MY SON HAD A BLACK DOG CALLED DEPRESSION

‘Every cell in my body aches with longing for my beautiful boy,’ says Cape Town mother Ronelle de Villiers, whose son ended his life at the age of 16. ‘But I have chosen still to seek the beauty and joy in life, to focus and be grateful’.  Read her moving journey and watch the video below, where Ronelle offers some hard-won advice on the tactics that helped her husband and her survive this devastating blow

‘A teacher once said that convincing Philip was the easiest way to influence a class – the rest would follow,’ says Ronelle, pictured here with Philip when he was 15

A teacher once said that convincing Philip was the easiest way to influence a class – the rest would follow. He was humble and witty, head boy of his junior school, and a talented academic, musician and sportsman.

In his first year of high school he had to stop hockey, athletics, drumming and guitar due to a wrist injury. He didn’t complain but began to spend afternoons sleeping on the couch. He seemed down, but not miserable, and began to date a lovely girl, Lara.

Concerned about the negative effects of prolonged non-participation, we urged the hand surgeon to operate on his wrist, and Philip returned to sports and music in grade 10.

He asked for ‘one good reason’ why his 16th birthday, coming up that August, could not go on later than the usual curfew of 11pm! Yet in June, unexpectedly broke up with Lara. He spoke very little for three weeks, and we became concerned he could be depressed. He never had that birthday party because a school hockey tour to the Netherlands cropped up: we asked his teammates and coach to please look out for Philip, but they saw no signs of depression. However, we saw a different side to him when he returned from Holland and took him to a psychiatrist immediately. Severe depression was diagnosed and he started on medication and weekly therapy.

After a few weeks of treatment Philip went for an evening run, but uncharacteristically didn’t return. We searched frantically until he phoned some hours later from a friend’s house. He had an appointment with the psychologist the following day and because he had suicidal thoughts, Philip was admitted to a clinic for two weeks.

After Philip [pictured here in a red top] died, Ronelle found a pile of letters he had written. ‘He described feeling intolerably lonely and abandoned by God. He expressed shame at being depressed despite his outwardly happy life, and the intolerable burden of wearing a mask,’ says Ronelle

Allowed a day out, Philip chose to climb Table Mountain with us. After two weeks in the clinic he said he felt fine and safe, and that he wasn’t having suicidal thoughts. In hindsight, we realise he’d already made his decision, and was saying goodbye to the people he loved in the last week of his life. He also said goodbye to his sister Jean-Marie, with whom he was very close. She had just finished her final Matric exams and was leaving for celebrations by the beach in Hermanus.

On the morning of December 4th, I took coffee to wake him up at 7am, to pack for a trip he was going on with a group of friends from his church youth group. My heart skipped a few beats when there was no answer to my knock. The door was locked, and there was no answer to my yelling and screaming. I ran around the house looking for a stone to break the window. When I finallly pulled back the curtain, the first thing I saw was his beloved dog looking at me beside a pile of letters, on a bed which hadn’t been slept in.

Philip with sister Jean-Marie, with whom he was very close, says Ronelle. He made sure to say goodbye to her before he ended his life

And then the absolute unimaginable, Philip hanging in front of his cupboard.

My neighbour jumped over the wall after hearing my screams and then came a stream of people, and the police.

Later, we read the letters which Philip had written in his darkest hours over two years. They were mostly about his struggle to be ‘okay’. His last few letters were addressed to me and Gerrit, asking us to forgive him. He described feeling intolerably lonely, and abandoned by God. He expressed shame at being depressed despite his outwardly happy life, and the intolerable burden of ‘wearing a mask’. And a mounting, overwhelming fear of the pain of life: ultimately outweighing that of death. ‘I cannot carry this mask any longer. Please forgive me,’ he wrote.

The De Villiers family (left to right): Jean-Marie (22), mother Ronelle, father Gerrit and Philip. ‘Depression so often convinces its victims that their dark thoughts are shameful and must be kept secret from the world.’ says Ronelle

I now understand that depression is so often like a stealthy, deceptive, cowardly ‘black dog’ that sneaks up and sinks its claws into people. A disease that convinces its victims that their dark thoughts are shameful and must be kept secret from the world, that they should be ashamed for not coping. I hate that dog! I hate it! I so wish we’d spoken more to our children about depression at a young age. Explained how, like flu, it’s a common illness that anyone can suffer from, at any age. And that it can be treated.

I wish I could have been there for him in his darkest hour of life. When no hope was left inside of him. I wish I could have held him in my arms, stroked his curly hair and told him that I was there for him, no matter what. Every cell in my body aches with longing for my beautiful boy. It’s a difficult and heavy thing to carry, this hole in your body.

On that horrific morning in those first few hours of shock and confusion, people, police, friends in and out, I sat down on the couch and said to God that I was going to cling to His hand for life and death. This was the only way I could find peace in the mother that I’d been to Philip, in what I could and couldn’t do for my son, and peace with Philip’s decision.

A few days after Philip died, Gerrit and I sat on that same couch and asked ourselves how we were going to be sure to do this together. It was a crucial moment in our relationship and we decided never to blame, rather always to affirm the other. Since Philip died, we’ve walked together daily at 5pm for 20 minutes to listen attentively to the other.

My advice to other bereaved parents is to be kind and gentle with yourself and each other. Grief leaves you with very little energy: don’t waste it on guilt or blame. Say ‘I wish’, rather than ‘I should have’.

Reaching beyond: Ronelle was given this paragliding experience by friends on her 50th birthday. ‘It took great effort not to withdraw from life but we always felt better for going out,’ she says

Ronelle also goes on a restoring annual hike with a group called Solesisters. ‘Depression is often like a deceptive and cowardly black dog that sinks its claws into people,’ she says. ‘I wish I could have been there for Philip in the darkest hour of his life.’

We didn’t withdraw from life, and asked friends to keep inviting us for supper. It took great effort, but we always felt better for going. We’re enjoying hiking and camping with friends again. Our church community is an enormous support.

It’s like a punch in the stomach to hear people say ‘commit’ in relation to suicide, or the Afrikaans word selfmoord [literally, self-murder]. These are words that imply a criminal act, rather than the organ failure that it is: the inability of the brain to sustain life. ‘Died from suicide/depression’ or selfdood [self-death] are also painful words, but give victims the respect and compassion they deserve.

I so miss Philip’s easy, contagious laughter that filled our home. I take comfort in wearing his special coat, and in the exquisite quilt made by the mother of a friend, in his favourite clothes and sayings, in the places that he loved. I like to remember his passion for hiking on Table Mountain.

Gerrit and I keep on saying to ourselves that we wish we had said less and listened more. That we had said, ‘Tell us more about how you feel.’ When he said that he was lonely, we wish we’d asked him to speak to us. When he said that he was so sad sometimes, we wish we had asked him to tell us more.

‘I like to remember Philip’s passion for hiking Table Mountain,’ says Ronelle. Her advice for bereaved family members? ‘Grief leaves you with very little energy: don’t waste it on guilt or blame. Say I wish, rather than I should have. Affirm rather than blame each other.’

Depressed people feel alone. By sitting and listening and being with them in that pain of loneliness, you can maybe make them feel that they’re not alone. Their thinking isn’t reasoned or clear so I have come to realise that being a compassionate listener is much more important than giving advice.

Nothing can lessen the pain of losing Philip, but I have chosen still to seek and see the beauty and joy in life, to focus and be grateful for the people and the things that I do have. I believe that my beautiful son’s life was greater than his death, and that this is what Philip would have wanted for us. And that we will one day be reunited, as God has promised.

‘It’s so easy to be snappy or withdraw…’ What advice does Ronelle give to anyone who, like her, has lost a relative due to depression?

I couldn’t have survived Philip’s death without the belief that God is ultimately in control of this broken world, and in His promise that He will give beauty for ashes. I believe that one day we will be reunited with Philip and that on the other side of that devastating evening, Jesus was waiting for him with arms wide open, welcoming him home. And that Philip is whole now. No more sadness, no more pain, no more loneliness.

Philip with girlfriend, Lara. ‘I believe that my beautiful son’s life was greater than his death, and that seeking joy and being grateful are what Philip would have wanted for us,’ says Ronelle