A mother’s grief.

As a member of the spiritual care team, I received a request one morning to visit Ms. L, a patient who had just received devastating news: her son had unexpectedly died the previous night. Ms. L was recovering from a major surgery and in the process of being discharged from the hospital. The details surrounding her son’s death were unclear, but they only added to the profound sadness of the situation.

It was evident that the bond between Ms. L and her son was incredibly strong and loving. They had faced numerous physical challenges together, overcoming obstacles that strengthened their deep connection.

When I entered her room, there was a sense of familiarity about Ms. L, though I couldn’t quite place it. After I introduced myself, Ms. L turned to me, tears streaming down her face, and asked the agonizing questions that often arise in times of tragedy. “Why did this happen? Why were we subjected to so much pain? What had we done to deserve this punishment from God?” Ms. L, a devoted Catholic actively involved in her church, had always drawn strength from her religious beliefs for herself and her son.

In that moment, I found myself at a loss for words. She was grieving and in deep emotional and spiritual distress, and I had no answer that could bring her solace. Following my instincts, I embraced her, telling her how sorry I was for her loss. Tears welled up in my eyes as we shared a prayer. I listened attentively to her stories and gently inquired about the support she had from her family. It felt like the only way I could be of assistance. A sense of helplessness washed over me.

Finding a way to help.

As I left her room, I was overcome with a sense that I was failing her. Was there anything else I could have said or done to bring her comfort? It dawned on me that I, along with many other staff members, had cared for her son during his hospital stays. The realization made the situation even more personal. I reached out to the on-call priest, the unit chaplain, and the primary care team to ensure that Ms. L had access to all the support services we could offer. Clearly, the traumatic loss had presented a complex challenge.

Throughout the day, I ruminated on this experience, feeling tremendously sad and ineffectual. I searched within myself for answers to Ms. L’s questions, desperately seeking a way to alleviate her pain. However, I came up empty-handed.

Death tests our beliefs and leaves behind a void in our hearts, a frightening emptiness. Ms. L was terrified, overwhelmed by her grief. The experience of loss is deeply personal, and feelings of anger, disillusionment, sorrow, fear, and despair are natural responses to the death of a loved one. The loss can hollow us out, leaving us grasping for answers and explanations that often elude us.

For many people, faith and the belief in God and an afterlife provide solace and hope. Life is a precious gift to be celebrated, appreciated, and, sadly, acknowledged as finite. Consequently, we struggle to find the right words to comfort those who are grieving. I, too, faced this struggle.

After many hours of contemplation, I had a comforting thought. I knew that it would take Ms. L a considerable amount of time to navigate through her grief and spiritual distress. Yet it occurred to me that without each other, Ms. L and her son would have led vastly different lives. Their struggles had forged an unbreakable bond. Despite adversity, they had learned to celebrate each other. To have had such a profound connection is a truly beautiful thing. Enduring memories will both sustain Ms. L and keep her son alive in her heart. His presence will always be felt.

I’m not sure there is balm to heal the wounds caused by such a loss. There are no words that can rationalize or explain the timing of death. The best I could offer Ms. L at that time was my presence, a warm embrace, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, and an expression of sorrow for this terrible loss. In doing so, I acknowledged and shared in the depths of her grief. The experience and how it affected me won’t be forgotten.

To answer my own question—what else could I have done or said?—I can only say that I acted on my instincts in that moment. I hope, on some level, it provided a measure of comfort.

Barbara Wukovits, BSN, RN, BC, is a spiritual care associate with the Spiritual Care Department on a per diem basis at Hospital for Special Surgery in New York City. Her essay, “My Pocket of Care,” was published in the September 2021 issue of AJN.