so grief, anger and empathy walk into a bar …

if you’ve ever faced the unimaginable, you know that grief doesn’t follow a script. it doesn’t arrive quietly, nor does it leave when asked.

by chris coulter

published nov 11, 2024

4 minute read

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4 minute read

join the conversation

when i lost my daughter maddie (left) on april 11, 2015, my world shattered. she was just 14 years old, battling an inner darkness that we couldn’t fully understand. supplied

if you’ve ever faced the unimaginable, you know that grief doesn’t follow a script. it doesn’t arrive quietly, nor does it leave when asked. instead, it drags in unexpected guests—like anger and empathy—who settle in, creating a complicated, often contradictory emotional mix. i admit to not having all the answers, but i do understand how these emotions collide and maybe even how they learn to coexist.

the day grief moved in

when i lost my daughter maddie on april 11, 2015, my world shattered. she was just 14 years old, battling an inner darkness that we couldn’t fully understand. one day, she was here, smiling, laughing with her signature raucous joy. the next, she was gone. they say time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t. it teaches you to carry them differently. you don’t ever get over a loss like that—you simply learn to navigate around it.

in those early days, grief was my constant companion, a heavy presence that made it difficult to breathe, to think, to function. there’s no manual for losing a child, no set of rules for how to put yourself back together when every piece of you has been blown apart. but even amidst the devastation, other emotions crept in.

when anger shows up uninvited

anger came barging through the door like an uninvited guest. anger at the world for letting this happen, at the schools that fail to teach mental wellness in an impactful way, and at myself for not knowing how to save her. it’s a sharp, destructive feeling that left me bitter, short-tempered, ready to lash out. why didn’t more people understand the seriousness of teenage depression? why were so many schools sitting on the sidelines?

back then, i used to write about our journey with maddie. it was the only way i could process the anger and sadness. i needed to give voice to the chaos inside me and try to understand how life could be so cruel. writing became my outlet, a space where i could rant, cry, and occasionally find a small glimmer of hope.

enter empathy, the unexpected friend

empathy, though, was a more surprising guest. it arrived quietly, in the form of messages from other parents going through their own struggles. some were facing similar losses, while others were living with the constant fear of it. their stories opened my heart even more, but they also softened the edges of my pain. i realized that i wasn’t alone in this brutal journey.

over time, i began connecting with parents around the world—people who had also turned their pain into purpose. they’d lost children, siblings, and friends, and they, too, were grappling with a world that had become unrecognizable. their courage to speak up gave me the strength to find my voice and keep talking about maddie, even when it hurt like hell. the anger began to share its space with empathy, and i started to see how these two emotions could work together.

turning pain into purpose

that’s when my journey shifted. it stopped being about just surviving day-to-day and became about making a difference. i threw myself into mental health advocacy, joining initiatives like howareyoufeeling.org that help kids understand their emotions before they reach a crisis point. it was incredible to watch those kids transform as they learned to name and process their feelings. but the resistance from schools—institutions that refused to see the value in this kind of education—rekindled my anger.

i realized that if change was going to happen, it wouldn’t come from waiting on school boards, administrators or policymakers. it would take parents, advocates, and everyday people demanding better support for our kids. and so, my mission became clear: to push for the changes that could have saved maddie and to ensure that other families didn’t have to suffer the same fate.

finding balance in the chaos

living with grief, anger, and empathy isn’t easy. some days, the anger flares up, and i feel frustrated that change is so slow. other days, the empathy takes over, and i spend hours listening to the stories of other parents, aching for the pain they’re going through. but somewhere in between, there’s a balance that allows me to keep moving forward.

this journey has zigged and zagged, twisted and turned, but it’s brought me to a place where i can see the power of these emotions. they aren’t enemies; they’re allies in the fight to create a world where kids like maddie have the support they need before it’s too late.

let’s make it personal

so, if you’re reading this, and you know the kind of pain i’m talking about—if you’ve lost someone, or you’re afraid you might—know that you’re not alone. these emotions, as painful as they are, can become fuel for change. we can turn our grief into a legacy that means something, a voice that speaks up when others would rather stay silent.

join me in demanding better for our kids and for the families still struggling in silence. let’s ensure no more parents have to wonder if they could have done more. let’s make it personal.

#maddiesstory #makeitpersonal #mentalhealthmatters #endteensuicide #turnpainintopurpose #supportourkids #schoolaccountability

chris coulter is an accomplished author, renowned for his book “wake up, you could lose your teen to suicide.” as a passionate advocate for mental health, he has delivered impactful keynote speeches at numerous conferences. motivated by personal tragedy, chris lost his daughter, maddie, to suicide in april 2015. he currently serves as an advisor and formerly the executive director of how are you feeling, a non-profit organization focused on social-emotional learning, helping children navigate and comprehend their emotions effectively.

this article was originally published on october 26, 2024.

so grief, anger and empathy walk into a bar …