My name is Catherine O’Sullivan and I am a mother of a missing person. My son Jack O’Sullivan has been missing for more than two years.
Jack went out for some drinks with friends on the evening of 1 March 2024 and did not return home. He has simply vanished.
Jack was 22 at that time and is a lovely, kind, caring, thoughtful young man. I know as Jack’s mum I will obviously be biased, but I know that all who know Jack would agree. Jack is incredibly bright and extremely ambitious, and his dream is to become a successful lawyer.
He has a huge passion for watching and playing sport, especially football – his beloved Manchester United. Jack had been working hard for his law conversion course and had just sat his first set of exams. He was in two minds whether or not to go out that evening, but I encouraged him to go and have some fun as he’d been studying so much.
Jack was in contact with me that evening, checking in as he usually does saying all is well, “I’m going to be later than I thought” – “I’ve got keys to get in and I will take a cab so don’t wait up”.
I woke at 5.25am and Jack was not home, and I instantly knew something was wrong.
This is not Jack, he doesn’t stay out without letting us know. I checked my phone with no messages from Jack, but “find my phone” placed Jack at an address near where he’d gone to the party. This was so out of character for Jack – I woke my husband Alan and suggested that we drive straight to the address that both our phones were giving us. We arrived 20 minutes later but there was no sign of Jack or anyone else.
We searched the street and the surrounding area, no Jack. We finally decided to ring a few doorbells. Everyone that answered said they did not know or had seen anyone meeting Jack’s description. We now alerted my other son Ben who lived in the area, and we all continued searching.
At 7.30am, we rang the police only to be told it was far too early to file a missing person report. We rang the police again at 11.30am. By now I was on the point of hysteria, so they agreed to take down his details.
The day became a blur for me. The police arrived at our home around 4pm and filled out a missing person report. We spent the rest of the day and evening out searching.
At 10.30pm that night, we took the worst phone call from the police you could possibly receive as a parent. The police told us they had found some CCTV from the area where Jack was known to have been, and the footage, in their opinion, was of a man meeting Jack’s description. The person was close to the edge of the water, and from this, a conclusion had been drawn that this was Jack and he must have fallen into the water and drowned.
We ended the call and we were all totally distraught. This couldn’t be happening, but it was. We didn’t go to bed; we all sat around in utter shock and disbelief. That shock is still with me today.
By the time the sun was starting to come up the next morning, we started making calls to our close friends and family. Hearing my husband say these out loud was beyond words.
As the day unfolded, friends came, family came, and then the police came to search our house, in case we were hiding Jack. Apparently that is normal?
Later that evening, we took a call from one of the police search crew. He said that keys had been found and wanted to check if they belonged to Jack.
When this chap arrived, he seemed a bit taken aback at the state that we were all in. I explained what we had been told in the phone call from the previous night. He asked me if we had been shown the CCTV footage, and we said no. He replied: “Well I have and I can’t even be sure if it’s a person, let alone your son… it may well just be the railings.”
This was just the start of what now appears to be a totally shambolic investigation. With CCTV of Jack being missed twice by the police, witness statements not taken, CCTV not retained and sightings not followed up, to name but a few of the mistakes we have had to deal with.
After Jack had been missing for three months, we were asked by the police if we wanted to consider applying for a “presumption of death” certificate for Jack. We replied: Why on earth would we do this with absolutely no evidence to say Jack has gone?
We then found out the police had written to our local coroner to see if they would consider opening an inquest.
The coroner’s reply was, not enough time had passed, there was no evidence to support an inquest, and lastly, this should be something the family should be made aware of. This had not been the case. When we asked the police what on earth was going on, they said they were just “testing the water” to see what response they would get. As a family, we simply had no words.
I have had to turn myself into a private detective, digital phone analyst and legal expert. I found Jack myself on CCTV that the police had missed – not once, but twice. All this was happening when all the time I just wanted to be Jack’s mum.
It is so hard to put into words the impact that these situations have had on my family. At the very time in our lives when we have needed help the most, we have been spectacularly let down by the institution that we were brought up to believe would help us in a crisis. This, sadly, has not been our experience at all.
In life, when someone dies, there is grief. When someone goes missing, there is grief, fear, hope, confusion, and thousands of unanswered questions that go around your head continually. It’s totally incomprehensible. It’s the last thing I think of at night and the first thing that enters my mind as I wake in the morning. My thoughts continually play over and over: where are you, Jack?
People ask me, what is this like? How do you cope? The truth is, it is a living nightmare, the rollercoaster from hell that you are on and just can’t get off.
Since Jack’s disappearance, our lives have changed completely. Physically and mentally, we have changed out of all recognition.
We have searched streets, gardens, forests, riverbanks and fields. We have climbed fences and walked places no parent ever imagines walking.
Friends, volunteers and strangers have stood beside us. The community has carried Jack’s face through Bristol and beyond.
Searches have taken place. Appeals have been shared. Thousands of people have joined the effort to find him. And still, we wait.
When someone goes missing, the search is not just physical. It is emotional. It is mental. It is relentless. You receive messages that offer hope, and messages that cause deep distress. You learn to live with uncertainty. You learn to survive the unbearable. And you discover a strength you never asked for and never thought possible.
I first came into contact with the Missing People charity a few months after Jack was first missing.
I was approached by a work colleague about getting Jack’s details registered with Missing People. We were only too glad of the support, but after a few weeks, the same colleague got in touch and asked if we knew why Jack was not showing as a missing person on their website. I rang the charity and was told they had not been able to process the information as they were yet to hear back from the police confirming Jack’s details. I immediately followed this up, only to find out that the police had forgotten to get back to Missing People.
Forgotten? How on earth is this possible? This is my son and someone had simply forgotten about him. For me, this is totally unforgivable.
My personal experience with Missing People has truly been incredible. I was allocated a support person to speak with. I can honestly say I was matched with an angel, who is such an exceptional person.
The strength and belief she has given me to keep going and to keep getting Jack’s name out there has been amazing.
What I absolutely love the most is she has not written Jack off, and always refers to Jack in the present. For me, that is priceless. She has provided me with hope on my very darkest days and continues to do so. She checks in weekly with her offer of a support call, and I know I can speak with her about absolutely anything.
Missing People has been there at the worst time in our lives. Not just as a charity, but as an important lifeline.
They support families when the world moves on, but the nightmare does not. They provide practical guidance, emotional support, publicity and, importantly, advocacy.
They work alongside police and agencies to help find missing people and support those left behind. But more than anything, they listen.
When the phone stops ringing, when the headlines fade… When the days become months, and the months become years, they are still there. For families like ours, that support is not just helpful, it is vital.
A missing person is not a statistic.
They are someone’s child. Someone’s brother. Someone’s friend. Someone’s whole world.
