knot-tying (a detail that haunts me still). In the middle of the night he posted a cartoon clip on his FB wall of Porky Pig’s iconic ‘Th-th-th-that’s all folks!”. He had organized his desk, wrote some notes for us to find (one of them saying “I’m not afraid”), put a song on repeat that played over and over for many hours until he was found, and then he ended his life.
He had a plan, and he carried it out.
The paradox of his last 24 hours somewhat mirrors Shaughn’s whole life. At times incredibly happy, fun to be around, invested and engaged (like we saw him at his birthday dinner). And other times alone, hurt, haunted, and devastated (as I must assume he felt only a couple of hours after that dinner).
That 30th birthday was a looming, non-negotiable deadline for him. I understand that now. And the tragic part is, it felt like he truly was doing so much better in the last couple of years. He worked so hard to be accepted as a student at Concordia and was doing excellent work there. He had good friends, he had a job. He was in constant touch with me – which was always a good sign, and 2 weeks prior he and I worked on polishing his resume, which I assumed meant he was feeling strong and confident, and thinking about his future.
That was the picture from the outside.
Inside must have felt ruthlessly painful and confusing, knowing his personally prescribed deadline was approaching. Sometimes I wonder if he felt calmer as that day approached, relieved that the agony would end soon.
And something I’m grateful for – that he allowed us to actually HAVE that final birthday party for him (he notoriously hated a fuss). He showed up in great form, he laughed and joked with us, shared stories, he hugged us all. We didn’t know it of course, but he was saying goodbye.
After the (what I now know was humiliating) experience of being pulled out of class every day from grades 2 to 6 to go to the ‘Learning Centre’ for extra help in reading & writing – and being bullied and labelled dumb because of it, Shaughn started smoking weed at lunchtime in grade 7 and coming back to school high. He got suspended numerous times, got a reputation, fell behind in every class, and hung out with kids making similar choices. His education and self-esteem never recovered: they failed him in grade 8, he had to attend a special class at a different high school for grade 9 – a class for young males who had juvenile criminal records. A rough crowd. He did not belong there; he was a gentle soul. I should have questioned that placement and regrettably I did not. It was a turning point.
He begged me to let him attend the high school his friends went to. He was desperately unhappy, and I believe he looked around that classroom and thought “this is what they think I am” – and he simply stopped caring.
He barely passed grade 9 but I agreed to let him change schools, hoping it would help. Instead grades 10 and 11 were an unmitigated disaster. His drug use skyrocketed; he was incapable of holding any kind of part time job. Around the house he was shutting himself off, disappearing for days at a time, locking himself in his room to recover from his binges, and resistant to any kind of counselling, outreach, or therapy.
Remarkably he still had energy and motivation for sports – he was a gifted hockey and lacrosse player. His coaches from the ages of 11 through 17 were heroes to me. They understood he was struggling, they forgave him a few more absences than was allowed, they connected with him one-on-one on the ice or field, and they communicated to me that he always had a place on the team if he wanted it. I will be forever grateful to them for their perception, grace, patience, and kindness. I know those hours feeling needed, useful, skilled, important, and part of a team gave Shaughn much needed strength. Watching him play was one of the greatest gifts of my life.
It was so hard to get any traction on treatment strategies for Shaughn. I know I tried to exhaust all avenues to support him, including that Learning Center in school from grades 2 to 6 (he told me years later how that LC was such a humiliation for him, I had no idea), a youth counsellor starting when he was first caught high in grade 7, a 2nd counsellor that specialized in addictions. Private tutoring at home, Kumon tutoring outside the home (all to keep him passing), and unlimited time and money to keep him on his lacrosse and hockey teams. But he hated the counselling and constantly begged to stop (which we did). He’d often rally, and I’d feel a positive turn, but then things would always get worse.
He’d go through a slump, but then he’d bounce back and out came his witty side, his playful nature. He’d engage with me and his sisters, he’d join us for dinner, he’d offer to help around the house. These periods of relative normalcy did a magnificent but dangerous job of masking his true pain. I think now it must have been exhausting for him to feel so deeply, for decades, and cover it so convincingly for so many years. But because we’d see glimpses of this other social side, I always thought ‘these troubles are a phase, this will end, he will mature, grow out of it’.
This pattern of highs and lows meant that at no time did Shaughn have consistent, professional guidance and therapy. He would get miserable, and I’d give in and allow him to quit going. He’d go through a crisis, and we’d start up again. Chasing demons, but never getting in front of them. It’s my biggest regret; not seeing past his misery to know better, to know that he needed professional, ongoing support.
After an extremely tumultuous and scary few years from the ages of 18 to 25, he finally transitioned into a period of calm as he got his drug use under control, achieved his grade 12 English so he could apply to universities, and had some success working at a few places.
I started to feel we were out of dangerous territory once Shaughn began his studies at CUE. He loved it. He excelled in some areas (yep, the guy who was forever behind in reading and writing loved English the most), he had a girlfriend, he was laughing again. I began to dream for him, I hoped he was dreaming too.
One of his challenges was trying to juggle work with his university schedule. He was determined to pay for as much as he could, and only wanted my help when he really was broke. For 3 years he worked 35+ hours a week and held down full time classes. It seemed too much. But he was doing it. And he was 1 year from graduating university, a goal that felt far out of his reach for most of his life. I was incredibly proud of him.
At the beginning of that last summer, his long-time employers got bought out by another company, made changes, and Shaughn lost his job. And he was devastated, caught off-guard. The ground under him was rocky again. And instead of simply trying to look someplace else, he was frozen in place, paralyzed.
In hindsight I realized that no matter how wonderful things seemed, that he was only 1 small setback away from breaking down and losing his grip.
All summer he resisted looking for work. I got more worried each time we talked, hearing something in his voice – fear started to creep into my heart. We talked about where he could apply, what he was good at. He sounded panicked about starting school again in Sept. He felt guilty that he had less to contribute financially that year. But finally in early fall he asked me for help to sort out his resume and I thought ‘here we go, he’s back.’
I planned his October birthday dinner, we finished his resume, and he kept in touch asking lots of questions about his party – wanting to know who was coming, what time should he be there, where were we having it.
I can’t tell you when exactly he stopped fighting for his future. Maybe it was losing the job, maybe he was simply so tired from decades of turmoil. I only know that after years and years of working to beat the odds on so many things – drug use, depression, getting into university, finding employment – even after all those “successes”, that what he carried inside was still simply too heavy. He had to put it down.
Because of the incredible team of teachers and staff at CUE, I know for certain I had 3 more years with Shaughn than I might have. He loved it at CUE. And I’m grateful every single day that he knew joy, respect, friendship, and success in those hallways.