On Thursday morning, I dressed for a wedding. Smart shoes, a tie, and waistcoat. The day before, we had planned an emergency wedding for a patient and his partner. It was going to be a brilliant little moment of joy and happiness, just in time for Christmas.

I was looking forward to celebrating with the couple, who I’d gotten to know and like very much. I arrived at my desk, and started putting together the order of service, when I got a call from the inpatient unit. The patient had died in the night, less than 24 hours before he was due to be married.  

Not wanting to wake her with a call, I sent his partner a text, letting her know how sorry I was, and that we were all thinking of her. Then I went down to the ward to spend some time with the staff, who all felt as gutted as I did. Our sense of anticipation and excitement had been replaced with sadness. 

At his partner’s request, I said some prayers of commendation for the patient, joined by Kelly, one of our senior healthcare assistants.  

Paula, another senior healthcare assistant, had bought and decorated a cake for the couple the day before and had made a bouquet for the bride. What would we do with it now? 

Bereavement and grief have a way of breaking into our lives at the worst times. Whether it’s the sudden loss of a loved one, or the memory of someone who died years ago, the pain and sadness that come with loss don’t wait for the right moment to be felt. They interrupt us, undo our plans, and make a mess of the tidiness which we want for ourselves. Just a few days before Christmas, a moment of joy and celebration was replaced by sorrow. 

Psychiatrist Colin Murray Parkes once wrote that “the pain of grief is just as much a part of life as the joy of love; it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment.” 

Love and grief are two sides of the same coin. Neither one exists without the other. When we love someone, we open the door to grief. Having weighed the scales, we might decide that it’s worth it: our loved ones are worth the pain we feel for them. Love is worth the interruption, the undone plans, the mess of grief. The gift of love is worth the price of grief.  

Having spoken to her about it, we’re going to give the patient’s partner the wedding cake. No doubt, receiving it will be painful. But in the pain will be a reminder of the love she gave and received. And my hope is that the reminder of the love they shared will be worth the pain of loss.