My therapist recently lost their only child, who was an adult. I know nothing of the circumstances, only that the death was very recent and is certainly devastating.
Would it be OK for me to offer them a condolence gift of some sort, and if so, what would be an appropriate thing to give? How do I offer my sincere sympathy and support to someone who is an important figure in my life, and a human mourning the loss of a child, while remaining respectful of the necessarily professional nature of our relationship?
I have no expectation that any gesture made or gift given would be accepted. My therapist may not feel comfortable doing so, and that is perfectly fine. Also, I imagine laws differ on this from state to state, so it may help to know we are in California.
Thank you for any advice you may be able to give.
From the Therapist: It can be hard to know how to express condolences to people we care about — what to say, how to say it, what might feel comforting instead of inadvertently upsetting. But it can be even more confusing in the context of a therapeutic relationship, which exists at a tricky intersection: It’s both opaque and intimate. You don’t know anything about the therapist’s life, but you’ve shared quite a bit about yours. And most people feel, as you do, that their therapist is “an important figure” in their lives.
So here’s what to keep in mind: Despite its seemingly one-sided framework, therapy is one of the most exquisitely human endeavors. Therapists aren’t objective blank slates. We think about the people we see outside the therapy room and genuinely care about their well-being. We have been both witness and guide to some of life’s most existentially difficult challenges and joyful milestones. And into all of these sessions, we bring ourselves — our histories, experiences, life circumstances — not because we talk about them, but because they’re an integral part of who we are and how we move through the world. This shared humanity is the intangible piece of what makes your therapist so important to you.
So, of course you have compassion for your therapist’s loss and for this person who sits across from you regularly — steady, attentive, available — and is now carrying their own pain. It makes sense that you have a desire to acknowledge this, and it’s more than OK to do so with a card, a small gift like a candle (inexpensive gifts given in a particular context are fine; larger or frequent ones are not) or with verbal condolences during your session if the therapist is back at the office. Then you’ll get on with doing the work on yourself that you came to do.
Acknowledging the loss of your therapist’s child is also important for you. What I mean is this: A few years ago, when my father was ill, I talked a lot in my own therapy about the profound conversations we’d been having — a series of loving goodbyes — for which I was immensely grateful. But when I discovered that my therapist’s father had died suddenly of a heart attack, I started editing myself in my sessions. I wondered if talking about my father this way might be painful for my therapist. When I finally acknowledged that I knew about his father’s death and expressed my sympathy, it deepened our sessions. Not because we talked about his father, but because it allowed space for mine. It also allowed us to talk about what it was like for me to know this information about my therapist, and what it brought up for me.
A few years later, when my father died, I wrote publicly about those goodbye conversations and my grief, which some of my patients read. If they offered condolences, I let them know how much I appreciated and felt moved by their sentiments, which meant a lot to me. Then, as with my own therapist, the conversations turned back to my patients: What was it like for them to know about my grief? How did it relate to their particular experiences with grieving — not just deaths they’d experienced but emotional losses of all kinds? For some, their condolences led to richer explorations of issues they’d been grappling with, and for others, their words became a beautiful moment of grace shared between two people that I’m still touched by today.
The best thing you can do is to be genuine without overthinking how to express your feelings. It might be as simple as, “I heard about your loss, and I want to let you know I’m so sorry.” Your exact words don’t matter as much as the fact that you shared them.
Your therapist will take it from there, protecting the space for you, not just in that session but in the sessions to come. Your therapist (and you) might notice, for example, if you’re monitoring your therapist’s emotional state at the expense of your own. If you have some maternal or paternal feelings for your therapist (many people do), how does the death of their adult child affect the way you manage those projections? If you’re a parent, are you avoiding talking about your own child (who’s still alive)? Do you hesitate to bring up something that feels trivial by comparison, like a problem at work or how to manage the upcoming holidays with a difficult family member?
While your condolences aren’t intended to be clinical material, part of therapy is understanding how you respond to other people’s vulnerability and your own. Do you shrink your needs to protect others? Do you feel responsible for other people’s emotional states? Do you confuse empathy with care-taking? These aren’t distractions from therapy; they are the therapy. It’s an act of vulnerability to bring up something so delicate with someone who means so much to you. But doing so can be enriching for both of you.
Want to Ask the Therapist? If you have a question, email [email protected]. By submitting a query, you agree to our reader submission terms. This column is not a substitute for professional medical advice.
Lori Gottlieb is a psychotherapist and the author of the best-selling book “Maybe You Should Talk to Someone.” She offers readers advice on life’s tough questions in the “Ask the Therapist” column.
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