On Grief — A Counselling Session

A person-centred (Rogerian) counselling session. Second meeting. Approximately 45 minutes.

The room is small and simply furnished. Two comfortable chairs face each other at a slight angle, not directly across. A small table between them holds a box of tissues, a jug of water, and two glasses. The lighting is warm. The door is closed. There is a gentle hum of the world outside, distant enough to feel private.

KATE is a woman of 46, neat in her appearance but with the particular kind of tiredness that shows around the eyes — the sleep-deprived, not-yet-cried-out look of someone who has been running on empty for a long time. She settles into her chair and looks at ELENA, the counsellor, with a mixture of hope and apprehension. Elena is in her late fifties, calm and unhurried, with silver hair and a way of listening that feels like being gently held.

ELENA: Good afternoon, Kate. It's good to see you again.

KATE: (a small, tight smile) Hello.

ELENA: How have you been since we last spoke?

KATE: (pause, then a long exhale) Up and down. Mostly down, I suppose. I've been... I don't know. I've been waking up at three in the morning and not being able to get back to sleep. I'll lie there for hours just... looking at the ceiling. My brain won't switch off. And then during the day I'm like a zombie at work. I make mistakes. Stupid things. I've never been like that before.

ELENA: Sleep has been hard.

KATE: It's the worst part, actually. Worse than — well, not worse than everything else, but... when I haven't slept, I feel like I'm not even a person. Does that make sense?

ELENA: It makes complete sense. When sleep goes, it takes something fundamental with it. You feel less like yourself.

KATE: Yes. Exactly that. (She fidgets with the cuff of her sleeve.) I'm on tablets now. From the GP. For the low mood. She said they're also meant to help with sleep but I don't think they're doing very much, to be honest.

ELENA: Tell me more about that. What do you notice?

KATE: I take them and I still lie there. My heart's racing sometimes. I'll be lying there in the dark and suddenly I'll start thinking about Mum. Just a memory of her face. And then I'll think about Debbie. And then I can't breathe properly and I don't know whether I'm grieving or whether I've completely lost my mind.

ELENA: (quietly, without interrupting) Mmm.

KATE: (voice smaller now) Is it normal to still feel like this after eighteen months? Because sometimes I think I should be further on by now. People expect you to be further on by now. My sister said to me last month — she said, "Kate, you need to start moving forward." And I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to say, "Moving forward to where? I don't even know what direction that is."

ELENA: That must have been hard to hear. From someone you love.

KATE: (eyes filling) She means well. She always means well. But she doesn't — she can't — I don't think she understands what it was like. What it still is like. Mum was not just my mother, she was... she was the person I told everything to. Every single thing. And now there's just... there's that silence. Everywhere.

ELENA: The silence that used to be filled by her.

KATE: (nods, tears falling now) And then there's Debbie. (A bitter, hollow laugh.) Where do I even start with Debbie?

ELENA: Wherever feels right.

KATE wipes her eyes, takes a shaky breath.

KATE: Fifteen years. We were together for fifteen years. And she just... left. No warning, no argument, nothing. She was there one day and then she changed all the locks and she blocked me on everything. Facebook. Phone. Everything. I've tried to understand. I've tried to find out if I did something, if I missed something, if I was somehow — I just don't know. I will never know, because she won't speak to me.

ELENA: That kind of silence. To be left without any explanation. That's a particular kind of wound.

KATE: It is, isn't it? It's like — imagine if someone just cut you open and walked away. No reason. No closure. You just have to live with the bleeding. (Her voice hardens.) And everyone says, "Oh, you should try to let it go." But how can I let it go when I don't even know what I'm letting go of? How can I make peace with something when I don't understand it?

ELENA: You're right. You can't negotiate with a mystery.

KATE: No. And the worst thing is — the worst thing — is that I find myself getting angry with Mum. For dying. Which is insane, I know it's insane, she didn't choose it. But she was the one person who would have known what to say about Debbie. She would have said, "Kate, come here, we'll sort this out, we'll have a cup of tea and a proper talk." And instead she's just... gone. And I'm alone with all of it.

ELENA: (gently) That anger you feel. The fact that it comes out in that direction — toward your mum — tell me what that's like for you.

KATE: Guilty. I feel guilty. Because I miss her so much and I love her so much and I don't want to be angry with her. She's my mother. But there's a part of me that is furious with her for not being here when I need her most. And that part makes me feel like a terrible daughter.

ELENA: When you say that guilt tells you you're a terrible daughter — where do you think that voice comes from?

KATE: (long pause) I don't know. Maybe... maybe I've always felt like I had to be strong. When Dad left, I was the one who looked after Mum and my brother. I was the one who held things together. And Mum was always the one who held me. When I couldn't cope with something at school, or later with work, she'd just listen. She'd say, "Kate, love, that's enough. Sit down. I'll make some tea." And that would be enough. That would fix everything.

ELENA: She was your safe place.

KATE: Yes. She was my safe place. And now she isn't. (Her voice breaks.) And I don't have one anymore.

ELENA says nothing. She sits with Kate's pain without filling it. The silence in the room is heavy but not uncomfortable. It is the kind of silence that allows grief to breathe.

KATE: (after a while, quieter) At work I've started making mistakes. Just little ones but I can feel my manager watching me. I'm an accountant — numbers are my whole job, I should be good at them — and last week I miscalculated something and it would have been a real problem if a colleague hadn't caught it. And I just sat there at my desk afterwards thinking, "Who am I? What am I doing?" I used to be so capable. I used to have my life so neatly ordered. And now I can't even do the basics.

ELENA: You've lost your sense of who you are, in some way.

KATE: (looking up) That's exactly it. I feel like I've lost myself. Like I'm just going through the motions of being Kate and underneath there's nothing there. Just fog.

ELENA: That fog. When did you first notice it?

KATE: Probably... probably about three months after Mum died. Everything was so busy at first — the funeral, sorting out her things, dealing with her house — and then when that all quietened down, that's when it hit me. The full enormity of it. And then a few weeks after that, Debbie left. It was like... like being knocked down by a wave and then before you can get up, another one comes. I just stopped being able to function.

ELENA: Two enormous waves, very close together. Any one of them would have been enough to knock you sideways.

KATE: I know. Logically I know that. But knowing it and feeling it are different things, aren't they? I can sit there and think, "Yes, of course anyone would be struggling with this," and then five minutes later I'm beating myself up for not coping better. For not being stronger.

ELENA: That voice that tells you to be stronger. Where does it come from, do you think?

KATE: (almost laughing through tears) I don't know. Nowhere. Everywhere. Maybe it's just the world. "Get on with it, Kate. Keep going. You've got a job, you've got a flat, you've got friends." (She pauses.) But I feel so... so broken. Not in a dramatic way. Just in a quiet, exhausting way. Like my whole self has been turned upside down and I can't find my feet.

ELENA: Broken is a word you used. Tell me what that word means to you.

KATE: (thinking) It means... I think it means that the person I was before all this happened doesn't exist anymore. The Kate who had her mum, who had Debbie, who knew where her life was going — she's gone. And I don't know who the new Kate is yet. I'm just... in between. And I don't know how long that lasts.

ELENA: What do you imagine the new Kate might be like? When she eventually appears?

KATE is quiet for a long time.

KATE: I don't know. I've tried not to think about it too much, because it feels too painful. Like admitting that Mum and Debbie are really gone. Like letting go of who I used to be. (pause) But I think... I think she might be someone who has been through something real. Something that matters. And maybe that gives her a kind of... I don't know... depth that she didn't have before. Even if it doesn't feel like it right now. It doesn't feel like a gift. But I suppose that's not the right word either.

ELENA: You're describing something that isn't a neat thing. That isn't easily named.

KATE: Yes. It's just... it's very hard. And lonely. And I don't think people around me understand how hard it is. They want me to be okay. They want me to move through it and come out the other side and be the same Kate. But I don't think I'm going to be the same Kate. And I'm not sure I want to be.

ELENA: That honesty. That willingness to say that out loud. That takes something.

KATE: (quietly) I don't always feel honest. Sometimes I feel like I'm performing. Like everyone expects me to be sad and so I show them sad. But actually inside I feel so many things at once I couldn't name them all if I tried. I feel angry. I feel relieved. I feel terrified. I feel nothing. I feel everything. It's like being all of these different people at the same time and none of them are the real one.

ELENA: That sense of being fragmented. Of having no single, solid self to return to.

KATE: Yes. And I keep thinking about Debbie. Every day I think about her. And I go over it and over it. What I could have done differently. Whether there was a moment I missed. Whether I was too available, too dependent, too boring — I just don't know. I'll never know. And I hate that. I hate not knowing.

ELENA: The not-knowing is a wound that doesn't close.

KATE: (very quietly) And I keep thinking about the last time we were together. We were watching television. Just sitting on the sofa. And she leaned her head on my shoulder. And I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was tired, I was worried about Mum — she'd just started her treatment — and I remember thinking, "I'll say something nice to her tomorrow." And there was no tomorrow. Not in that same way. And I think about that moment all the time now. The weight of her head. Whether she already knew she was going. Whether she was saying goodbye in her own way.

ELENA leans in very slightly. Her face is soft with attention.

ELENA: That moment. It lives with you now.

KATE: It lives with me all the time. I replay it. I try to find the sign I missed. And I never can. (She wipes her face.) I don't know how to describe what I've lost. It's not just Debbie. It's not just Mum. It's the whole idea of my life. The life I thought I was going to have. The future I thought we'd all grow old into. And now I don't know what any of it is. I don't know where I'm going.

The room is very quiet. Outside, a car passes. The world continues, indifferent and gentle.

ELENA: When you look at your life right now, what's the hardest thing about it?

KATE: (no hesitation) The not knowing who I am without them. Without Mum. Without Debbie. They've been the two biggest parts of my life for so long. Mum since I was born. Debbie since I was thirty-one. And now both of them are... I don't know the right word. Gone. Or changed beyond recognition. And I'm just here. Trying to work out who is left.

ELENA: It sounds like you're doing the most important thing, even if it doesn't feel like it. You're asking the real questions.

KATE: (a small, fragile smile) Do they feel real to you?

ELENA: They do. Because they're true. And because you're brave enough to sit with them instead of running away.

KATE looks down at her hands. She is quiet for a while.

KATE: I don't feel brave. I feel like I'm just surviving. Day to day. Hour to hour sometimes.

ELENA: Surviving is brave. Especially when there's nothing easy about it.

KATE: (voice thick) I miss her. I miss both of them. And the thing that makes me saddest is that I think they're both gone in different ways. Mum is gone because she died. Debbie is gone because she chose to be. And I don't know which one is worse. I think maybe the one where they chose is worse, somehow. Because it feels like it was my fault. Even if it wasn't.

ELENA: The guilt sits on top of the grief. They're almost indistinguishable sometimes.

KATE: Yes. That's exactly it. I feel guilty about everything. I feel guilty that I didn't spend more time with Mum before she was ill. I feel guilty that I didn't see the signs with Debbie. I feel guilty that I'm still sad when other people seem to have moved on. I feel guilty that some mornings I don't want to get out of bed. (She stops.) I feel guilty for feeling guilty.

ELENA: You're carrying a tremendous weight, Kate. Not just the grief itself, but all of this judgment you put on yourself for having it. That must be so exhausting.

KATE: (tears streaming freely now) It is exhausting. It's the most exhausting thing I've ever done. And I don't know how much longer I can do it.

ELENA: (very gently) What do you think would happen if you didn't judge yourself for how you're feeling? If you just let yourself feel it, whatever it is?

KATE: I don't know. I think I'd be overwhelmed. I think it would all come at once and I'd never stop crying.

ELENA: Maybe. Or maybe the weight of carrying both the feeling and the judgment is what's so heavy. And the feelings themselves, given space, might be more manageable than you'd think.

KATE takes a shaky breath. She wipes her eyes with both hands.

KATE: I don't remember how to do that. I don't remember what it feels like to just... let it be what it is. Without trying to fix it or control it or pretend it's not happening.

ELENA: You don't have to remember. You just have to be here, in this room, with whatever shows up. And we'll see what happens.

KATE laughs softly. It is a different kind of laugh — less bitter, more wondering.

KATE: That's terrifying, to be honest.

ELENA: It is. And you're doing it anyway.

There is a pause. KATE looks around the room as if noticing it for the first time. She takes a breath.

KATE: Can I ask you something?

ELENA: Of course.

KATE: Do you think I'll ever feel okay again? Not happy. I don't mean happy. Just... okay. Just able to get through a day without feeling like I'm drowning.

ELENA: I can't know the future, Kate. But what I can tell you is this. You are in the middle of something enormous. Two losses, both profound, both in very different ways. And you are still here. You are still coming through the door, sitting in that chair, telling me the truth about what's happening inside you. That tells me something important. It tells me that something in you — some part of you that is deeper than grief — is still reaching toward life. Still wanting to find its way.

KATE absorbs this. She does not respond immediately.

KATE: I suppose I've never thought of it that way. I always just think of myself as someone who's falling apart.

ELENA: And you are. That is true. And you are also someone who is, despite the falling apart, still here. Both of those things are true at the same time.

KATE sits back in her chair. Her face is tired, but something in it has shifted — just slightly. The raw edge is still there, but there is a flicker of something else. Recognition, perhaps. Or the beginning of it.

KATE: I don't know what to do. I don't know what the next step is.

ELENA: You don't have to know. That's not what we're doing here. We're just talking. We're just allowing whatever needs to be seen, to be seen. And in time — I can't tell you how much time — something will become clearer. Not because you forced it. Because you made space for it.

KATE nods slowly. She takes a tissue from the box and holds it in her hand, not using it.

KATE: I think I needed today. I think I needed to say some of this out loud. Because inside my head it's just... noise. All the time. And it doesn't make sense and I can't hear myself think over it. But here, it's... quieter somehow.

ELENA: I'm glad. That's what the room is for.

The light in the room has shifted slightly. The afternoon is moving on. Outside, the world carries on — people going about their lives, unaware of the quiet that is happening in this small room.

ELENA: We'll probably be coming to the end soon. How are you feeling about leaving today?

KATE: (thinking) A bit lighter. I don't know. I feel like I've said more than I've said in months. To anyone. It makes me realise how isolated I've become. I don't talk about this stuff to my friends. I don't talk about it to my sister. I just put on a face and go to work and come home.

ELENA: That's very common. When we're in the deepest part of grief, we often find that the people around us don't have the capacity to be with it. And so we learn to be silent.

KATE: Yes. And that silence makes it worse, because then you feel like no one understands. And then you stop trying to explain. And then you're just completely alone with it.

ELENA: Which is why this room matters. This is somewhere the silence doesn't have to be perfect.

KATE almost smiles.

KATE: I don't know if I'm ready to go back out there, honestly.

ELENA: You don't have to be ready. You just have to open the door. And then one step. And then the next.

KATE: (standing slowly, gathering herself) Thank you. I don't know what you actually do here, but... it helps. It really does help.

ELENA: I don't do very much, Kate. I just try to be here with you. The rest is yours.

KATE moves to the door. She pauses with her hand on the handle.

KATE: Same time next week?

ELENA: Same time next week.

KATE nods. She opens the door and steps out into the corridor. The door closes gently behind her.

ELENA sits alone for a moment. She writes a few notes in her file. The room settles back into silence, holding the weight of what has passed through it, gently, without judgment.

End of session.

Author's Note

This dialogue is a work of fiction, written from the perspective of a person-centred (Rogerian) counsellor. It is based on established principles of humanistic counselling, including Carl Rogers' core conditions — empathy, unconditional positive regard, and congruence — and draws on contemporary person-centred approaches to grief and loss that emphasise the non-linear, deeply personal nature of mourning. No therapeutic advice is intended, and the scene should not be used as a substitute for professional counselling.

On Grief © 2026 by Bea Groves-McDaniel is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/