A Clinician's Journey of Loss, Grief, Healing and a Search for Meaning

The requirement to have your story posted on this web site is simple. Sometime during your career you have experienced the death of a client/patient to suicide. I hope you never have a story to share. Losing a client to death by suicide was my biggest fear and three years after being licensed my biggest fear became my reality.

I shall always remember that night when the phone rang around 9:30 p.m. and after a long pause on the other end the words "he killed himself" bellowed through loud and clear. My heart skipped a beat and in an instant a kaleidoscope of emotions and thoughts bombarded me. What? When? What did I miss? Are you sure? How is the family? It can't be so; there must be some mistake? In the mist of feeling numb, shock, denial, guilt, fear, shame, and anxiety, I managed to continue the conversation with the family member.

I put on my running shoes and hit the pavement. It was a warm evening and the darkness of the night seemed endless. My body contorted with tears and painful emotions. I began reliving the last phone call, our last session, and the past few weeks, over and over the questions continued. Why? What had I missed? If only….. Had I not heard him?

The next few days were filled with educating myself on all the necessary tasks. The consultant with my liability insurance company guided me through a conversation with the police, legal issues, as well as the practical decisions. Do I go to the funeral, talk with the family, send a card, and what about confidentiality?

On Monday after going to the funeral home on Sunday, I was sitting opposite Lanny Berman, Ph.D. and the Executive Director of the American Association of Suicidology. I would like to say we did a psychological autopsy, processed the suicide, shared my emotions with other colleagues, and returned to life as usual. I did the above mentioned things and lost 12 pounds in 12 days, lived with free - floating anxiety, began to question my competency and whether to continue to stay in the field. I knew it was necessary to give myself one year before making any major decisions.

Even though my husband, colleagues, and friends were very supportive, I felt so alone. Their support and my spiritual beliefs kept me going during the next few months.

That summer I attended several workshops on suicide. I read everything I could about "survivors" and I could relate to the emotions they described. I was told I was not a survivor, only the clinician.

On 1/1/95 I decided by the end of '95 I would either continue in the field or choose a different career path. This was a time of spiritual searching and a lonely year for me.

I spoke with Helen Fitzgerald who leads a survivors group and she recognized the need for a support system for clinicians. She was filled with suggestions and encouraged me to pursue this issue. As I digested her ideas, I left feeling energized and excited (which had been missing in my life) as I fantasized of all the possibilities.

I rushed back to the office and called David Jobes, Ph.D., past President of the American Association of Suicidology. I relayed my meeting and quickly began calling the three AAS members he recommended that were experts in the field of clinicians as survivors. The next three months my path crossed (by way of long distance phone calls) with several AAS members. They were supportive and encouraging for which I am eternally grateful.

Can you imagine what a relief it was to have my feelings and thoughts validated in print by Frank Jones, a psychiatrist, when I read his chapter on clinicians as survivors in the "Aftermath of Suicide" by Dunne, McIntosh, and Dunne-Maxim? For the first time I did not feel so alone. I later read in a national study 97% of clinicians were afraid of losing a patient to suicide.

It was suggested I attend the AAS conference in St. Louis. The result was a Task Force was formed to develop a national support system for clinicians. The Task Force recognizes the need and desires to develop and provide available mechanisms to insulate clinicians against and support them through the stressful impact of a client/patient's suicide. This would include establishing methods to educate the clinicians about patient suicide and to assist them in the aftermath of a suicide.

I have learned as long as I am a helper; I will not be free from the vulnerabilities to the suicide of a client/patient. The aftermath of a suicide will continue to bring feelings of guilt and or incompetence and leaving unanswered and unanswerable questions. Suicide is powerful and poignant as it taps into our very core and shines a light on our humanness and powerlessness. When we lose a client/patient to death by suicide, we are forever reminded of how little control we truly have over the lives and choices of others. We recognize the false sense of confidence that the world is a safe place has been shattered, predictability is lost and leaving the fear of other attacks.

I am reminded of Iris Bolton, therapist and author of "My Son, My Son," talking about the "hidden treasures" to be found in the loss. As I reflect upon my experience of losing a client to death by suicide, one thing is clear; the people who make up AAS have been one of my "hidden treasures." As I speak to groups of clinicians I am in awe of your courage to share your experiences and the depth of your pain.

Frank Jones quotes the Kingston Trio song, "You got to walk that lonesome valley, you got to walk it by yourself, nobody else can walk it for you. You got to walk it by yourself." Although we are never prepared to walk that valley, there is another song, which speaks to the purpose of the Task Force and our need for each other: "I'll get by with a little help from my friends." The Task Force invites you to share your experience and let us know how we can be of help to you.

Judith F. Meade, LPC, LMFT