Blessing in Disguise
“Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.” — Edgar Allan Poe.
As I reflect on how my journey with grief began, it is easy to think it started while I was interning as an Associate Marriage and Family Therapist at a hospice. In truth, It began much earlier.
Whenever others would share how they came to volunteer at a hospice or serve as a death doula, they would often share personally experiencing a deep loss. That has not been the case for me. My relationship with grief started as a child — a child who was terrified of loss.
Grief Meets My Younger Self
Despite the chaos, instability, and fear that surrounded my childhood, I attached myself strongly to my caregivers and loved ones. Once I understood what death and loss meant — that I would likely experience the loss of those I loved—a terrible fear took root within me.
One of my earliest memories of this fear came when I was about six or seven years old. I remember watching The Land Before Time over and over again. Whenever we would get to the scene — spoiler alert — where Littlefoot’s mom dies, I would burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. I even remember one time my mother bringing me water because I couldn’t stop crying. Watching that scene, I couldn't help but think of what it would be like if I lost my mother — to feel the pain and loneliness Littlefoot seemed to feel. “I wouldn’t survive it”, I would think.
As I grew older, the fear didn’t fade—it intensified. I developed another fear layered on top of it: the belief that once I found a partner, I was destined to lose them and feel the pain of their loss. Believe it or not, part of me would keep people at a distance out of fear of getting too close, only to lose them. (There were other factors as well, but that was one of them).
Fear of Grief in My Love Life
Despite that, I eventually found a partner, and we got married. The fear, however, remained. My husband has Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and he isn’t able to drive. Whenever we would go out, I would be afraid to drive him around because I feared getting into a car crash and causing his death — having to spend the rest of my life feeling his loss and carrying the guilt.
I reached a point where I would make choices around that fear. For example, I would plan a train trip that took an entire day instead of driving us to the location, which would have taken just a few hours. Thankfully, over time the fear began to ease slightly as nothing happened.
Crossing the Threshold
A few years later, I started my master’s degree in counseling psychology. One of the requirements for graduation was to complete one year of practicum as a trainee therapist. My mind was set on a psychiatric inpatient hospital. But, as fate would have it, the only placement available was a hospice. I couldn’t believe it! That was the last place I wanted to be in.
Yet, I had already invested too much time and effort in my program to turn back. So, I crossed that threshold.
Lo and behold, my first client was a woman grieving the loss of her husband. She would replay what she could have done differently to prevent his death. I saw my own reflection in her — the rumination, self-blame, the belief that somehow I could have prevented death.
As you can imagine, all my old fears came rushing to the surface. It became so intense that I was having dreams that I lost my husband, and would wake up in tears.
It was an intense period of my life. But looking back now, I can see it was a gift— a blessing in disguise. Through her, I began to see myself and my relationship with grief more clearly. With the support of my therapist and supervisor, I began to unravel my own anticipatory grief and learned to sit with it.
Learning to Sit with Grief
As I continued my work at the hospice, I began to truly understand how difficult facing grief, loss, and mortality is for most people. I realized I wasn’t the only one struggling with it. I started to see how lonely it can feel to be in such a dark place with so few people willing or able to meet you there.
It made me wonder: how can we meet anyone in the darkness of grief when we cannot even talk about it? When we don’t even want to admit its existence or face our own relationship with it?
I began to realize that by facing it, we start to dismantle all the judgements and expectations we have about grief. We begin to see grief for what it is — not something to fear, fight, or resist, but a deeply personal and profoundly human experience. It’s where we are most human. It’s where we meet other humans in our shared humanity, and in that space, we connect with compassion.
Becoming a Companion in the Darkness
In that place, I found the desire to help others pass through their own dark night of the soul — to help them hold on as they move through grief and loss. To be a guiding companion who sheds some light on the path and holds a space for them to walk as they need to.
To hold a space where they can show up honestly and openly with grief — all the emotions, thoughts, and words they may not be able to share elsewhere. A space where they can be free with their grief, express it fully, where they meet it fully, and integrate it at their own pace.
What a privilege and honor it has been to do this work!
Embracing Grief and Its Gifts
Now, when I think about losing a loved one, the pain is still as intense as it was before — but I accept it. I accept death and grief, and all the pain and blessings that come with them. I understand it isn't an easy process, that it unfolds as it must — and that’s okay. Some days it may feel unbearable, and some days it may feel more bearable — and both are okay.
I’ve come to see that there is life and beauty waiting still at the end of the tunnel, no matter how different it looks from what I once knew. I know that I don’t have to walk through it alone — that I have people and resources to help me hold on, even if the path is mine alone to walk.
Most importantly, I am thankful for the pain. Because, as the quote at the beginning of this piece reminds us: for such pain to exist, something beautiful must have existed first — and still does — for those roots to take hold.
Reflection
If you feel inclined, I invite you to take a moment to reflect on your own relationship with grief and loss.
What is your relationship with grief like? How has it changed over time?
Would you change anything about it — and if so, what would that look like?
If you feel comfortable sharing, I would be happy to hear from you!
May your reflections lead you into building a deep and meaningful relationship with grief — one that allows you to meet it with openness, compassion, and peace.
