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Testimonial | Mental health and pandemic: when the strongest collapses

I never really liked Linda Lemay’s song, “Le plus fort c’est mon père”. In fact, to be honest, I never found myself there. As hard as it sounds, I never believed that the strongest was my father. My father always seemed to me a phantom, the shadow of my mother, existing in the background of our daily life, mine at least. Until he collapses …


Posted on February 3, 2021 at 1:00 p.m.



Emilie Dugré
Research professional, University of Sherbrooke

This fall, in the midst of a pandemic, my father collapsed. Not his body, his head. He’s lost his mind. After months, insomnia and anxiety gnawed at him from inside. Containment, restrictive measures, the number of deaths, the fear of dying. Everything packed tightly in a bundle, which he had carried over his shoulder in silence, for months. One morning in October, my father collapsed. Suffering took up so much space that he wanted to end his life. My father wanted to die to stop hurting. A classic, suicide is indeed an act of despair. Broken, he was led into the wing of madness.

To protect himself. To pick up the pieces of his soul. In extreme vulnerability …

The only contact possible, a telephone. No visit, no comfort, hugs or hugs. Just love to be instilled from a distance, wishing hard that the airwaves do the job. Tears, a confused voice, incomprehensible words. More tears and a lot of guilt.

But how do you console a 70-year-old man who hasn’t been taught that words help eradicate pain and pain from our hearts? We say to him 1000 times “I love you”, we blow so hard to infuse him with all the love in the world. Hopefully that’s enough.

Today, I know that the strongest is my father, because he went through hell and came out alive. This crossing requires courage and an immense will to live.

I know, I’ve been there …

Love makes us stronger, but I believe that suffering too …

I also know that it is through stories that we make sense of life and everyday life. Especially in times of pandemic. Not in the statistics, not in the numbers, because it is through the stories that one touches the heart. The human in each of us. It is for this reason that I share my story.

My dearest wish: that we pay as much attention to our mental health as to our physical, individual and collective health. The effects of this pandemic are multiple, we have been told it again. But with a sick soul, one can hardly continue to move forward and to hope.

I want to sincerely thank the nurses who took care of my father with love and kindness.

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