It is a routine Saturday morning—I am sitting in my office, looking at the snowflakes dropping outside my window. As I sip on my cup of Earl Grey tea preparing my psyche for a busy day of managing an on-call shift on an acute care psychiatry floor, I am suddenly washed over by grief. A very similar Saturday a year ago, I was saying goodbye to my father as he was being taken off life support in the intensive care unit after suffering a massive posterior myocardial infarction and ending up with a cardiac arrest at the very young age of 62.
The year has been nothing short of trying, a year of firsts. I have often read about grief and memorized the DSM-V criteria for bereavement for the multitude of exams in my residency training. The experience is nothing like the books say, and I know the deep pain and sadness that I have endured has helped me become a better clinician.
The road to becoming a physician encompasses mastering medical knowledge and clinical skills, and also learning how to be compassionate and provide empathic care. As a psychiatrist who has been in practice for close to a decade, I thought I was an empathic clinician. However, I now know that I was wrong. Losing my father—painful and vulnerable as the experience has been—has reshaped and redefined my understanding of what it means to be a compassionate and empathetic physician.
In my writing, I will explore how the process of grieving the loss of my father has influenced my approach to medicine, how this profound personal experience has made me a better doctor, and how it has shaped my understanding of the physician-patient relationship.
The impact of grief is often understated in the medical profession. Medical school and residency often focus on developing knowledge and knowing all the answers to the multiple-choice questions. Yet, we lose our heart along the way. We forget the empathy and care for humanity that likely brought most of us to the profession in the first place. When my father passed away, I had an overwhelming mix of many emotions. These ranged from sadness, anger, guilt, despair, and confusion. As a doctor—more so, a psychiatrist—I thought I understood the importance of supporting patients through grief. However, experiencing grief firsthand changed my perspective on how to truly empathize with patients and their families during times of loss.
In the early days following my father’s death, I found myself reflecting on how much of my medical education had prepared me for this kind of emotional strain. The answer was: not much. Although we are trained to provide clinical care, there is no manual for how to navigate the depths of personal grief while simultaneously maintaining professional obligations. It was in this crucible of emotional turmoil that I began to see grief not just as a personal struggle but as an important human experience to which every physician must be attuned.
One of the most profound shifts in my approach to medicine after my father’s death has been a deepened sense of empathy. Grief has taught me that empathy goes beyond simply understanding what another person is going through—it involves bearing witness to their suffering, without judgment, and offering a safe space for their emotions.
In my practice, I now approach patients with a greater sense of vulnerability. I’ve realized that, as doctors, we are not immune to suffering and emotional pain. We too experience loss, fear, and uncertainty. This recognition has allowed me to connect with patients on a more human level, acknowledging the emotional weight they carry alongside their physical, emotional, and psychological illnesses.
As I navigated the waves of grief after my father’s death, I also began to reflect on the importance of self-compassion. Initially, I struggled with the idea of balancing my own grief with my responsibilities as a doctor working in an under-serviced team with many needs. I often felt guilty for not being able to carry out my work as efficiently as I had before. I often needed to retreat to my office to let the tears flow. It took me time to return to the ICU to see patients needing psychiatric care because the beeps would trigger tears and this sense of longing to see my father one more time. I realized that allowing myself to grieve was essential not only for my own healing but also for my ability to provide compassionate care to my patients.
This internal journey has strengthened my capacity for compassion toward patients who may also be grieving. I now understand the subtle and complicated nature of grief. The DSM-V does not do enough justice to the idea of bereavement. I’ve learned to be kind to myself, knowing that I do not have to be OK all the time and that taking time to care for myself ultimately makes me a better physician for those in my care.
Grief has changed my perspective on life and death in a way that has deeply affected my approach to patient care. Before my father’s passing, I viewed death primarily as a clinical event. While medical science certainly plays a critical role in prolonging life and improving quality of life, my father’s death taught me that there is more to life than what can be measured with medical science. After my father’s death, I questioned how a healthy person like my father, who had no cardiac risk factors, suddenly died from a cardiac event. I realized medicine never has all the answers, and many times there is a mystery to life that is beyond human understanding.
The death of my father was a profoundly painful experience that ruptured my world. However, through this experience, I have found that grief, while difficult, has also become a catalyst for growth in both my personal life and my professional practice. Grief has taught me the value of empathy, vulnerability, and compassion in ways that medical training could not. It has deepened my understanding of the human condition and the complex nature of patient care, reminding me that medicine is not just about curing diseases but about treating people with dignity, kindness, and respect.
Because of this journey, I feel like a better physician. I feel that I try to listen more empathically and connect more deeply. The loss of my father has given me a new perspective of medicine being more than a checkbox of symptoms, but a humbling profession where patients allow us to walk alongside them during their most profound sorrows. Losing my father has also taught me to listen to myself when I am not able to be the best physician I can and to take space from the job and reinvigorate. When we experience burnout, we become physicians that are truly unable to give anything because our cups are empty.
It is through our own suffering and healing that we become capable of truly healing others. Grief has helped me understand that the greatest gift I can offer my patients is not just my medical expertise, but my heart. And with that, as the snowflakes continue to drop, I will start my day with my heart leading the way.
Devina Maya Wadhwa is a psychiatrist.
