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I have had diagnosed clinical depression for ten years, and probably the undiagnosed version for many years before that.  It it likely that I can thank my father for this lovely gift, as he enjoyed it’s effects for many years.  I can remember my mother searching treatment after treatment over the years, after Dad had been formally diagnosed.  As this was just at the advent of effective anti-depression medications, some of Mom’s cures where a bit ‘out there’.  One method she and Dad tried, was ‘Transcendental Meditation’.  I came home to lighted candles and burning incense, with strangers in the house and although I cannot remember this, probably chanting various incantations.  Poor Dad.  Poor Mom!  Poor Dad, because having depression is a crummy way to go through life and ‘poor Mom’, because living with someone who has depression, is almost as tough as having it, especially if the depression is undiagnosed and untreated.  Regardless, after many years and many experiments, I vaguely remember a discussion about what my father could and could  not eat with this ‘new medication’.  And then one day . .. .  I heard Dad whistling!  Yup, whistling. I cannot tell you how happy that made me, because it was my secret sign that he was happy that day and until then, had happened only rarely and sporadically.  Usually it was the old number, ‘Tea For Two’ and it would trail into something indistinguishable.  I didn’t care, Dad was happy and he was happiest out in his workshop or sailing out on Kempenfeldt Bay and Lake Simcoe.  I always admired my parents for the incredible strength and fortitude they displayed as they fought the demon together.  Fast forward 20-30 years . . . . .