Sara Kuysters (17, student) died on 25 June 2017 by suicide. She was the only daughter of Frans Brekelmans (now 73, retired business economist) and Elsbeth Kuysters (59, business psychologist). Frans has a son from his previous marriage: Pim (49).
Elsbeth: ‘I was already over 30 when I got to know Frans. The arrival of Sarah was a great gift. As a little girl she was cheerful, temperamental, smart and sensitive. When she was three and a half, we had her baptized as a welcome ritual. A small-scale ceremony without large gifts, but there was a cream cake with a cherry on top. When I put her to bed at night, I asked her what she liked best. I was sure she would mention the cream pie, but she said, “The ointment, Mama.” With that, the cross was placed on the forehead.
She happily went to high school. She had good grades, read a lot, joined the student council and developed a passion for dance. At the beginning of the third school year, the class went on a survival camp to the Ardennes. After a few days we got a call that Sara was not doing well, she fell backwards every day. Later, her classmates told her that it looked like Sara was being pulled back by her hair. The tendency to fall remained, she also started to hyperventilate and was very tired. The pediatrician couldn’t find anything. Sara visited a psychosomatic physiotherapist who explained the influence of thoughts on feelings. After that it seemed to get better.
suicidal thoughts
During the summer break before the fourth grade, Sara asked if she could make an appointment with a psychologist. She first had to go to the practice nurse of the GP to get a referral. I went along, but stayed in the waiting room at Sara’s request. When I was called, the nurse practitioner told me that Sara was having suicidal thoughts. Sara couldn’t tell me herself. I didn’t panic, I was rather glad it was over. At least now we could do something about it. When I told Frans about it at home, Sara flew around his neck crying: ‘Oooh daddy, I think it’s so hard for you.’ Frans responded calmly: ‘Meis, we’re going to see how we can help you.’
Despite the conversations with the psychologist, Sara was not doing better. She was tired, couldn’t concentrate. During a math class where her teacher explained what to catch up on, she experienced so much stress that she freaked out and expressed herself suicidal. Frans took her out of school, but she wouldn’t say anything about it. The emergency service arrived the same evening. Sara didn’t want to talk in front of us, so Frans and I went upstairs. When we got downstairs, the psychiatrist asked us, “Is your child safe here?” ‘Of course our child is safe here,’ I replied in surprise, ‘why shouldn’t she be safe here?’ It hadn’t occurred to me that she might harm herself.
Closed department
The next morning we went to the mental health psychologist. It lasted, and lasted, and lasted. When I was picked up from the waiting room after three hours, the psychologist said, “We can’t make safety arrangements with Sara, she can’t promise she won’t hurt herself.” There was only one thing for it: she was admitted to a closed ward. She came to a chilly room, where there was nothing, only her own pillow. I had to leave her there when that child needed so much love and attention. It was terrible. The treating team was hopeful, Sara was an intelligent girl and was able to reflect well on her feelings. Our relationship became tense. She wanted nothing to do with us from the moment she was admitted. She was very ashamed of her feelings. She came home on the weekends, but it was hard to deal with. If your child is behaving rudely, you want to set limits. But if your child is suicidal, you want to avoid creating even more tension. I walked on eggshells.
By the time she was 17, we had come to the conclusion that the recordings weren’t working, she was just getting worse. Because she no longer wanted to live at home, Frans and I started looking for independent accommodation for her. That decision caused a positive shift in Sara’s relationship with us. Our relationship got better and she seemed to be getting better too. We found a studio in Breda, close to her school and close to the mental health care where she was treated on an outpatient basis. We saw it as a hopeful new start.
Hopeless
She had a nice house, she got along better with us and school gave her perspective. Yet she continued to feel just as bad. On May 19, Frans and I were called by her psychiatrist if we could come that afternoon. Sara wanted to tell us in the presence of the psychiatrist and the sociotherapist that she wanted to stop the treatment and that she wanted euthanasia because she was suffering hopeless psychologically. We took her death wish seriously. I told her that I thought she deserved a dignified death, but that we also wanted to look at other treatment options. We wanted to do everything we could to give her recovery another chance. She understood. Together with the psychiatrist we decided to follow a two-track policy. He registered her at the expert center for euthanasia and she also received fast-acting medication. Meanwhile, we delved into sleep therapy and even electroshocks.
Five weeks later, one Friday evening, Sara informed me that she was not feeling well at all. I told her it would be better for her to come home for the weekend, to us and to Liesje, the cat she loved so much. She agreed for me to come get her. On Saturday we went to buy a new case for her phone. As we walked through the city, she lowered her head on my shoulder: ‘I don’t need a new case, because I won’t be here any time soon.’ Suddenly I realized I was walking there with a terminal patient. “Not for the dead,” I said, “of course we’re going to buy a new case.”
Not only
On Sunday evening she went to bed on time, she took the cat with her. Frans and I were watching a great series on National Geographic. At one point Liesje came down and jumped next to me on the couch. I paid no attention. When we went up, I saw that Sarah’s door was open. She wasn’t in her bedroom, nor in the bathroom. She had to be in the attic. My heart was pounding in my throat, I hardly dared go up the stairs. We found her half sitting on the couch. We looked behind her back. She had her earphones in. The moment she passed away she had been listening to her favorite music from Passenger, the song let her go† Liesje was with her, the forensic doctor could confirm that later. It is very comforting to me that she was not alone.
Of course I thought about what it would have been like for me if she had received euthanasia. I think I would have found it very hard to watch her die. She did it for herself and for us as dignified as possible. She left many letters: for us, for her friends, for the mentor, for the teachers. She left us lovingly.’
Elsbeth Kuysters published the book ‘Mother heart full of mourning and love, living on after the suicide of my only child’ by Elikser.
Talking about thoughts of suicide is possible at 113 Suicide Prevention. Call 0800-0113 or 113 for a conversation. You can also chat at www.113.nl.