It was morning on a typical Tuesday, dark coffee in my hand, scrolling social media, standing in front of my “Happy Light.”  I was trying to slow the precious moments to myself before I got ready for work, as I adjusted to the Autumn darkness setting in.  My attention was suddenly turned from thoughts of how I was to make it pleasantly through the workday to a message that Rose, one of my former clients from my work with Intellectual Disabilities, had suddenly lost her mother.  I received a message from Rose’s stepfather asking me to come support her, be with her, comfort her.

Selfishly, I resisted instantly, emoting with private expressions of hesitation, to put it mildly. I felt so put out to be asked to support Rose by attending her mother’s funeral and just as drawn to the request to help. I had no idea what to do, knowing first hand there is nothing that can be said or done in these situations to truly make it better. I felt so put out by the notion of my own inadequacy to effectively help. How was I to help support Rose, when I can’t even handle my own grief and loss issues? The answer eventually became evident and making it better is not what I was asked to do.

As a Christian, I have hope in eternal life and as a mental health professional and one scarred by my own human experience, I run swiftly from dealing with grief and loss issues when given the opportunity. Having suffered the traumatic loss of my father as a young adult, I learned a few things about faith, resiliency and consequences. I struggled for many years afterward, making bad choices in response to grief and attempting to ignore my faith. When I embraced my faith, despite my pain, I began to heal-eventually. Going into the mental health profession, I decided I could never work with those experiencing grief and loss over the sudden death of a loved one. Time and time again, God has had other plans for me.

Many years ago, as a brand-new intern giving my first mental health assessment, the client presented with Bereavement over the recent, sudden loss of his father. I didn’t think I would ever work with a client on that issue and there it was staring me in the face right out the gate. Since that time, I have supported many clients with all types of grief and loss issues, however, this request to help Rose was so daunting. The depth of my work with those with Intellectual Disabilities brings me into a client’s whole world and most importantly their family life. My thoughts raced with memories of lunches, talks, tears and hugs with Rose’s mother.

This invitation back into the family’s world to support them in their loss provoked fear, sadness and a humbling awareness that I am only useful to anyone because of God’s purpose and his work through me. To listen to a story can be difficult, but this was a call to attend the funeral and support Rose in a situation that was changing her life suddenly. The loss was resulting in her upheaval from her immediate family members and a move out of state, all when she has the cognitive capacity of about an eight-year-old. Still, I knew this was God’s calling for this complicated situation and I acted quite oppositely of how I felt, despite imagining the grief of the family, the intense loss they must feel and the despair I was certain was present. It took me back to my own loss, struggles and despair that I swallowed down when I responded to Rose’s stepfather with simply, “Whatever you need, ask,” and confirmation I would be there.

Rose requested to sit with me at the funeral. She wrapped her arms around me, held my hand, cried uncontrollably and kissed her mother’s picture. I held her hand and patted her back as I allowed every thought of my own experience to pass over without interfering in my ability to comfort her. I cried for her and her family, for the loss of her loving mother and even in her own grief, the former client reached over and gave me tissues as I had many times given to her. My tears were silent, calm and reassuring. I recognized my capacity to support her and her family in their grief. As I considered their despondent eyes and listened to them thank me whole heartedly for the work I had done with Rose and the family, I was humbled. It was only through God I could do anything, and I was facing the voice inside telling me I hadn’t done nearly enough and simply, I wasn’t that important.

The truth is I was called to support Rose and her family both then and now and God prepared me for this very time through all the suffering I have endured and all the previous times of sitting with others in grief. I was reminded, in the sharing of this family’s sorrow, that my very existence is merely for the sake of others and God provides the strength to give what is needed. To answer this call is to process immense pain and suffering, eventually drawing on it for the sake of others is God’s design, although, our human capacity for this varies.

To journey through despair, master it, draw from it to help others can be immensely complicated. Experiencing suffering is the only means of true empathy and compassion. As I watched Rose and held her in the moments of the funeral, I recalled my own difficulties. When I lost my father, I rejected my close relationships and all accountability. I spent days lying in bed, almost paralyzed except to weep incessantly. I spent countless time dwelling on my guilt. I lost a significant amount of my ability to recall childhood memories and years later when processing the event, realized I couldn’t recall nearly six months of my life after his death. I quit my job because I couldn’t cope with the sense of no purpose and I tried to bury myself in school to show how perfectly I could hold it all together. I spent all my free time making reckless decisions to feel anything besides that life was cruel and pointless.

What I never spent one minute on was doubting there was a God, that my father believed in him or that he was in heaven. And that image was so disturbing to me that I withdrew in all my spiritual practices. I had this crushing sense that without a father, I had no one to be accountable to and the thought of having to draw my strength from God was terrifying and angering. No one ever asks for this. Eventually, I came around to my need to connect spiritually and began to heal in all areas of my life.

In my education and experience in mental health, I recognize now that I was struggling with severe Bereavement symptoms and somewhere between ten and 20 percent of those that experience loss, do as well. It could easily be argued that if ten to twenty percent of those who suffer the death of a loved one suffer from persistent difficulty as a result that it is not diagnosable at all, rather a product of the human condition. We were created in God’s image and intended to live free from pain, sorrow, or worry. Humans struggle with grief so much because we were never originally designed to endure this. Even Christians, as human beings, struggle to cope in healthy and appropriate ways in response to such profound grief, yet we have hope in everlasting life.

The journey of healing is an individual process that takes, above all else, support from and emotional connection with others. It is natural when grieving to reject this support and isolate ourselves, but this is our means of comfort and reminder of what life is really all about. There are numerous tools and therapies to support those who may be struggling with clinically diagnosable grief disorders. Isolating and being unable to process grief effectively can also lead to all types of other mental health disorders. It is important to recognize if the struggle is causing impairments in functioning that there is no shame in utilizing tools, even medication if needed, to support the healing process.

The road to overcoming a loss is not a selfish process. It is a necessary process so that we may be able to provide comfort and care to others when we are called to do so. We are not alone in this process and do not have to depend on our own strength. If we are burned out, tired, distraught or lonely, it is a time to bow our heads in prayer and receive our renewal and strength from God. He promises to renew us. We must seek him first and he will provide everything we need to find the way through the storm. God allows our suffering to benefit others and he promises comfort and blessings for this purpose.

All of this occurred to me in those few hours with Rose.  Tears streaming down my face, I suddenly realized that I was an instrument of comfort in my own pain.  This was humbling in several ways.  A feeling of selfishness lifts when you can give up the focus on your own personal pain and even re-experience some of it as you are invited into the grief of another.  The ability to let go of yourself and realize it was never about you is liberating to the soul.  In that moment, there is the deepest of human connection as you draw from your own pain to ease someone else’s.  You are called to set aside your own pain, choke back tears and let painful memories pass, as you sit with another in helplessness.  You are called to remember all your experience and offer comfort and hope to others.  In these moments, if we pay attention, it is apparent that we are doing God’s will, fulfilling a divine purpose and engaging in life the way we are meant to.  In a way that makes us realize the worth of all suffering and the hope in it all.