Shannon Molloy: A loving mother’s heartbreaking tears, cried in secret, heard through the wall by her son

As a child, Shannon Molloy would hear his mum as she quietly cried in secret, carrying the weight of the world – and his burden – on her shoulders.

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I used to hear you crying late at night.

Not heaving sobs or pained squeals; just quiet, sharp intakes of breath as you sat on the edge of your bed, the glow of your lit cigarette the only thing visible in the dark.

You were always a skilled discreet crier, Mum, but those heartbreaking little sad sighs seeped through the thin wall that separated your bedroom from mine.

But us kids could never see you hurt. That wasn’t your way.

You had to remain stoic. You were determined to project an illusion of strength. You wanted us to believe that your hands were firmly on the wheel, totally in control of our fractured family wagon.

And so, I pushed away my temptation to leap from my bed and run to yours, to crawl into your arms and tell you everything was going to be OK.

It was for your sake, I believed at the time. But probably just as much for mine.

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My mum and I when I was 14, with my older brother Damien.

Those private moments of grief that you occasionally allowed yourself marked the end of your marriage, the struggle of trying to make ends meet, the exhaustion from working three jobs, and the loneliness of being a single mum of four, suddenly without a companion in life.

And then I added to your burden – another heavy stone for you to carry.

My teenage years in the late 1990s were hellish, suffering at the hands of relentless and vicious bullies who suspected that I was gay before I knew it, and who hated it and me with a merciless intensity.

You saw the bruises, the blood on my school shirt, the despair in my eyes.

You stormed into the school every other week, demanding something be done and that my tormentors be held to account.

Your pleas fell on the deaf ears of indifferent or uninterested teachers, some of whom were complicit in my torment.

But you did everything you could to help me, to fight for me.

You pleaded with me to hold on, to be strong, to know that you loved me, no matter what.

That high school was a nightmare. An all-boys, NRL-mad Catholic school in regional Queensland where I never stood a chance of fitting in.

But no matter how unforgiving each day was likely to be, I knew that you would be there for me when I came home.

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My mum, Donna – my hero.

Fourteen by Shannon Molloy.

You made me cakes and tarts as a special treat. You gave me what little spare money you had to go to the movies with friends. You watched with a rare sense of relief as I laughed and danced and fooled around with my handful of devoted girlfriends, both of us enjoying a reprieve from the darkness.

You were my saviour and my constant, and for that I will forever be grateful.

Mother’s Day is always a special occasion for me, as I reflect on your incredible sacrifice and dogged determination to push on, as well as your many remarkable achievements in business and life.

But this year feels more significant than normal.

I have spent the past four weeks talking about you and the profound impact you had on me in media interviews and virtual Q&A sessions.

My book, Fourteen, is about me. It chronicles that awful year of high school in our stifling little home town, before I found an escape.

But everybody agrees, mum. You are the hero of the story. Of my story.

Mum and I on my wedding day in 2018.

Your kindness, your empathy and your unquestioned love shines through the pages, just as it did for me 20 years ago.

That’s why I dedicated the book to you.

For mum, for giving me everything. All I am is thanks to you.

And it’s true.

Every success I have achieved, the happiness I have found, my values and my world view, my hope, my dreams and my compassion – they’re all thanks to you and your sacrifice and love.

Shannon Molloy is a senior reporter at news.com.au. His debut book Fourteen is out now