Death message that still haunts veteran cop

He’d delivered death messages for decades. But nothing prepared this policeman for the moment he had to deliver one to his own family.

Delivering death messages is “one of the hardest things” a police officer has to do, Mark Meredith says.

During his 37 years on the force, the highly decorated detective sergeant from Dubbo, NSW has had to knock on many strangers’ doors to deliver the worst news possible, that a loved one has died.

“The first one was when I was only very junior in my career,” Meredith told news.com.au.

“A young lady, she would have only been 15 or 16, had come off a horse at the showground in Dubbo.

“She was kicked by the horse in the head … it was fatal.”

Mark as a young cop.

Mark will retire later this month.

Meredith had to inform the teenager’s parents who were staying in a motel in the city centre about their daughter’s death.

“Actually having to deliver that (message), my god, you can’t imagine,” he said.

Officers typically deliver death messages in pairs, with each person taking on a different role.

One will try to gather as much information as possible for the coroner, including how old the victim was, when they were last seen and what their movements were before their death.

The other officer plays more of a support role for the family.

“They put the jug on, have a cup of tea, sit down, give them a hug,” Meredith said.

“It’s not about delivering mail and then walking out the door … it sometimes takes a whole shift.”

It’s a part of the job that never gets easier, regardless of how many times you have to do it.

“You never forget it,” he told news.com.au.

Of all the death messages he’s delivered, there’s one that Meredith will never recover from.

“I have three beautiful children, a daughter and two boys,” he said. “I lost my youngest boy in 2016 to suicide.”

The veteran cop, who has an Order of Australia Medal (OAM) and Australian Police Medal (APM), explained that it was up to him to tell his wife that their 24-year-old son, Perry, was dead.

“She beat me on the chest and she just pushed me away and started mopping the floor,” Meredith recalled about the heartbreaking moment.

“She was like, ‘I don’t want to know about this, this isn’t happening to me.’

“As a cop, I’ve done that type of scenario so many times, but this time I’m a dad, a husband, doing what another police officer would (usually) do.

“I can’t explain it,” he continued. “I don’t want people to know how it feels because you never get over that.”

Mark’s son, Perry.

Mark and his wife.

Understandably, the memory still haunts him.

“You’re a cop, didn’t you see these triggers? Didn’t you see these signs? You’re supposed to be a trained observer. Come on, mate, what have you missed here?’” he said of the relentless questions he asks himself.

Despite how painful the topic is, Meredith now speaks openly and honestly about his grief and mental health in a bid to help others.

He’s currently an ambassador for Fortem Australia, a not-for-profit organisation dedicated to supporting the mental health and wellbeing of first responders and their families.

Meredith is set to retire from the police later this month.

So what has almost 40 years on the force taught him about life, about people, about grief?

“I’ve learned that life is short,” he said. “There’s no need to be sad and downtrodden and grief stricken.

“Be happy.”