Since my son Jack O’Sullivan went missing two years ago, the search has not just been physical. It is emotional, mental and relentless

M.My name is Catherine O’Sullivan and I am the mother of a missing person. My son Jack O’Sullivan has been missing for over two years.

Jack went out for drinks with friends on the evening of March 1, 2024 and did not return home. He simply disappeared.

Jack was 22 years old at the time and was a lovely, kind, caring, thoughtful young man. As Jack’s mother, I know I’ll definitely be biased, but I know everyone who knows Jack would agree. Jack is incredibly smart and extremely ambitious, and his dream is to become a successful lawyer.

He has a great passion for watching and playing sports, especially his beloved Manchester United football. Jack had been studying hard for his introduction to law course and had just taken his first exams. He was unsure whether to go out that evening, but since he was working so hard, I encouraged him to go and have some fun.

Jack contacted me that evening and checked in as he always did saying everything was fine, I will be arriving later than I thought – I have keys to get in and will be taking a taxi so don’t wait.

I woke up at 5.25am and Jack wasn’t home and I knew immediately something was wrong.

This isn’t Jack, he can’t stay out without telling us. When I checked my phone, there was no message from Jack, but the ‘find my phone’ option showed that Jack was at an address close to where he went to the party. This was very out of character for Jack; I woke up my husband Alan and suggested we go towards the address both phones gave 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 some doorbells. Everyone who responded said they didn’t know or had seen anyone matching Jack’s description. We warned my other son, Ben, who now lives in that area, and we continued to search together.

We called the police at 7.30am and were told it was too early to file a missing persons report. We called the police again at 11.30. I was now at the point of hysterics, so they agreed to record his details.

The day has become a blur for me. The police came to our house around 16:00 and filled out the missing report. We spent the rest of the day and evening outside searching.

At 10.30pm that night we received the worst police call you can get as a parent. Police told us they found some security cameras in the area where Jack was known to be, and according to them, the footage showed a man matching Jack’s description. Since the person was close to the water’s edge, it was concluded that this person was Jack and that he fell into the water and drowned.

We ended the call and we were all devastated. This couldn’t be happening, but it did. We didn’t go to bed; We all sat in utter shock and disbelief. That shock is still with me today.

As the sun began to rise the next morning, we started calling our close friends and family. Hearing my husband say these things out loud was beyond words.

As the day progressed, friends came, family came, and then the police came to search our house in case we were hiding Jack. It would seem that this is normal?

Later that evening we received a call from someone on the police search team. He said the keys were found and he wanted to check if they belonged to Jack.

When this man arrived he seemed a little surprised at the situation we were all in. I told him what was said to us in the phone call the night before. He asked me if the CCTV footage had been shown and we said no. He replied: “Yes, it is, and I’m not even sure if he’s a human, let alone his son… there might be bars.”

This was just the beginning of what now looks like a completely messy investigation. Jack’s CCTV being hijacked by the police twice, not taking witness statements, not keeping CCTV and not keeping track of sightings are just some of the mistakes we’ve had to deal with.

After Jack had been missing for three months, the police asked us if we would consider applying for a presumption of death for Jack. We responded: Why would we do this without any evidence to say Jack is gone?

We later learned that the police had written to our local coroner to see if they would consider opening an inquest.

The coroner’s response was that not enough time had passed, that there was no evidence to support the investigation, and finally that the family should be informed of this situation. This was not the case. When we asked the police what was going on on Earth, they said they were just “testing the waters” to see what answer they would get… As a family, we had no words to say.

I had to transform myself into a private investigator, digital phone analyst, and legal expert. I found Jack on CCTV that the police had missed; not once but twice. All this was happening while I constantly wanted to be Jack’s mother.

It is very difficult to express in words the impact these situations had on my family. We have been extraordinarily disappointed by the institution we were raised to believe would help us in a crisis at the time of our lives when we needed help the most. This has unfortunately not been our experience.

There is pain in life when someone dies. When someone is lost, there is grief, fear, hope, confusion, and thousands of unanswered questions constantly running through your mind. Completely incomprehensible. It’s the last thing I think about at night and the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning. My thoughts keep replaying: Where are you, Jack?

People ask me, what’s it like? How do you cope? The truth is, it’s a living nightmare, the rollercoaster from hell that you’re on and can’t get off.

Our lives have changed completely since Jack’s disappearance. Physically and mentally, we have changed beyond recognition.

We searched the streets, gardens, forests, river banks and fields. We climbed fences and walked in places no parent could ever dream of walking.

Friends, volunteers, and strangers stood by us. The community brought Jack’s face to Bristol and beyond.

Searches were made. Objections were shared. Thousands of people participated in the search to find him. And yet we wait.

When someone goes missing, the search is not just physical. It is emotional. This is mental. This is cruel. You receive messages that give hope and messages that create deep sadness. You learn to live with uncertainty. You learn to survive the unbearable. And you discover a power you never wanted and never thought possible.

I first contacted the Missing People charity a few months after Jack first went missing.

A co-worker approached me about putting Jack’s information on Missing Persons. We were very pleased with the support but a few weeks later the same colleague got in touch and asked if we knew why Jack wasn’t showing up as a missing person on their website. I rang the charity and was told they were unable to process the information as they had not received a response from the police confirming Jack’s details. I immediately investigated, only to find out that the police had forgotten to go back to Missing Persons.

Has it been forgotten? How is this possible? This is my son and someone forgot about him. In my opinion, this is absolutely inexcusable.

My personal experience with Missing People was truly incredible. I was assigned a support person to talk to. I can say that I was matched with an angel who is truly an extraordinary person.

The strength and belief it gave me to keep going and continue to make Jack’s name known was incredible.

What I absolutely love most is that she didn’t delete Jack and now she’s talking about Jack all the time. For me this is priceless. It gave me hope in my darkest days and continues to do so. He checks the support call offer weekly and I know I can talk to him about absolutely anything.

The Lost People were there at the worst time of our lives. Not just as a charity, but as an essential lifeline.

As the world progresses they support families but the nightmare is not like that. They provide practical guidance, emotional support, promotion and most importantly advocacy.

They work with police and agencies to find missing people and support those left behind. But more than anything else, they listen.

When the phone stops ringing, when the headlines disappear… When the days become months and the months become years, they’re still there. For families like ours, this support is not only helpful but vital.

A missing person is not a statistic.

They are someone’s children. Someone’s brother. Someone’s friend. Someone’s whole world.