Abstract
With its captivating and beautiful writing, this book made me weep. An Episcopal Priest, author Liz Tichenor’s second child died at only 40 days of life. In the wake of this and other personal tragedies, Tichenor explores the depths of loss and the struggle to endure. Her vulnerability is remarkable, as is her ability to weave grief, faith, and resilience into a narrative that is both raw and profoundly healing.
In the opening scene, the author and her husband race frantically behind an ambulance to the nearest hospital, only to arrive as witnesses to the aftermath of death in a pediatric emergency bay. The rest of the book unfolds as a deeply intimate account of the moment-by-moment emotions, choices, and struggles that come with navigating profound loss and uncertainty while searching for a way forward. In fact, as if the death of her son was not enough, she also explores and bears witness to the death of her mother, who died by suicide less than two years earlier. As I found myself immersed in the depths of grief and sorrow, Liz Tichenor masterfully guided me back—bit by bit—to joy, laughter, service, and companionship, one step at a time.
Beyond elegantly revealing the depths of grief—its gyrations and unpredictability—this book also shows us how to sit with those who are grieving. The author shares how close friends and family provided her with meaningful and effective support. Recollecting the words of a close friend at her infant son’s funeral, she notes, “[He] did not try to solve the problem of [my son’s] death or offer reasons for why it happened. He just gave witness to the gut-wrenching pain of it, the terror of what we were living through…Permission for it to be complicated. A relief.” This simple, and often counterintuitive, response is what we as palliative medicine clinicians are trained to do—to sit with discomfort and serve as witnesses to suffering. It is a practice of presence, of holding space without trying to fix or diminish the weight of another’s sorrow. Tichenor recalls, “The best [responses] were the ones that didn’t try to make it better, from people who knew they couldn’t solve anything but who were willing to join us in the grief.” This sentiment echoes throughout the book, reinforcing the power of simply being present. In our willingness to meet patients and family members where they are in grief, despair, heartbreak and sorrow, we must see and acknowledge their pain. This matters, and Liz Tichenor shows us why.
In addition to highlighting effective methods of support, Tichenor also outlines examples of ineffective supports. She writes, “I didn’t know what I needed from them, really, but I knew it wasn’t this chorus of platitudes and cheap, false encouragement.” Tichenor recalls the exhaustion of returning to work and interacting with people “who seemed to want me to take care of them, or who wanted to make it all seem right, palatable, survivable, understandable, done…I resented their clamoring inability to walk with me where I was.” This serves as a reminder that platitudes are not just useless—they can also be harmful.
As an oncologist, a surgeon, and a palliative medicine provider, reading this book allowed me to reflect on how to offer effective support to those who are grieving. It reinforced the profound impact of simply bearing witness to another’s pain and acknowledging the deep unfairness of life. It also reminded me that the most effective support often comes from presence, understanding, and a willingness to sit with sorrow. Tichenor’s ability to carry us through her journey is a true gift, and her words invite us to feel deeply as we sit with the pain of others in the face of suffering. If you make the decision to dive into this book, don’t forget your tissues.