Remembering Caelin

In late December, a few weeks shy of his 19th birthday, Caelin Porter killed himself in a hotel room.

Caelin was funny and charming. But his mother said his sadness could also break your heart. Most people never saw that side of him.

The next morning, after driving through St. Albert, hoping to find his car, Shelley Porter reported her son missing. She said she knew what was coming when they brought her to a room in the back of the station.

She wanted to find her son. She also wanted his pain to end. But nothing prepares you for the death of your child.

“As much as I say I was prepared, it's horrible,” she said. “It hurts. It's like something stabs you, it's such a horrible, horrible feeling.”

Caelin Porter was loved.

A photo in the Porters' living room shows a handsome, young man with a bright smile and golden, curly locks. He was popular in school, and charmed people easily. He made everyone he met feel important.

He was very affectionate to those he cared about, often sneaking up, kissing and hugging them. A skinny kid, Shelley remembers his hugs were surprisingly strong.

Once, his sister got upset, so he played with her ponytail until she laughed. In the summer, he called Shelley on her way home, speaking with an Italian accent. ‘Mama,' he said, ‘if you go get me a bottle of red wine I will drink wine with my mama on the deck and we will talk.'

“Well, how do you say no to that with an 18-year-old who wants to talk to his mom,” she said.

There is lots of Caelin left at his home. There's the chair in the living room where he sat and read the night before he left and died. In the next room, an old-fashioned hat rests on top of his bass. His band was planning to go to Vancouver, said Shelley. She admits she was afraid he may not have come home from that trip.

Upstairs, his room is unchanged. The bed is made but slightly ruffled from Roo, his dog, sleeping here. There are posters of his favourite bands, movies and Zelda, an old video game, on the wall. Beside his bed, drawings decorate the wall. Shelves bend under Nietzsche and Dickens.

“Show her the notebooks,” his younger brother calls from across the hall. “He was so smart.”

When Caelin was four, he'd lie awake at night long after dark, eyes wide open, thinking about life and religion and how kids get to ‘choose where they go.' He was very philosophical, said Shelley. They later laughed about how she always asked him to dumb it down. “I can't keep up with how you talk,” she said.

He was 14 when he told Shelley that he felt sad, losing interest in the things that made him happy. They went to see his doctor and later a counsellor. The prescriptions made him feel better but also dull and removed. He stopped taking them.

The sadness never left and at 17, his depression worsened. Caelin started losing weight and not sleeping well. Always a talker, being around people now made him anxious. He often withdrew to his room to ponder life in the dark.

He first attempted suicide was in October 2013, and he ended up in the hospital for seven weeks. Even here the nurses and doctors loved him, said Shelley. They secretly made him coffee. Five months later, he tried again.

Shelley said he told her it hurt to be here but he wasn't lacking for love or wanted to leave the family. “All I could do is love him and support him and hope he makes the right choices.”

After March, something clicked. Caelin spent the summer playing music and meeting his friends. His school let him graduate, even though there were classes left to make up. Shelley said he was happier until the fall. Then “you could tell he was going down again.”

He tried two more suicides. The last one killed him.

“He was a really smart, insightful kid. He was a nice kid. He wasn't angry at the world,” she said. “He was frustrated with his illness, he was frustrated he felt so yucky.”

Talking suicide

Talking about suicide does not cause the death of your child, said Shelley. If anything, it kept Caelin around longer. Yet the stigma of depression and suicide remains unbroken. The first time Caelin talked about suicide, even she wanted to run.

“The first thing I wanted to do was (say) shut up, shut up, shut up,” she said. “I did not want to listen. Because that's the most painful thing a child can say to you.”

Over 70 per cent of youth don't get help based on sadness or depression that could lead to suicide, said Thomas Holmes, a registered psychologist who practices privately and with the Sturgeon School Division.

Yet depression is the leading cause of preventable death among Albertans. It takes more lives than motor vehicle or homicide deaths.

People don't talk about it because mental health carries a heavy stigma of being dangerous and wrong. But depressed people are not broken, said Holmes.

For most people, mental health or stress concerns happen at least once in their life. What's concerning is not knowing how to get well.

“That's a huge obstacle that we as a community need to overcome,” he said. “The brain is part of the body and so we really should attend to issues with the brain, like depression, like sadness, with the same result-oriented rigour we have with physical illness.”

Males complete suicide about four times more often than women. Women suffer three times more from diagnosis. Those in the lesbian, gay, bi- and queer society are at the highest risk of completing suicide, as are First Nations people and men between the ages of 45 to 55.

There's a myth that talking about suicide causes people to kill themselves, said Holmes. But there's no evidence supporting that. In fact, many people who consider suicide will be glad someone asked about it.

“I feels awkward at first but … that can be a really relieving question to somebody. They can now go and find help,” he said. “We have to be relational and ask people these questions when we see they are hurting.”

Most youth begin to develop depression and sadness at the age of 14. As a society, we are quick to label their issues as growing pains.

But when they start to withdraw, become sensitive and irritable, or lose interest and motivation, we should worry. Then it's up to parents, teachers and friends to ask questions.

“They may not do the counselling but they can recognize the changes,” he said.

Afterwards, there is a wide net of supports available to work with the youth, starting with the school counsellor or family doctor to a private psychologist, he said.

There is danger in reporting on suicide shortly after it happens. It can have a contagious effect on those at risk who see the sudden outpouring of love and care.

But these people also feel hopeless. They need that support and care before they consider dying as a way out, said Holmes. When people talk about depression and suicide early on, “we know that the outcomes are better,” he said.

Shelley fought her son's depression until the end.

She opened the curtains when Caelin stayed in the dark and laid beside him in bed. She forced him to leave his room and spent time with the family. She stopped watching the news to keep him from brooding over the bad in the world. They told him they loved him every day.

He was honest, she said. He never lied about his thoughts on depression and suicide. They spoke about ways to make him feel better and he tried. When he pushed her away, she pushed back.

“Even though they are pushing you away, that's not really what they want,” she said. “You get so anxious (with depression) you think nobody wants to be around you. So you make sure he knows you do love him.”

Talking also took away the blame, said Shelley. Caelin did not survive his illness. But he did share his love with the family until the day he left.

“We need to make it okay for people to have mental health issues,” she said. “I think if you are open to it, you don't have to go down that dark road.”