*TRIGGER WARNING* the following piece contains themes of child murder, grief and forgiveness.
Abigail Hood the writer of Monsters (a play about which looks at the events of several cases of child on child murder) shares her thoughts with us about the other side of forgiveness – a theme which runs throughout the production currently playing at The Seven Dials Playhouse until 18 October.
Losing a child is something I can’t even begin to imagine. And when that loss comes at the hands of another child – especially through violence – it feels almost impossible to get your head around. Lives are shattered in a moment, and nothing can ever be the same again.
Over the years I’ve read autobiographies by bereaved parents, watched documentaries, and followed news stories about these tragedies. What has always struck me is how different the experiences are – how no two families ever seem to deal with loss in the same way – but one question keeps coming back: how on earth do you ever come to terms with something like that? Is forgiveness ever possible?
Many of these accounts convey the sheer scale of the grief. Everything changes in an instant – the future parents imagined, the shape of their family, even their sense of selves. Alongside the grief, there’s often anger, confusion, and sometimes guilt, even when they know rationally, they’re not to blame. Parents frequently describe replaying events over and over in their minds, wishing they could go back and make a different choice, take a different turn – anything that might have kept their child away from that fatal place at that fatal moment. Devastatingly, some parents even blame each other, and that can tear families apart.
And then there’s the pressure from outside. The world seems to expect a certain response, as if there’s a rulebook for how you survive the worst thing that can happen.
Forgiveness is one of the words that frequently comes up in accounts of bereaved parents. Some talk about it as if it’s the ultimate goal, the point at which healing is complete. But for many it isn’t that simple. For some, forgiveness – if it ever comes – has nothing to do with excusing what happened. It’s about finding a way to live with the grief without letting it take over. For others, it doesn’t feel possible, or even right. And why should it? Not forgiving doesn’t mean someone is stuck or bitter. It simply reflects the honesty of facing the scale of what’s been lost.
One autobiography I read described parents who wanted to forgive but never quite got there. They spoke about feeling almost guilty about that – as if they were letting someone down. It made me wonder if we, as a society, put too much weight on forgiveness, as though it’s the only healthy outcome. Because surely real healing is about choice; about letting each family find the path that makes sense for them, not expecting them all to arrive at the same conclusion.
Sometimes, though, compassion can creep in and, on some occasions, lead to forgiveness. Some parents find that learning about the offender’s own childhood – the abuse they suffered, the ways the system failed them – can ease their anger. In one documentary I watched, a mother said she couldn’t bring herself to hate the young person who killed her son because his life had already been full of so much hurt. Others don’t feel that compassion, and why should they be expected to? No one owes forgiveness to the person who took their child’s life.
And closure – that’s another word that comes up a lot in these accounts. It can make it sound like there’s an endpoint, a day when you can tick a box and say the grief is over. But it doesn’t work like that. The loss shifts and changes over time, but it never goes away. What seems to help some parents is finding ways to carry their child forward with them: telling their stories, setting up charities in their memory. Some find comfort in faith, others in activism, others in small private rituals.
One of the hardest moments often comes years later, when the offender leaves prison or returns to public life. Suddenly, the case is back in the headlines. Families may be asked for interviews or confronted with the person who caused such devastation walking free. Accounts often describe it feeling as if the wound has been torn open all over again. And when the media focuses on the offender, sometimes even turning them into a kind of public figure, it can seem as though the victim’s life has been pushed to the sidelines once more.
This raises questions about justice too. What does a fair sentence look like? When is punishment enough? How do we balance the rights of someone who has served their time with the rights of the families whose lives they changed forever? The parents’ voices often seem to get lost in these debates, yet they’re the ones living with the consequences long after the rest of the world has moved on.
From everything I’ve read and watched, one thing stands out: forgiveness isn’t always possible, and it isn’t always the right choice. For some parents, refusing to forgive is a way of honouring their child. For others, that refusal takes the form of anger, which becomes a source of strength to keep going. There isn’t a single “correct” way to live with this kind of loss. Families need space to find their own way through it, without anyone telling them what they should feel.
When some kind of peace does come – and it often looks different from what people might expect – it often happens when certain factors are in place. Access to the full truth matters. Being treated with respect by the justice system matters. Sometimes genuine remorse from the offender makes a difference. Support groups, therapy, faith, and having the right people around can all help. And then there’s time. It doesn’t fully heal the loss, but it can allow the pain to change shape, so it doesn’t remain as raw forever.
Maybe we need to stop treating forgiveness as the destination everyone should be aiming for. For some, it will come; for others, it won’t – and neither is wrong. What matters is compassion, respect, and allowing families to carry their loss in the way that makes sense to them. The loss doesn’t end when the trial is over or when the sentence is complete. It goes on. It lives in the love that never stops, in the child who should still be here, and in the parents who carry them every day. Forgiveness, closure, moving on… these aren’t neat steps you can tick off. In my opinion, every family deserves the space to find their own way through.
Monsters runs at Seven Dials Playhouse from 24th September to 18th October. Show information and tickets here: https://www.sevendialsplayhouse.co.uk/shows/monster
