Holly Wells, Jessica Chapman, Sarah Payne, Milly Dowler, James Bulger, Damilola Taylor, these names will forever remain in the public consciousness. Although we didn't know them, few will forget the horror of their deaths. It is hard to imagine how parents ever come to terms with the murder of their child, so how do they cope?

It may be a cliche, but is true nevertheless, that no parent expects to bury their child. The death of any child is a devastating event, but research suggests that it is even harder to cope with the unexpectedness of losing a child through a sudden, traumatic event - murder, suicide, road accident or disaster.

This type of death rips away the assumptions that everyone's lives are based on, says Gordon Riches, a lecturer in sociology at the University of Derby. "Most people believe the world is reasonably just, you reap what you sow.

"The arbitrariness of it [murder of your child] is so compelling. You thought it happened to other people and the fact that it's happened to you is so overwhelming. It's not just about the loss of your child, it's the loss of naivety about how the world works."

The notion of closure or coming back to a sense of normality does not exist. Parents learn to live with a totally different life, adds Riches.

Kevin Wells - Holly's father - has recently published his book Goodbye, Dearest Holly which he says helped him get rid of "hatred, anxiety and unfairness".

In it he says: "We have had to deal with our sense of loss as well as bitter feelings of unfairness and injustice. The system often did not help."

Relationships can crumble as each parent tries to come to terms with what has happened, especially if they grieve differently or separately, and particularly if blame is involved. Kevin Wells was told - somewhat unhelpfully - by the police that 98 per cent of couples separate after they have lost a child. The statistic is often quoted, although no one seems to know its origination and many dispute it - especially as the issue is clouded by the UK's high divorce rate.

Couples can be severely tested when they grieve in different ways. One may throw themselves back into normality, while the other is too devastated to do anything. This was Rose Dixon's experience, national training and development officer at Support After Murder and Manslaughter (Samm) after her daughter Avril died suddenly, aged 22, through medical negligence.

"Avril died on a Friday afternoon, the post mortem was on the Monday and my husband went to work that day. This is where a lot of breakdowns happen. My interpretation was he's a heartless beast and he didn't love her as much as I did. Within two months he was 'back to normal', out with his cycling club on Sundays and I was at home distraught wanting to talk."

Dixon realised this was her husband's way of coping and it didn't mean his world hadn't been turned upside down too. Thirteen years after Avril's death they are still together.

But the murder of your child brings a different perspective to grief. Research by Riches(1) suggests that in cases of child murders, parental grief is secondary to justice. "Murder must be one of the few causes of death...where the private and diverse reactions of bereaved family members are the subject of such official scrutiny."

Most murders are committed by someone who knows the victim and quite often it is someone within the family. Consequently, parents are often initially treated like suspects and interviewed separately, sometimes immediately after being informed of their child's murder.
Riches says: "It's understandable why police do this so as not to contaminate evidence. But police aren't trained. Relatives should have a right to as much information that's available - if not immediately, then after court proceedings are completed."

Parents also have to hear their child being referred to as "the body". They may be able to see them, but they cannot touch them. The defence team can request as many post mortems as thought necessary to demonstrate a client's innocence and there is no time limit to how long the coroner holds the body, which can vary from two weeks to over a year.

During this time the family cannot make any funeral arrangements. According to Riches, this delay denies parents an important ritual which may help mark the shift from initial shock to accepting the reality of death. Media intrusion means they can't control the "story" of their child's death, their privacy is hijacked and the chance of having some form of normal routine is reduced.

Families of murdered children have so much more to deal with than those coping with "ordinary" bereavement, says Dixon. "They can't really begin grieving properly until after the trial and that usually comes to court at about the time of the first anniversary of their child's death."

And they are generally left to cope with little professional support. "Murder is still quite rare," says Dixon. "Most people don't know somebody who has been murdered, so when it happens you think it's only happened to you."

Apart from Samm, which runs a helpline staffed by volunteers, and has support groups, there is little out there. There are bereavement counsellors and voluntary organisations, but families where a child has been murdered are clear that their needs are unique.
Dixon trains police family liaison officers who go in after a murder to support the family, acting as a liaison point between investigation and family, the Crown Prosecution Service, probation service and social services on working with bereaved families and helping them understand those differences.

Quality training for officers is vital if families are to be helped to adjust successfully and this will depend on whether they have been able to grieve properly, says Riches.

As Kevin Wells says: "Although this grieving journey is going to be a lifetime one, we owe it to Holly's memory to make it as smooth as possible and that means focusing on something that we do have some control over - the rest of our lives."

(1) G Riches, P Dawson, "Spoiled memories: problems of grief resolution in families bereaved through murder", Mortality, Vol 3, No 2, 1998

"I felt I didn't have the right to be alive if he was dead" 

To this day Patsy Cullinan doesn't know exactly what happened the night her son Brian was murdered on his way home from a friend's birthday party in October 1993. She knows he was punched in the head and a fractured skull caused a cerebral contusion which killed him, but she doesn't know the hows or whys. 

After being told by one of Brian's friends that he had been injured, a neighbour took Patsy to the scene, which had been taped off by police. With no explanation, police drove her at speed to the hospital. Here she was told he was in a bad way, and as an Irish Catholic she requested a priest to perform the Last Rites. She wasn't told why this was refused, but found out later it was because the ritual carried a risk of contaminating evidence. 

Finally Patsy was told that Brian had suffered a head injury, that they had tried to resuscitate him but failed. In a daze she was taken to the chapel of rest where a police officer stationed at the door told her she couldn't touch Brian's body. Again there was no explanation.

"He had the resuscitation piece in his mouth so I had this weird feeling that he was on life support," recalls Patsy. At this point, no one had actually said her son was dead. 

Guilt was the first thing to hit her the next morning: "I felt that I didn't have the right to be alive if he was dead."

Unable to cope with the finality of death, Patsy pretended to herself that Brian was on holiday. It wasn't until later that day that police officers, with a family liaison officer who stayed with her, broke the news that Brian had argued with three men and one had been charged with murder. "When I heard that I became hysterical."

Her priority was to get Brian's body back for burial but she was distressed at the thought that he hadn't received the Last Rites - there is an Irish superstition that murdered people's souls are lost for eternity. "This bothered me more than anything," says Patsy.

After coping with two post mortems, the funeral had to be cancelled two days beforehand; the accused had changed his defence team - and as is his right - wanted another post mortem. "I was so disheartened I wanted to crawl somewhere and die."

A week later the funeral went ahead, but Patsy didn't want to go. "I had got used to going to the mortuary. I could see him and talk to him. The funeral would be the final letting go."

After the funeral, Patsy's focus switched to the trial and to the accused being found guilty and punished. She was distressed to find that the charge had been reduced from murder to manslaughter. 

After the first day in court the defence team told her that if she sat at the front of the public gallery it could be construed as intimidating behaviour and if she showed emotions they could ask for a retrial.

"I felt as if every basic human right had been stripped from me." Then vital forensic evidence was ruled inadmissible because of a police mistake and the verdict came back not guilty. "The shock was dreadful, I lost all faith in the criminal justice system. I felt betrayed. The day after the trial felt worse than when Brian died."

Patsy became suicidal. Her GP prescribed anti-depressants and referred her to a psychiatric day care unit where she had counselling and they gave her the number of Support After Murder and Manslaughter (Samm). It was these three things that got her through. At Samm she was finally able to talk to other people who had been through the same experience. She became a Samm volunteer and is now its national co-ordinator. 

Aside from Samm, Patsy acknowledges that she was lucky with the professional support she received and is angry that it is not more readily available to others in the same position unless you can afford to pay. "You have to go on an NHS waiting list and don't get any priority. I feel there's a lack of understanding of the impact of bereavement through murder and manslaughter."

Although the rawness and pain has eased slowly, Patsy is still haunted by thoughts of how her quiet son must have felt when it happened. "To die that way, alone and at the hands of others, I will never be able to live with that."