The last conversation I had with my 21-year-old daughter Freyja before she took her own life was an argument. That awful fact will haunt me until my last day.
She had been distant and rude with me and I didn’t know why, so one morning I went to the café where she worked. At first, she was bubbly and excited to see me – like my old Freyja was back. Then she turned cold and disgruntled by my presence. I just couldn’t understand it.
Things hadn’t been great between us, but I just wanted to tell her how much I missed her and loved her dearly. I asked if she wanted to catch up for a coffee or lunch, but she brushed me off. It was as though something had changed within her.
I said, ‘Okay, well, call me when you’re ready.’ What more could a father do? I never received a call or text from her after that, and I didn’t press her because I wanted to give her space.
In the years since, I have scolded myself many times – you should have pushed, you should have paid more attention – but in my heart I know there was nothing I could have done with the knowledge I had at the time.
You see, despite being bright, bubby and brilliant, my Freyja had her demons.
For years, her mother and I had nothing to worry about. By age 15, she had three jobs, working at two cafés and a Bakers Delight. She was a well-liked student and was the house spirit captain at school. She was an all-rounder athlete and social butterfly.
Then, after she left high school, she became distant and there was a real sense of disconnect between us by 2019. I felt like I was losing her and didn’t know why.
There were no warning signs she was suicidal. Perhaps she just hid it well, or maybe I didn’t see them because she was living with my ex-wife at the time.
After her death, I learned she had tried to end her life a few years earlier. I had no idea. If I’d had that knowledge then maybe I would have been more vigilant. I might have been able to help her.
But one thing I did notice clearly was she was going through a phase of turning loved ones away. We had always been close: we had gone to music festivals, travelled together, and trained for two years to compete in an Ironman triathlon.
It’s hard to sum up Freyja’s short life in words. Perhaps the first thing that stood out was her knack for sales. In primary school, she would sell stickers to staff for 40c each and made $70. At 16, she self-funded a ski trip from our home in Australia to Japan. She knew how to earn money.
My daughter Freyja (right) took her own life on October 9, 2019. I never noticed any signs she was suicidal, possibly because she lived with my ex-wife. I was never told she had tried to commit suicide a few years earlier
After graduating high school, she started a degree in business but wasn’t enjoying it and thought about switching to fitness. Her mother and I never got to see how she fared on this new path because she died before seeing it through.
Losing a child is never something you get over. As a father, I’ve done a lot of soul-searching. Should I have been there or done more for her? Should I have asked her more questions? But now, with the help of medication, I don’t believe there is anything I could’ve done to change things.
Since her death, I’ve come to realise it was most likely planned for a long time. Her friends noticed her saying things like, ‘I’m here for a good time, not a long time.’
I remember that dreadful night we received the phone call. It was October 9, 2019. After saying goodnight at 8pm, Freyja went into her room and locked the door, then consumed a deadly cocktail pills.
Despite being bright, bubby and brilliant, my Freyja had her demons
At age 15, Freyja had three jobs, working at two cafés and at a Bakers Delight. She excelled at school and was at the top of her class. She was an all-rounder athlete and social butterfly
But before doing so, she rang her boyfriend to tell him not to come over that night as he usually would. She also texted a few people, including her best friend, saying, ‘I’m sorry, I love you.’
Receiving that text would obviously have rung alarm bells. Her best friend rushed over, banged on the front door and raced to Freyja’s room. It was locked. They called her boyfriend. He bolted over like a madman and bashed down the door.
They found Freyja unconscious on the bed.
Her heart had stopped beating 15 minutes earlier. An ambulance was called immediately and they managed to get her heart beating again.
My ex-wife called our son, who was living with me at the time. He rushed to my bedroom, woke me up and said: ‘Dad, Freyja’s tried to commit suicide. The ambulance is there. They’ve resuscitated her, and I’m going there right now if you want to come.’
‘Of course I want to come!’ I replied. We jumped in the car to and raced to the hospital.
Seeing my daughter on life support crushed me. I felt a tsunami of sadness and I started bawling my eyes out. I slowly walked to her bed and touched her hand.
Our family rallied together in support of one another, hoping and praying she would be okay. We were still optimistic she might make it through.
I told them about her training for the Ironman triathlon, how she was tough and how I was certain that if anyone could make it, it was my daughter.
Losing a child is never something you get over. As a father, I’ve done a lot of soul-searching. Should I have been there or done more for her? Should I have asked her more questions?
We kept vigil by her bedside night and day that weekend.
One of those nights, I wept silently next to her as the heart monitor bleeped. Our relationship wasn’t great when she chose to end her life and I was racked with guilt and regret. I remember thinking, ‘I need a sign, Freyja. So I know we still had that connection I cherished when you were younger.’
I went downstairs where I saw a group of Freyja’s friends. One of them, whom I knew, came up to me, gave me a hug and said: ‘You know she really loved you, don’t you?’
They all chimed in. ‘Yes, Mr Lee, she loved you so much.’ I broke down. I had prayed for some reassurance that she loved me, that I’d been a good father, that I hadn’t somehow been a reason for all this.
Deep down, I think Freyja knew I would be crushed by this. Maybe that was why she pushed me away before she died.
A day later, I was sitting in the waiting room and two doctors walked over to me. I already knew what they were going to say: Freyja was gone.
They asked us if she would be an organ donor and we said absolutely. She would want the opportunity to help others; it was the type of person she was.
We found out later that she often said as much to friends. ‘If I ever go, I want my organs to go to everybody.’
After Freyja left us, I went downhill. I didn’t know how to cope with the pain. I was drunk nearly every night. It was the only way I could carry the unbearable burden of grief.
One way I’ve learned to handle my sadness is to embrace spirituality. I was never a spiritual person before. Now I believe my daughter’s spirit lives on through butterflies.
It started two weeks after Freyja died. I went for a bike ride and noticed a butterfly was flying directly alongside me. It hung around for a while, following me as I rode.
Within me, I knew it was Freyja’s spirit.
From then on, whenever I felt in need of a connection to Freyja, there seemed to be butterflies around. I know it sounds wacky. The old me would say I’ve gone mad.
I went to visit my mother in New Zealand recently. She was clearing out boxes of our old stuff. Just to test my theory that she was watching over me, I asked Freyja to give me another sign. I opened a box and the first thing I saw was a picture Freyja had drawn when she was five years old. In the drawing, she was in the sky as an angel with butterflies flying all around her, while our family was on the ground below.
It wasn’t until I turned to psychedelic medicine that my healing truly began. I wasn’t interested at first because I didn’t think it would work.
Then I went on a five-day retreat that changed my life. I arrived depressed, angry and sad, then left almost like I was my normal self again. I thought it could help shape my life going forward.
In addition, I ditched alcohol. The clarity of sobriety changed everything for me and today I am five years’ sober.
I went through three sessions of psychedelic therapy. Not only did it help to heal my grief, but I have become more at peace with the idea of death. I know that one day I’m going to die but it doesn’t scare me. That’s when I’ll be reunited with Freyja, and I look forward to it.
If you need support or someone to talk to in a personal crisis, call the Samaritans (UK) on 0116123 or Lifeline Australia on 13 11 14
- As told to Carina Stathis