Walking Beside Grief

You might think it strange, supporting a best friend who had cancer.John was in his early forties. He knew I was an end-of-life doula and needed someone he could talk to.

It was August. He was going through chemotherapy and radiotherapy, trying everything to hold back the cancer. He was hopeful. But a month later, I got a phone call, there was nothing more that could be done. The cancer was too aggressive, and he had been given until December, the end of the year to live.

He had a wife and a four year old daughter. He was grieving, grieving the time he would never have, the moments he would miss Amy growing up. The weight of that loss pressed heavily on him. I suggested he write some letters for Amy,  the things he wanted to tell her, fatherly advice when she was older and how much he loved her.

In January, I received a text that read “Hey Bob, letter to Amy done — a few more to go :-)”

I later heard that he died in February.

His family is still moving through their grief. His mum told me she was present at his death. She held him in her arms as he passed — just as she had held him the first time when he was born. The sadness she finds too overwhelming; it consumes her. Yet she does her best to go on.

Her son — and her best friend — gone.

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You were a light that came down from the sun,

Your smile a radiance filling my heart with joy.

In the autumn winds you began to frail,

And in the deep winter, at the edge of spring,

You were taken away from me.

I grieve still, remembering you.

I grieve still, remembering your smile.

And in the grief is the love I have for you,

The shadow cast where the light fades,

Bearing heavy upon my soul.

To hold you once more,

To cradle you and feel the warmth of your body.

My beloved son, you came and left in my embraced arms,

And there you will remain — always.

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I’ve learned that it’s okay to talk about grief — to open up, to speak its name.

There may be numbness, there may be anguish, there may be deep sadness. What matters most is allowing yourself to feel it all, and to share what is true and important to you.

Because in the sharing, we remember that we’re not alone — and even in loss, love continues to speak.

Bob Chiang is a mindfulness coach and an end-of-life doula, supporting individuals and families through the sacred transitions of living, dying, and grieving. To find out more, visit www.mindfulnessskills.com/mindfulness-and-end-of-life or to email him: contact@mindfulnessskills.com