A mother’s tragic journey through love, loss and legacy
- 2 days ago
- 7 min read
When Queen Elizabeth II famously remarked, “Grief is the price we pay for love”, the words resonated around the world. For Major Gai Cathcart, Corps Officer at Adelaide’s North East Salvos, that sentiment became deeply personal when her beloved son, Alex, died by suicide at the age of 22. In the aftermath, grief was all-consuming.
With a focus on motherhood in May, including Mother’s Day and International Bereaved Mother’s Day, Salvos Online journalist LERISSE SMITH spoke with Gai about an often unspoken experience of motherhood – the loss of a child to suicide, the reality of grief and her strong belief in speaking openly about her story so that Alex’s life, and death, are not in vain.
(Content Warning: This story contains themes of suicide and emotional distress that may be triggering for some readers.)
Gai still vividly recalls the packets of coloured Sharpie pens laid out on a table at Alex’s funeral.
They served a purpose unlike any other: to capture heartfelt messages from those present on his white coffin, honouring the handsome, talented young man who was deeply loved.
As a photo montage played, his loved ones gathered to write memories, reflections and final words. What unfolded became more than a farewell – it became a powerful tribute to Alex, who had touched so many lives.
“Alex was very creative, very intelligent,” she says, adding her son was a talented drummer who loved to cook.
“Almost anything he put his hand to, he was good at. Very much like his father in that way. He could pick up any skill at the drop of a hat. He loved to make people laugh. He liked being the life of the party. He was very, very affectionate. He would often just come and sit on my lap for cuddles. We always said ‘we love you’ every day. He was fiercely loyal to people who he knew would have his back. He loved hanging out with his mates. If he didn’t have any, he would go and find you.”
Yet alongside that vitality sat another reality – one that would eventually prove impossible to outrun.
He lived with anxiety and poor mental health.
“His struggle with anxiety and mental health issues stole some of the joy from time to time,” Gai reflects. “He wasn’t in a place where he could sit long enough at, for example, a psychologist’s office or something like that to get the help he needed. At times, Alex believed he was a burden. He thought we would be better off without him.”
There were moments, too, when he spoke openly about the topic. In one conversation, about two years before he died, Alex stood in front of his mum, tears in his eyes, expressing his desire to end his life but not wanting to do so because he knew how much it would hurt her.
For a time, that connection held him.
But poor mental health, Gai says, has its own momentum: “It went downhill so far and so quickly that eventually he couldn’t reason himself out of it anymore.”
A devastating loss On 11 November 2017, everything changed. Alex took his life.
His passing devastated her world, along with her husband, Peer, and their three other children, who all loved Alex dearly. They lost a much-loved son, friend and brother.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before in my life,” she says. “The deep, deep pain. It just takes over your whole body; the noises that come out of your mouth from deep within you are uncontrollable … People would often say ‘I can’t even imagine it’. And I would say, ‘That’s exactly right. You cannot imagine this kind of pain until you actually go through it.’ Even then, it’s still incredibly difficult to understand and explain and reconcile with.”
And then there is the bond that cannot be undone.
“I’m the one that carried him within my body for nine months,” she says. That kind of connection – physical, emotional, even a deep spiritual kind of connection – doesn’t get wiped away over time, ever.”
When reflecting on the legacy she hopes her deeply personal story creates for others, Gai says it is one of willingness to have open conversations, particularly about death and suicide – a subject not talked about enough – as well as grief, which is not only attached to death.
“Grieving is not a dirty word – it’s a healthy process,” she says.
“And we all do it, whether we admit it or not. If we can name it, own it and talk about it, then we’re going to experience it in a more healthy way. Grieving is a process, and there are feelings attached to that. Sometimes grieving is yelling at the sadness that you’ve been through. Sometimes grieving is cheering at the positive choice that you’ve made, and that’s because grieving is all about experiencing loss because of change that you’ve been through.”
In the months after Alex’s passing, another reality emerged – the language of grief spoken by others.
“All the clichés and sayings come out of the woodwork,” Gai recalls. “People tell you what you should be doing, saying and feeling … to just get over it. But you never get over it … there is never any closure.”
Community became a lifeline.
Their house was filled with people. People came, stayed and sat with them in their grief. And inevitably, life continued. You still have to cook, Gai added. You still have to make beds. You still have to function.
At the time, their corps, which they loved like family, enveloped them with love and support after they bravely shared the news with their congregation. Gai says the NSW/ACT Divisional Commander at the time, now-Commissioner Miriam Gluyas, provided great support: “She showed support like I’ve never experienced before. She was wonderful.”
A few months later, another poignant moment arrived.
Gai and her husband moved to Adelaide to start work with The Salvation Army’s Red Shield Defence Services. When they shared their story and vulnerability, a military leader told them, “You may have lost one son, but you’ve just inherited 680 more.”
“What a beautiful thing to say,” Gai reflects. “God knew that I still had so much love to give. I wasn’t cut off from being able to love my son anymore. It’s given me a greater capacity to love."
Through grief, life has also become bigger.
“Life gets bigger because the reality is you have to keep on living,” she says.
“You have a choice. Everybody has a choice. You can either fade into the shadows and let that overwhelm you. Or you can make the life that you’ve lost worth something.”
“One piece of advice from a coroner’s officer was: don’t be afraid to talk about their life. Alex is real. He existed. He still exists in my heart. Instead of saying ‘I am so sorry for your loss’, I would rather people come and say ‘Talk to me about Alex. What was he like?’”
One key learning has been recognising grief in others.
“There was one time I said to someone, ‘Have you acknowledged you’re grieving?” she recalls. “She just burst into tears and said, ‘I never thought of it’. Naming it gave her relief.”
Another is the importance of suicide awareness – to talk about it and encourage honest discussion about the consequences, even if it may not change the outcome.
“Loss is loss. It hurts. It's painful,” she emphasises. “We all of a sudden think that they (the person who takes their life) are a bad person. It’s just something that’s shied away from talking about, and yet it’s so common and so relevant. I used to think that suicide was one of the most selfish decisions anybody could ever make. ...“But I believe my son was thinking that he was doing something completely selfless … that is, he would no longer be a burden to his parents.”
Anchor of support
Asked what has carried her through the years since Alex’s passing, Gai doesn’t hesitate: faith. It has been her anchor.
“What sustains me, purely 100 per cent, is my faith in God,” she emphasised. “My relationship with God. That’s the only way I survive.”
Five years before Alex’s death, there was a moment of spiritual surrender. Gai describes what she calls ‘releasing him to God’ due to his poor mental health.
“I just had to trust God with him and say, well, whatever will be for as long as I’ve got him. I will love and protect him and do my best with him,” she remarks. “… So, when Alex died, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was in the arms of God. And that’s the only thing that gets me through ... that God saved him, and God saves me.”
There have been many other profound moments of faith, too.
Gai recalls an extended family member who, because of her religious teaching, believed that people who committed suicide would not go to heaven.
“I was really challenged by that. People in their right mind do not commit suicide,” she says. “I can’t blame Alex, and I don’t blame Alex. There has to be some kind of poor mental health there for someone to have to take such drastic measures to feel better and cope. It’s just a shame that it’s the kind of thing that you can never come back from.”
In time, a conversation brought new understanding.
After sitting down with her family member, Gai and her husband were able to share with her and talk about how expansive and deep God’s love, grace and mercy are, and that he died to save the whosoever, so that no one would be lost to him.
“It changed my perspective on God’s love and grace and mercy and forgiveness,” she explains. “But it also gave me an opportunity to see my sister-in- law come to a new understanding of faith. And so that was absolutely amazing and beautiful.”
Several passages of Scripture remain close to her heart: Jeremiah 29:11–12, Romans 8:28, and Psalm 139.
One special Psalm, read at Alex’s funeral – which Gai describes as the best funeral she has ever been to with more than 250 people in attendance, and organised by the family with help from Salvos Funerals – is Psalm 13.
“It says to me that even in the depths of my despair, when I am tempted to think that God has abandoned me,” Gai reflects. “He holds me with his unfailing love.”
If you or anyone you know is struggling with poor mental health issues, please seek support and call your trusted healthcare professional or call Lifeline on 13 11 14, Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636, or Suicide Call Back Service - 1300 659 467.
