It is inevitable that some people will die who get admitted to the ICU. It is always sad, and it makes us sad as critical care clinicians. It is reality, nonetheless. During the pandemic, it seemed that everyone who was admitted with COVID-19 ended up dying, and thank God, that was not the case at all.

Still, when it is clear that I will not win the battle against critical illness; when it is clear that my patient will die, then my fight changes to ensure that my patient does not die an ignoble death.

What is an ignoble death? It is one without dignity; it is a death not on the patient’s own terms; it is death of pain, distress, anguish, and suffering. No one deserves this kind of death.

None of us knows when we are going to die. None of us knows where we are going to die. None of us knows how we are going to die. Those things are, in fact, unknowable and beyond our control.

What we can control, however, are the terms of our own death. When we finally face death, how will we die? Will we die on machines? Will we die having the healthcare team pounding on our chests and shocking our hearts? Will we die having someone put a tube down my throat? Will my family be there?

We can choose the answers to those questions. We must choose the answers to those questions and make those answers known to our doctors and those taking care of us in the healthcare setting. It is absolutely essential – and dare I say it – critical that we make the answers to these questions known. Everyone deserves a death on their own terms.

And so, as a critical care specialist, I try my hardest to learn what the terms of my patients’ death are, and I fight my hardest – I battle to the fullest – to make sure that my patients die on their own terms. I battle to the fullest to make sure that my patients have a good death, one that is not ignoble: a death without pain, without suffering, without anguish, and on my patients’ terms.

During the COVID pandemic, it seemed that all we did for those afflicted with COVID was not curing the illness, but simply providing a good death. It did cause us a lot of anguish, because we are in the business of cure and healing. At the same time, there is nothing ignoble about providing a good death. If that’s all we can do for our patient, we have done our patient a tremendous amount of good.

Listen to the podcast episode about this topic here: https://healthcaremusings.substack.com/p/the-battle-against-an-ignoble-death

The post The Battle Against An Ignoble Death appeared first on Medika Life.

Years ago, just after my mother had died in hospice care for her metastatic cancer, a nurse from the unit at the hospital called me. She inquired about my well-being and then expressed shock, annoyance, and a hint of shame (for me) that I hadn’t started going through the traditional—and completely incorrect—stages of grieving. The nurse was, in fact, lecturing me as though I were a child, which was quite a long time ago. It was disrespectful.

I was not only taken aback, I was angry. Here I was, totally wrecked after my mother died after months of our caring for her at home, and she was lecturing me on how I was doing it all wrong. I will never forget that phone call and cutting her off. After that, I never responded to the few calls that came from the hospice unit in the hospital. I’d had enough shaming from her. The point here, and one I want to make for anyone who is grieving, is that there is no formula for grieving, and any health professional who adheres to it has been misled.

Grieving is an unavoidable aspect of being human. When a loved one passes away, a relationship ends, or you lose your job, it is a process that happens after a loss. Many individuals think that in order to grieve and heal, there are specific actions that must be taken. I and others, however, refute the idea of a predetermined series of stages and exhort readers to abandon this thinking. I’d like to present a different viewpoint on sorrow and inspire people to accept their individual path to recovery.

As Kubler-Ross explained her unscientific method of devising these alleged stages of grief, she explained it this way. “I was to do the interview while they [her students] stood around the bed watching and observing. We would then retire to my office and discuss our own reactions and the patient’s response. We believed that by doing many interviews like this we would get a feeling for the terminally ill and their needs which in turn we were ready to gratify if possible.”

The idea of stages of grief, or as Kubler-Ross later called it, stages of loss, relates to her own grief surrounding the death of her father and her anger related to it. It’s an unrecognized bias on her part. Also, the stages were based on interviews with dying patients, not individuals who were experiencing loss. And grief or bereavement waxes and wanes over periods of time and is not necessarily a progression to acceptance.

But scientists have an affinity for putting quantifiable numbers on research. It has happened with most research in the early 20th century when psychology was attempting to wrest validity from the “hard” sciences since it was seen as a “soft” one. Critical reviews have not agreed with Kubler-Ross and have found it may not be in such favor among healthcare professionals today.

Grief is a highly individualized experience. Each person’s experience of sorrow is unique and influenced by their personality, life experiences, and the particulars of the loss. Realizing that there is no one-size-fits-all method of grieving is crucial. Following an exact set of instructions can be restrictive and may not be consistent with everyone’s experiences. It is essential to respect and validate your own feelings instead, and to let yourself grieve in a way that is true for you.

And grieving is difficult. A wide range of feelings, from sadness and rage to confusion and remorse, describe it. It doesn’t follow a straight line with a definite start, middle, and end. With the ebb and flow of deep emotions, grief can be unpredictable. You can give yourself permission to experience all the feelings that come up without condemnation or expectation by accepting the messy nature of grieving. Grieving can be done in any way, right or wrong.

The idea of going through a sequence of steps suggests a straight path to recovery. But sadness doesn’t progress in a straight line. It is more like a jumbled web of feelings and encounters. The notion that one must go through particular phases or steps oversimplifies the complexity of grieving. It is crucial to recognize that healing is a journey rather than a destination.

Belief in “steps” can lead to the bereaved person having irrational expectations. If you don’t follow the set timeline or experience emotions out of the intended order, it may result in feelings of inadequacy or failure. You can release yourself from these expectations and allow your grieving journey to develop spontaneously and authentically by letting go of the belief in steps.

Lift the curtain of awareness and look at how the idea of these steps for grieving came to be. For one, it is based on extremely limited and flawed research by Dr. Kubler-Ross and her students, who studied a very limited number of grieving people and then put their own beliefs on what they felt was happening. What type of research is this? It’s not research, but self-reflection that is highly biased and, arguably, lacks any type of research acumen. But, because of the highly respected psychiatrist, the idea of the steps took hold and quickly became the standard for how grief develops over time after a loss.

There is no one solution that works for everyone because grieving is such a personal emotion. While some people might feel more comfortable going through a given process, it’s crucial to understand that these procedures aren’t applicable to everyone. It’s important to respect your specific journey through grief because it’s complicated and personal.

The type of loss experienced, the person’s support network, and their coping mechanisms all play a role in how long the mourning process lasts from person to person. It’s crucial to give the time and room required for healing.

Getting professional assistance, such as therapy or counseling, can be helpful when grieving. A qualified expert can offer assistance, direction, and resources to help people through the difficult feelings and difficulties that come with grieving.

Talking to a close friend or trusted relative, exercising, using relaxation techniques like deep breathing or meditation, writing, or joining a support group are all good ways to deal with loss.

Even after a long period of time has passed since the loss, grief might reappear. Anger-inducing occasions such as anniversaries, holidays, or triggering incidents might do this. Sorrow is not something that has fully passed or been dealt with. Integrating the loss into one’s life may take a lifetime. For some, there will always be the element of grief for a loss, and that simply means the love was strong.

Grieving is a difficult journey that cannot be broken down into a series of actions or phases. And there is no shame in not grieving according to any formula for it. As one research paper noted, “If there are no typical responses to loss and no typical losses, and not everyone goes through them or in order, how can there possibly be stages that universally represent people’s reactions to loss? The fact is, no study has ever established that stages of grief actually exist, and what are defined as such can’t be called stages.”

The post Grieve As You Must, and Break Free of Believing in the “Steps” appeared first on Medika Life.

I freeze in my place, transfixed on His face. His eyes exude Grace, Power, and Majesty. But most of all, they exude love; a deep love. I forget about the ride, which has since arrived and is waiting for me. I walk straight up to Him. 

I look into his eyes, and I want to say something, but the words cannot come out of my mouth, no matter how hard I try. He smiles at me, as if to say, “It’s OK.” I try to stay standing, but my legs collapse. I would have fallen hard to the ground, hitting my head, but He catches me and holds me in His Arms. 

I can’t talk. All I can do is sob uncontrollably, screaming into His Chest. And all He does is squeeze me closer, saying, “It’s OK. Let it all out.”

For those not familiar, “finding God on First and Amistad” is a reference to the song by The Fray titled “You Found Me.” The song tells the story of what happened when the head singer met God and had it out with Him. If this were to happen to me, however, the interaction – as outlined above – would have been completely different. 

This month, on the 30th, our eldest daughter would have turned 26. She died before she could turn 13, losing a vicious battle with cancer, chemotherapy, and gram-negative septic shock that ultimately sent her back to the Lord. The darkness of the cold, winter days is always compounded by the darkness of her death. 

There is not a day that goes by in which I do not grieve her death. There is not a day that goes by in which my heart doesn’t scream out in pain over her loss. There is not a day that goes by in which that pain does not threaten to suffocate me. 

I have been showered with so much blessings and happiness. I can never be grateful enough to the Lord; I can never show that gratitude with enough righteousness and worship that is worthy of Him. 

And every day I try – with all my weaknesses, shortcomings, and hypocrisies – to live a life of righteousness to the best of my ability. This is so that, one day, I can be reunited with her and see her beautiful smile again – free of the disability and affliction from which she suffered so much – and hug her so very tightly, tears streaming down my face. I pray to the Lord that He gives me that day and lets me spend eternity reunited with my entire family. 

Some may object to the anthropomorphism, and indeed, He is far above, far more Perfect, than any description can ever convey. And I write this to express how much pain I endure each day, and how true it is that only the Lord my God truly understands that through which I am going. And that I am only standing here today, sharing this with you, because it was He who lifted me up and prevented me from falling to the ground. 

Happy Birthday my beautiful Booboo. Baba misses you so very much. 

The post If I Ever “Found God On The Corner of First And Amistad” appeared first on Medika Life.

But when the occasion was the final trip of Queen Elizabeth II, who sat on her throne for 70 years, the funeral cortège was spectacular, lengthy, and contained touching reactions from the audience. How many of us have heard clapping when a hearse went by?

Yes, people threw flowers, although I don’t recall that happened when President John F Kennedy’s hearse was drawn down the streets of Washington D.C. to the cemetery where he would rest. But there was that one, shining black riderless horse (Black Jack) with the riding boots turned backward.

These final displays may seem untoward in a world beset by war, famine and pandemics, but they have a place in our lives and are necessary. I’ve written about the grieving process and how I disagree with the poorly researched perspective of Kubler-Ross.

Here I want to look at how the way we grieve has a place for each of us, regardless of where we live or how we signal a death, or do or do not practice religion. In fact, a sense of a nation’s loss might be a better way to describe some forms of grieving.

Each person’s death is a loss for a nation, but it may not be recognized in anything but a family and friends gathering. But the nation has lost, too. Therefore do not send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee. Perhaps it isn’t Big Ben that tolled each minute for the Queen’s age or procession, but a bell within us that tells us we have lost something precious tolls. Our bell is grief.

Queen Elizabeth II has been quoted as saying that grief is the price we pay for love, and if we place it in that view, grief is proper, respectful, and loving. Today, much to my dismay, we have a new psychiatric disorder, prolonged grief disorder.

While I understand that grief is a part of life and the living must go on living, I’m not sure how we should put a cap on grief and not see it as a major depressive disorder instead. Is it useful?

How would a psychiatrist treat it since most psychiatrists are not trained in therapy but rather psychopharmacology? Should we medicate grief? I’ll leave it to the great minds in the field to figure out.

The process of mourning that we’ve witnessed for Queen Elizabeth II is similar in some ways to how the nation mourned when President Kennedy was assassinated. People wept in the streets even though they’d never met him, and they have done the same for the Queen, whom the great majority never met in person.

There was also a quietness in major cities where, over a weekend, the country waited for the emotional release of the Kennedy funeral. Until the cortege made its way to Arlington National Cemetery, it felt like the country was holding its breath. It was, it has been reported, the same in London during Queen Elizabeth II days of mourning.

Days of mourning in countries and families are set aside for special services and memorials — all of which help to provide a sense of freeing us from some of the psychic pain of our grief. When we mourn with others, it creates a closeness that can be comforting and provide a sense of acceptance for our grief.

Not all cultures view remaining quiet as their way of mourning, and that’s fine. Whatever your culture says is the way it is traditionally appropriate is okay. Some will drink and dance; others will regale at the quirks of the departed and treasure the life that was. Mirrors will be covered, food will be brought, and life will go on. I’ve attended several repasts, and each stirred a sense of life in the participants.

Despite — or perhaps because of — the pain, disability, and life disruption associated with bereavement, many individuals experience enormous growth and development throughout the grief process. As Thomas Mann (18751955) said, “A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own.”

The post Pomp, Circumstance, Ritual, and Mourning a Queen Has Benefits appeared first on Medika Life.

My eldest daughter and I would frequently dance to this song. She would have so much fun, and her smile would not only light up the room, but its radiance would also warm my heart and soul. Our favorite part of the song would be when Chris Brown would sing:

It’s a long way down
We so high off the ground
Sendin’ for an angel to bring me your heart
Girl, where did you come from?
Got me so undone
Gaze in your eyes got me sayin’
“What a beautiful lady”
No if, ands or maybes
I’m releasin’ my heart
And it’s feelin’ amazing
There’s no one else that matters
You love me
And I won’t let you fall, girl (fall, girl)
Let you fall girl, oh

And then I would spin her around the room. She suffered from a crippling genetic disorder called ataxia-telangiectasia, and it gave her cerebellar ataxia that was so bad she could no longer walk. And when I spun her around, she would close her eyes and just take it all in.

I could tell that she felt free at that moment: free from the prison of her disability; free from the cage of her inability to walk like other kids; free from the ravages of her illness. And I would love it with all my heart. And the words, “I won’t let you fall, girl” resonated so much with me because, I had to frequently hold and carry her so that she would not fall to the ground.

Today, 13 years ago, that eldest daughter of mine who I used to spin around died after fighting a brutal battle with B-cell lymphoma. When I heard that song by Chris Brown during my cousin’s wedding, those memories came rushing back, and then so did the pain of her loss, and tears flooded my eyes.

I try to not be suffocated by the pain of her loss. I try not to be buried in grief like her beautiful pink casket was buried in dirt. I try to be strong all the time, so my family, and my colleagues, and my patients don’t have to tend to a father devastated by the loss of his child. I try to smile and laugh and make others laugh with me as much as possible.

But all it takes is one fleeting reminder, and the horror of her loss comes roaring back.

As the years pass from her death, I sometimes forget. I forget about her, her beauty, her voice, her pure and angelic heart. I forget about how sick she was and how sick she became. I forget about the days leading up to her death, and how much of a nightmare they were. My current life, and job, and kids, and all the hustle and bustle make me forget.

I hate that. I hate that I forget. I hurts so much that I forget.

But if I simply close my eyes and go back to that time; if I close my eyes and relive those memories burned in my brain; if I close my eyes – when hearing Chris Brown’s song – and remember those moments when I would spin her around and she would feel free, it becomes unbearable. The pain becomes too suffocating, and then I want to forget.

It is a vicious and painful cycle that I cannot escape.

It has definitely gotten better 13 years later. The pain of her loss has eased a little, and by the grace of our Lord, I have not been paralyzed by grief. We have been blessed with so much goodness and good times since her death, and I can never truly thank the Lord enough for all the beauty He has graced my family and me. Each day I live and breath since June 7, 2009 is a testament to the Grace and Mercy of God.

At the same time, all it takes is one small thing, and the pain comes roaring back. I pray that, when those times do happen, the Lord sends down His Grace and Comfort to help me bear the storm. Otherwise, there is no way I can keep moving on.

[Editor’s Note: The Bayan Hassaballa Foundation.

A charitable foundation has been established to honor the memory of Angel, Bayan Hassaballa, who lost her struggle with Ataxia-Telangiectasia and Lymphoma in 2009. The Foundation’s mission is to “Paint The World Pink For Bayan.”

With the help of “Bayan’s Angels,” the Bayan Hassaballa Foundation has provided warm blankets for children in the hospital and has supported the vital work of research into finding cures for Ataxia-Telangiectasia and Lymphoma.

Contributions can be made through this website: https://www.ourangelbayan.org/]

The post The Grief Is Right Under The Surface appeared first on Medika Life.

The horror of the loss will not fade. The searing pain of having to bury your child will never abate. The screams inside the hearts of these parents will never go silent. While the nation will have moved on from the tragedy, those left behind will have to deal with the unimaginable for the rest of their lives.

I lost my child to cancer in June 2009. It was the absolute worst day of my life. There is not a day that goes by in which my heart does not scream out in pain. It only takes a few moments of remembering the events of that horrible day to bring tears streaming down my face. The pain and horror of losing a child cannot be fully described by words.

A good friend of mine told me it is like having “an appendage ripped out of you.” It is much, much worse than that. It is a deep, searing, boring pain that is suffocating. And it never goes away. It will be 13 years next month, and the pain is as fresh as it was all those years ago.

At least my daughter died due to complications of cancer and the toxic chemotherapy used to treat it. I can wrap my head around that. I cannot wrap my head around losing my child to the senseless evil of a sick and depraved murderer. I cannot wrap my head around dropping my child off to school in the morning and then getting a call that he has been killed in the afternoon. Having lost a child, I still cannot even imagine this kind of terror.

But 19 families are currently going through this terror right now. 19 families are having to live with the unimaginable. 19 families are now enduring a torment and suffering that has no word in any language to describe it. Someone who loses his or her spouse is a widow or widower. A child who loses her parent is an orphan. There is no word to describe a parent who has buried his or her child. It is a monstrosity that is beyond description.

And 19 families are now dealing with this monstrosity head on. The attention on their tragedy by others will fade. Their pain, their suffering, their torment, the suffocation of their souls will never fade. Never.

And so, what can we do to help these families?

First of all, there are no words that can help. None. When they were putting dirt on my daughter’s pink casket, I became overwhelmed by the thought that my daughter is being buried, and I openly sobbed. Someone came from behind me and uttered the “right religious thing” to say. It backfired miserably. I was not comforted in the least.

What helped me the most was my friend, also coming up from behind me, holding my hand. I will never forget that or forget him for the rest of my life. We need to do the same for these families: reach out and hold their hands. Give them your shoulder to cry upon. Hug them and let them scream into your chest. Give them a space where they don’t have to “be strong,” because they are going through a pain that is indescribable in its horror.

As the days, and weeks, and months go by, the attention, the “thoughts and prayers,” and focus on Uvalde, Texas will fade. The nation – and the world – will move one. The pain and suffering of these families will not.

They will be going through their “Year of Firsts”: the first Memorial Day; the first Fourth of July; the first Halloween; the first Thanksgiving; the first Christmas; the first Birthday without their child. The same is true for the families of the two teachers also killed. It is a suffering unbearable in its scope and magnitude. Continue to be there for them as they try to pick up the pieces of their utterly shattered hearts. Continue to give them your hand, your shoulder, your hugs.

My heart bleeds and goes out to each and everyone affected by this horrific tragedy in Uvalde, Texas. My heart bleeds for each and every person – all over our country and the world – who has deal with the loss of a loved one, most especially a child. Lord our God, please comfort and heal them as only You can. Amen.

The post The Attention On Uvalde Will Fade. The Horror Will Not appeared first on Medika Life.

“The excess-deaths figure surpassed the milestone last week, reaching 1,023,916, according to Robert Anderson, chief of the mortality statistics branch of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s National Center for Health Statistics. The center updates its estimate weekly.“

Indeed, most of these deaths are due to COVID-19 itself, but there are also excess deaths due to other conditions as well, such as heart disease, hypertension, and the like. The number of deaths from COVID-19 itself is approaching one million, with the latest number as of this writing being 920,097.

And the devastation wrought by COVID-19 goes well, well beyond the actual number of deaths. Around each of those deaths are concentric circles of family and loved ones who are living with the grief and horror of losing a loved one.

Among many of those survivors are children who have lost one or both parents; among many of those survivors are spouses who lost their partners; among many of those survivors are parents who lost their children. Those concentric circles of grief will continue to live with that pain and sadness for many years to come.

I know this grief all too well, as I lost my daughter to cancer in 2009. There is not a day that goes by where my heart does not ache for her loss. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t fight with every fiber of my being not to succumb to the suffocation of having to bury my little girl. The pain never goes away, and there are millions upon millions of fellow Americans who are having to deal with this same pain as well.

The devastation goes far beyond the actual number of dead. And this is why I have been so passionate and forceful about everyone who is eligible to get vaccinated against COVID-19.

Yes, I think by now, entering into the third year of the pandemic, attitudes and beliefs have hardened. I think, by now, those who have not gotten vaccinated will never be vaccinated. I pray that I am wrong, and I have feeling that I am right.

But given what I’ve seen; given the horror of watching family member after family member form their own concentric circle of grief and pain, I have to keep trying. I have to keep advocating for vaccination, as much as I can.

And if I can even convince one person to get the jab, and that person will be saved, by the Grace of God, from dying due to COVID, then I have done good. If I can help save one family, by the Grace of God, from having to live with the concentric circle of grief and pain, that can only be a good thing. Seeing what I’ve seen, I simply cannot give up.

The post CDC: Over One Million “Excess Deaths” from COVID appeared first on Medika Life.

We own our grief, and anyone telling us how to grieve is an interloper in a natural process in a sample of one. Yes, that’s research jargon, but a sample of one is just as relevant and valid as a sample of 100.

What is the reason this is today’s featured material? For one, someone to whom I am closely related is grieving now. Second, I am highly resistant to the insistence of others regarding how we should grieve or that there are stages of grief. Yes, this is personal.

All of us have grieved in the past and will grieve in the future, and we understand what it was and may be for us. No one should have the temerity to tell us how to grieve appropriately. Yes, I agree that rituals help just as churches, temples, and mosques help, but they don’t tell us how to grieve.

Rituals attempt to help us heal via the belief that we’ve performed something quasi-mystical that will be ameliorative. And they needn’t be religious in character, simply what is meaningful to us and the loved person or even a pet.

Some people will light candles on special occasions associated with the departed, and some may raise a glass. One man in New York City left funds for his friends to have a yearly party commemorating his life. Were those friends grieving? I’m sure they were, but they commemorated a life, not a death. Families may continue to celebrate the birthdays of those who have passed.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross had her heyday in the 70s-80 when everyone studied death and dying and her alleged stages of grieving. How death got to be so popular is a question I can’t answer. I’d propose that death is still feared and people wanted so reassurance or help with others who were dying.

I’m not alone in my debunking of this “theory.” I do not believe she had a theory because her stages don’t meet a theory’s criteria. And, yes, I was subjected to someone who firmly believed in Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief and told me I needed to experience them when my mother died. I took my own path, and I’m fine. I can’t believe how insistent she was. She tried to make me feel as though it were pathological not to go through the stages as outlined.

Someone else who believes as I do, Russell P. Friedman of the Grief Recovery Institute in Sherman Oaks, Calif. (no, I’m not pitching for him here), has been quoted as follows: “no study has ever established that stages of grief actually exist, and what is defined as such can’t be called stages. Grief is the normal and natural emotional response to loss… No matter how much people want to create simple, bullet-point guidelines for the human emotions of grief, there are no stages of grief that fit any two people or relationships.”

Do I have beliefs about grief that may not have been subjected to rigorous studies? Of course, I do, and I don’t think everything can be studied and broken down to “truth” when it comes to grief. Yes, there will be those who endlessly force it through some mental pastry bag of their beliefs, pushing the grieving to come to their conclusions, not those of the aggrieved. For that, I am genuinely sorry and concerned about the grieving person who is subjected to that type of therapeutic demagoguery.

For me, grief is an expression of love and loss. I once heard of a man whose mother had recently died, and his father was considering dating and eventual marriage again. The father’s friend questioned how he could date or marry again after his wife died. The father replied that his marriage had been so loving and wonderful that he wanted that again. The circle was beginning anew.

What about grieving after a pet has died? Loving a pet may not be precisely like loving a person, but the loss can be incredible. Pet are often guardians, loving companions who ask little and provide much. They leave a space in our lives that cannot be denied when they are gone. I wouldn’t deny it, nor would I refuse to see that the loss will be grieved.

Who am I to say that people should not utilize pet cemeteries or any other form of memorial for a beloved pet? Of course, there are times when the loss may cause somewhat irrational behavior, and that needs attention, too. But it is a loss and will be grieved.

We know so little about animals and are only beginning to recognize that they have emotions and form strong attachments and love. Having a pet is a reciprocal attachment of love. Who can say it’s not? We are still children wandering in the scientific wilderness in too many things.

If you love, you will grieve. How you do it will be determined by you.

The post Grief Is Painful, Personal, and Stageless; Don’t Believe Otherwise appeared first on Medika Life.

I knew that, one day, I was going to bury her. She had a genetic condition to which most of those afflicted ultimately succumb. Yet, despite playing the movie of her death in my mind a million times, the day I finally faced it was the absolute worst day through which I have ever lived.

Twelve years later, the pain is still fresh. The grief is still suffocating. The deep-seated ache in my heart has never resolved.

As time goes by, I start to forget the circumstances surrounding her death. With my career and family obligations, I naturally am not constantly focused on those last terrible 12 hours of her life. Forgetting is actually part of the human condition, otherwise most people could not move on from a terrible tragedy.

But that forgetting — as merciful as it may be — is painful. This was my very first child. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I fell deeply in love. I never knew I could love someone like that until God gave her to us.

And the love she gave my wife and me in return was nothing short of Divine. It was unconditional, and no matter what, she would shower us with her love and smile that would melt your heart and warm your soul. I miss her so terribly.

And so — feeling so much pain from my forgetting — I sometimes go back in my memory to those last hours of her life. It is still fresh in my mind, and I remember every last detail. But when I do that, it is completely unbearable. And then, facing the horror of her loss all over again, I want to forget.

I am stuck in this vicious cycle now, and there is no way out of it.

Since her death, we have been blessed with so many gifts and so much good. The Lord has showered us with so much comfort and consolation, and for this I am forever grateful. We started a foundation in her name, seeking to “Paint the World Pink” in her honor. Pink was her favorite color, and so today, I wear pink to honor her memory and how much she meant to us.

Moreover, as an ICU doctor, I always share the story of my daughter’s death with my patients’ family members. It is a way for me to let them know that I truly do know how they feel, and it has helped them deal with the loss of their family to critical illness. It is one of the ways the Lord has brought something good out of something so truly terrible.

All of that said, the pain of her loss is still with me. It will always be with me. Like I said before, I hate that I forget, but I can’t bear to remember. All I am trying to do now is to live a life of righteousness so that, one day, I can be reunited with her again. And when that day finally comes, it will be the best day of my entire existence.

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