- Susan Cutler Early spent years trying to help her son through severe mental illness and addiction
- Then, during a terrifying attack in her own kitchen, he came within millimetres of killing her
- Against all odds, Susan survived and has since turned her pain into a mission to help others
Here Susan Cutler Early, 62 tells her story in her own words
While slicing up a juicy rockmelon for morning tea, I heard the doorbell ring.
Peering around the breakfast bar, my stomach tightened as I saw my son Kyle, 30, through the opaque glass door.
Kyle had struggled with mental illness since his teens. As a little boy he was sweet, cheeky and obsessed with Lego.
But aged 15, he was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, which caused hallucinations and erratic moods. It was hard on the whole family, including my daughter, Kaitlyn, then 12.
For 15 years, I’d sought professional help for him.
Just before his 20th birthday, he developed a drug and alcohol addiction. He left home and was living rough.
It broke my heart.
READ MORE TRUE CRIME: I was held hostage by a serial killer for 47 days. Here’s how I survived.
We spoke infrequently, but due to his violent outbursts it wasn’t always safe to be around him.
Now, in April 2023, when I opened the door his reception was reserved.
He didn’t say hello or move to hug me. He just stood there. From his filthy clothes and long, dirty hair, it was clear he hadn’t showered in days and was living rough.
My mother’s instinct took over. ‘Are you coming inside?’ I asked.
He nodded, following me to the kitchen.
I made him a plate of food and, as we spoke, he warmed up.
He told me about his ‘girlfriend’, who I knew was really a nurse from the mental health facility he frequented.
‘She’s out shopping right now,’ he said.
‘I’d love to meet her when she’s free,’ I replied.
I’d learned it was better to let him live in a harmless delusion.
As he headed to the deck for a smoke, I sat on the lounge and checked my phone.
My husband, George, 58, – we married in 2002 after I’d split with the children’s father the year before – was at work, but he had seen Kyle arrive on our door camera and messaged to check in.
‘Do you feel safe?’ he asked, when I called.
‘I’m okay, I’ll see you tonight,’ I assured him.
Ending the phone call, I looked up to find Kyle towering over me.
‘Do you have a candle lighter?’ he asked.
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His demeanour had transformed. His eyes dark, he looked like pure evil.
Scared he was going to use the lighter to harm me, I pretended to look for it, opening drawers around the house as he trailed closely behind.
When I came up empty-handed, he was furious.
‘Look harder!’ he shouted.
Worried, I turned back to where he’d left his jacket at the breakfast bar.
‘No. You need to leave,’ I told Kyle, handing him the coat.
Rushing at me from across the room, he drew his right arm back and punched me hard in the right eye. Blood streamed from my split skin just above my eyebrow.
I had no time to react as a deluge of punches rained down on my face.
As I tried to fend him off, blood gushed into both my eyes, blinding me.
You can’t die like this, I told myself.
Using my hands to feel along the kitchen counter, I reached blindly for my phone that I’d left on the bench.
My vision hazy, wiping my eyes I registered pain in my abdomen and face. Then I felt a strange pressure above my left ear.
Reaching up with my left hand, I felt the unmistakable handle of a kitchen knife sticking out of my skull.
I’ve been stabbed, I realised.
Sprinting for the front door, I raced out to the front yard.
‘Help!’ I screamed, waving my arms wildly.
Thankfully, six neighbours came and helped me lie down in the driveway.
‘We’ve called an ambulance,’ they told me.
As the adrenaline wore off, agonising pain radiated through my lower back.
I tried to roll onto my side but hands held me down.
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‘Don’t move,’ they urged, telling me my intestines were showing.
Seconds later, paramedics and police arrived, loading me into an ambulance. As we raced to hospital, I blacked out.
When I came to in hospital, Kaitlyn, 27, and George were by my side.
‘You’ve been in a coma for five days,’ they told me. ‘We weren’t sure if you’d survive.’
Doctors said I’d been minutes from death. I’d been stabbed four times in the abdomen and face, and in the head – with the knife I’d been slicing rockmelon with.
I couldn’t believe my own son had tried to kill me. But I was relieved to learn Kyle had been caught. After he fled out the back door, Kyle had been found in a neighbour’s yard.
He was being held in prison after his arrest.
I listened in shock as the doctors explained that after arriving at hospital, – with the 22cm kitchen knife still lodged in my head – I’d been rushed into surgery to patch my abdomen.
They stemmed the bleeding, and removed part of my small intestine that had been damaged beyond repair.
‘You lost half your body’s blood from the injuries. The knife nicked your spleen, and missed your spine and aortic valve by just three millimetres,’ the doctor explained.
‘The slash to your neck missed your carotid artery and the cuts to your forehead were to the bone,’ he said.
A second surgery two days later removed the blade. ‘The knife pierced 6mm into your skull, just shy of your brain,’ the doctor said.
Thankfully, I had no brain injuries.
As I processed what’d happened, I knew I needed to forgive my son. He was unwell. It wasn’t his fault.
I spent two weeks in hospital recovering, before I was transferred to a rehabilitation facility where I re-learned to walk and feed myself, and learned how to dress my wounds.
Ten days later, I finally returned home. George, and my sister Traci, 53, took me to medical check-ups, and our church community were incredibly generous, donating food and fuel vouchers.
The following month my life-long friend Sue, a writer, encouraged me to share my story.
‘Only if we do it together,’ I told her.
In January 2024 we started writing about the attack, but also my fight to help Kyle over the years. It was painful and emotional but, in November 2024 seeing my book,
When I Saw God’s Hand, published, it felt worth it.
In August this year, I was in Hendricks County Court when my son was found guilty of attempted murder and battery by bodily waste, after he’d spat on an emergency medical technician during his arrest.
In September, Kyle Braun, 33, was sentenced to 42 years and six months in prison for his attack on me. I had mixed emotions.
On one hand I’m thrilled that the maximum sentence means Kyle won’t be able to hurt me or anyone else.
On the other hand, it felt more like a funeral. It was the last time I will see or talk to my son, so I am still grieving.
Now, I’m back in good health, although I do have some ongoing issues including numbness in my left leg due to nerve damage in my abdomen.
Still, I cherish each moment with George, 61, Kaitlyn, 30, and my beloved grandkids, Tessa, 11, Payton, six, Liam, four and Weston, 19 months.
I’m keeping busy with author talks and I’m travelling again.
I came so close to death, but know I survived for a reason – to share my story and help others with mental health.
To buy Susan’s book, visit When I Saw God’s Hand.
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