Goodbyes Are Hard

I saw her on Friday, and the next day she was gone. Losing my beloved counselor of nine years is the hardest loss I’ve experienced since the death of my mom 12.5 years ago. After losing my mom and feeling the pain of her absence, the death of other family and friends didn’t affect me like it used to. It just became a normal part of life, so I didn’t think the death of anyone outside of my immediate family would hurt that bad again. But this one has rocked me. Big time.

When I wrote a book about choosing joy through all of life’s journeys, I never knew I’d be writing it for myself. At a time when I just want to be mad and angry at God once again, I’m listening to my own message and trying to find the good in one of the most difficult losses I’ve experienced. With the sadness of Debbie’s passing, every time I want to be mad that she isn’t here to continue the work we started, I will choose joy while knowing I wouldn’t be this version of myself without her. I will remember the growth I had because of her, and I will rejoice in being honored enough to know her.

I felt a bond with Debbie that people don’t understand unless they have gone through counseling themselves. Trying to explain to people what she meant to me is almost impossible because of the uniqueness of the relationship between the client and therapist. It’s such a lopsided relationship because she knew every single thing about me, but yet I knew very little about her. She knew my personality, my quirks, my letdowns, my downfalls, my fears, my shame, my dreams, and my joys. She was my safe space; the person I knew I could tell anything to without fear or judgment. When I couldn’t count on others, she was my consistent go-to person because I knew she’d be in her office every other week (or sometimes every week) waiting to walk me through whatever life was throwing at me. She showed up for me with compassion and empathy. She understood me, even if she hadn’t walked through my trial herself, and she “saw” me. To be seen by another human is very comforting, and not something I had experienced before working with Debbie.

Debbie also celebrated the good things with me. She was excited for me when I quit my job and started a business, and then again when I acquired my first client. She cheered for me when I stepped out in courage and did something uncomfortable. She encouraged me when I joined the media team at church and smiled when it became my passion. And she almost fell out of her chair when I told her I was going to write a book, because she remembers the shy, quiet, introverted, socially anxious, and closed-off person I was when she met me. She understood more than anybody else how shocking it was for me to write a book and share my feelings with the world.

I have accomplished more than I ever thought was possible because of Debbie. I have learned to be vulnerable and that it’s okay to let people in. I have learned to communicate my feelings. I have learned that the next step doesn’t have to be the perfect step, it just has to be taken. I have learned how to find happiness in the midst of trials. And I have learned to put my hope and trust in Jesus, although that part is struggling at a time like this.

Over the years, Debbie gave me tools for managing everyday life, not just the big stuff. Sometimes I would sit down without a specific topic, and just tell her what I had done that week. And even if it was just telling her about my latest vacation, or a concert I attended, the session was always productive and taught me something. Now, those tools she gave me are being used to process her loss. The only reason I’m making it through this is because I’m doing what she taught me. I’m leaning on others. I’m accepting help. I’m reaching out when I don’t want to be alone. And I’m sharing how I’m feeling, rather than hiding it and saying, “I’m fine.” I think she would be proud. But that’s where the irony is, because she is the person that I’d be giving an update to about how well I’m processing this.

There are so many things I wish I had known about her, like her favorite music. The tidbits I learned here and there when she took off her counselor hat were some of my favorite moments as she chimed in with a personal story. I wish I could ask her about her latest hike, or where “we” are going on vacation this year… because somehow, we ended up in the same country at the exact same time last year. We never ran into each other, but it makes me laugh every time I think about it. I wish I could tell her thank you one more time for everything she did for me. But the thing I wish the most is that I could have had the chance to comfort her, just once, like she did for me for so many years. I know it wasn’t her job to let ME in, but I wish I could l tell her I would have sacrificed an entire session, or more, for her to share her pain with me.

I’m going to miss our regular conversations and her smile as she greeted me each time, but her heart for helping others is the thing I will remember the most.

I know the pain I’m feeling doesn’t even compare to the pain her family is feeling. Their grief will be much stronger and if it would help in the slightest way to tell them what a privilege and honor it was to know Debbie and to let them know how much she helped me grow then I would do it in a heartbeat. I remember hearing things about my mom after she passed away and it brought me a tiny bit of comfort to know how much others admired her. So, I pray my words of admiration for Debbie would do the same and bring a fragment of comfort to her family.