By: Haley Thigen, PGY2 

I had always heard that grief changes everything. I can still remember walking up the stairs of the apartment I had lived in for years after my brother died, and the place was completely unrecognizable- like I had never been there before. My reality would never be the same, and I knew I would give anything to return to what it had been.

Over the last several months, I’ve reflected on this regularly as it relates to our work. We have conversations with families about the impending deaths of their loved ones almost daily, often encouraging them to de-escalate or withdraw care. I can think of multiple encounters where I became frustrated from what I assumed was a family’s lack of understanding, often underappreciating the difficulty that comes with confronting loss.

At this point in my residency, I have seen more patient deaths than I can begin to count, without ever fully understanding the weight that each carried. What I am able see more clearly looking back at these instances now, are the worst days of families lives as they attempt to navigate the impossible task of acknowledging that they may lose their loved one. More than that, they’re expected to make life-altering decisions while attempting to process uninterpretable emotions. Grief and the trauma that life-threating hospitalizations inflict on families shut down our bodies and minds, impairing our ability to rationalize and perceive information. I can only assume that this stress response is intensified by the foreign, medical language we use as we sometimes casually talk about the life and death of their loved ones. I have fallen victim to letting these conversations be mundane, neglecting the humanity to recognize the “end of the world” feelings that these families are often inevitably feeling.

It wasn’t until experiencing my own loss, that I realized how truly unbearable these situations must be. My brother did not make it to a hospital on the night he died, but I am confident that all logic and reason would have escaped me if I thought there was the slightest chance I could keep him alive. I suppose I write this to urge both myself and us all to remain empathetic to the heartbreak loss carries, and as a reminder that love can be illogical. As physicians, our words and attitudes carry immense weight as we insert ourselves into the devastation that loss brings. We are privileged to walk intimately with families through their darkest moments. In the light of the collective loss experienced by our program in the last year, I hope that we can acknowledge this great responsibility with more empathy, grace, and love.