The trauma of sudden death

“It is one of life’s most self-evident truths that everything fades, that we fear the fading, and that we must live, nonetheless, in the face of the fear.” – Irvin D. Yalom, MD, Existential Psychotherapy, 1980

The email was titled simply, “A sorrowful note,” and I knew that someone had died. I held my breath and read as Dr. Jimmy Potash informed our entire department that Dr. Cait McFarland died in a car accident on December 7 while driving to work at West Cecil Health Center, Conowingo, Md., where she was director of psychiatry.

Sadness swelled as I remembered the outspoken resident who was interested in LGBTQ issues. Cait graduated from the Johns Hopkins residency program in 2020, she had recently married a social worker in the department, and the plan was for her to return to Hopkins full-time in July 2023 to be director of a clinic focused on mental health for people who are transgendered.

Sudden deaths are tragic and jarring and they call to the surface our losses from the past. These deaths don’t stand alone – I found myself thinking of my editor at Medscape, Dr. Bret Stetka, who died unexpectedly in August 2022, and then of Dr. Lidia Palcan Wenz, a psychiatrist I trained with, who died in a motor vehicle accident in 2004. Lidia’s husband also died in the accident, while their two young children in the back seat survived – this tragedy haunted me for some time. None of these people was close to me, but I am no stranger to the impact of unexpected death: My parents and brother all died from cardiac events, and any sudden death is a reminder of those losses.

Julia Riddle, MD, trained with Cait McFarland and was her close friend for years. “I don’t have a belief in ‘the afterlife’ but do like to think of the people that I have lost together in my memory – as if they are all suddenly in a new room together. And, with each loss, all the other occupants of that room come freshly to life again,” Dr. Riddle said.

Death is our shared destination in life, but sudden and unexpected deaths carry their own weight. There is no chance to tie up loose ends, to repair riffs, to say goodbye. Nothing is put in order, and the life that was to be lived goes on for some time as bills arrive, social and work events go unattended, vacations are canceled, and there is the awkward moment of running into someone who didn’t know your loved one has died.

Roger Lewin, MD, is a psychiatrist and writer in Towson, Md. He has both personal and professional experience with sudden death. “There is no way to prepare beforehand, so we have to get ready for what has already happened, and that is hard,” he said. “We invent a life for ourselves and others that extends into the future, and that gets interrupted.”

Most people become ill and die on a vaguely predictable schedule. There may be a chance to plan, to know and honor the wishes of the individual, and often there is the opportunity for loved ones to begin the grieving process gradually as death approaches. For those who are elderly, there may be a sense that this is the natural order of things – which may or may not temper the intensity of the grief for those who remain. If the person has suffered, the end may come with relief.

Still, I sometimes find myself surprised at the length and intensity of anguish that some people experience after losing a loved one who has lived a long and full life, who declined and suffered, but whose absence remains a gaping wound that takes years to form a scar.

Sudden death is not rare; accidents, homicide, and suicide are the top killers among young people, and cardiovascular deaths are number one among those who are older. Natural disasters and terrorist attacks can cause catastrophic numbers of sudden deaths and leave survivors to grieve not only the dead, but the loss of all that was familiar to them.

Psychiatry has been a bit lost as to how we approach grief. We often hear patients talk about anxiety surrounding death and illness, be it a fear of death or a longing for it. These fears can seem irrational – I am reminded of a patient who was afraid to eat romaine because of news reports that it was responsible for food poisoning in other states, but not Maryland, where the person lived. I found it odd that he worried about eating lettuce, but not about smoking two packs of cigarettes a day.

But our fears are like that – they move to what the media sensationalizes, or to what may be remote, because otherwise no one would get in a car or clear their walkway of snow. Life is most easily lived with a bit of denial: We shut out the reality that we can be here one moment, overscheduled and overwhelmed, with deadlines, mortgage payments, and summer vacation plans, oblivious to the fact that life may end at any moment. The early months of COVID-19 felt like a global game of Russian roulette, with each venture out a pull of the trigger and everyone’s defenses stripped bare.

While death belongs to us all, we relegate it to the disciplines of religion, philosophy, the arts, and psychology. Religion offers answers – whether a heaven, a hell, or continual reincarnation until the individual attains enlightenment, there is a destination. Perhaps it will be pleasant, perhaps not, and for some there is the hope that one gets to be the driver by having the right beliefs or doing good deeds, while others are comforted by the hope of being reunited with loved ones.

“The suddenness endures and the shock lasts – it’s like a meteor that creates a crater and we revisit it in different ways from different angles,” Dr. Lewin said. “It may leap on us unexpectedly, often many years later.”

Patients talk about death, and when their fears seem unrealistic we may long to reassure them, yet there is no reassurance and psychiatry grasps for how to help. Psychiatry has looked to draw lines for when normal grief crosses to abnormal. Is it an adjustment disorder, complicated grief, “prolonged” grief, pathology in need of medication and medicalization, or something one experiences individually, sometimes for a very long time even with treatment?

One justification for pathologizing “prolonged” reactions includes the fact that insurers will pay for treatment only if there is a diagnosis code, and shouldn’t people in distress be entitled to psychotherapy or medication? Yet there is something offensive about telling someone that they are mentally ill if they don’t grieve along a prescribed timeline, as much as there is about denying them the possible benefits of therapy or medication if they seek it, but are suffering in all the “right” ways. Psychiatry’s approach to death is inelegant at best.

In his poignant podcast series, All There Is, Anderson Cooper is tasked with sorting through his mother’s apartment after her death at age 95. In the course of packing up her belongings, he brings on other guests to talk about their emotional reactions to death. Mr. Cooper’s mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, died at an advanced age, but his father died after a brief cardiac illness when Mr. Cooper was a child, and his brother died by suicide when he was 21. He uses these experiences as a springboard to examine childhood losses, the aftermath of suicide, and the loneliness of grief.

“Loss and grief is this universal experience that we will all go through multiple times in our lives,” Mr. Cooper says, “And yet it leaves us feeling so alone and so separated from other people. At least it does me and has my entire life.”

When we talk about grief and loss, we talk about “getting over it,” or “moving on.” But loss doesn’t work that way – time usually eases the pain, leaving scars that are part of the road map for who we are on the journey that defines us.

Sudden death is hard, and the unexpected death of a young person is tragic. For Cait McFarland, there are the decades she won’t get to experience. For her family and friends, it may be excruciating, and for all the patients who have lost a psychiatrist, may time bring healing and peace.

The Dr. Caitlin McFarland Educational Fund for LGBTQI+ Mental Health is being established, and donations are being accepted at https://www.gofundme.com/f/in-memory-of-cait-mcfarland.

Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

“It is one of life’s most self-evident truths that everything fades, that we fear the fading, and that we must live, nonetheless, in the face of the fear.” – Irvin D. Yalom, MD, Existential Psychotherapy, 1980

The email was titled simply, “A sorrowful note,” and I knew that someone had died. I held my breath and read as Dr. Jimmy Potash informed our entire department that Dr. Cait McFarland died in a car accident on December 7 while driving to work at West Cecil Health Center, Conowingo, Md., where she was director of psychiatry.

Sadness swelled as I remembered the outspoken resident who was interested in LGBTQ issues. Cait graduated from the Johns Hopkins residency program in 2020, she had recently married a social worker in the department, and the plan was for her to return to Hopkins full-time in July 2023 to be director of a clinic focused on mental health for people who are transgendered.

Sudden deaths are tragic and jarring and they call to the surface our losses from the past. These deaths don’t stand alone – I found myself thinking of my editor at Medscape, Dr. Bret Stetka, who died unexpectedly in August 2022, and then of Dr. Lidia Palcan Wenz, a psychiatrist I trained with, who died in a motor vehicle accident in 2004. Lidia’s husband also died in the accident, while their two young children in the back seat survived – this tragedy haunted me for some time. None of these people was close to me, but I am no stranger to the impact of unexpected death: My parents and brother all died from cardiac events, and any sudden death is a reminder of those losses.

Julia Riddle, MD, trained with Cait McFarland and was her close friend for years. “I don’t have a belief in ‘the afterlife’ but do like to think of the people that I have lost together in my memory – as if they are all suddenly in a new room together. And, with each loss, all the other occupants of that room come freshly to life again,” Dr. Riddle said.

Death is our shared destination in life, but sudden and unexpected deaths carry their own weight. There is no chance to tie up loose ends, to repair riffs, to say goodbye. Nothing is put in order, and the life that was to be lived goes on for some time as bills arrive, social and work events go unattended, vacations are canceled, and there is the awkward moment of running into someone who didn’t know your loved one has died.

Roger Lewin, MD, is a psychiatrist and writer in Towson, Md. He has both personal and professional experience with sudden death. “There is no way to prepare beforehand, so we have to get ready for what has already happened, and that is hard,” he said. “We invent a life for ourselves and others that extends into the future, and that gets interrupted.”

Most people become ill and die on a vaguely predictable schedule. There may be a chance to plan, to know and honor the wishes of the individual, and often there is the opportunity for loved ones to begin the grieving process gradually as death approaches. For those who are elderly, there may be a sense that this is the natural order of things – which may or may not temper the intensity of the grief for those who remain. If the person has suffered, the end may come with relief.

Still, I sometimes find myself surprised at the length and intensity of anguish that some people experience after losing a loved one who has lived a long and full life, who declined and suffered, but whose absence remains a gaping wound that takes years to form a scar.

Sudden death is not rare; accidents, homicide, and suicide are the top killers among young people, and cardiovascular deaths are number one among those who are older. Natural disasters and terrorist attacks can cause catastrophic numbers of sudden deaths and leave survivors to grieve not only the dead, but the loss of all that was familiar to them.

Psychiatry has been a bit lost as to how we approach grief. We often hear patients talk about anxiety surrounding death and illness, be it a fear of death or a longing for it. These fears can seem irrational – I am reminded of a patient who was afraid to eat romaine because of news reports that it was responsible for food poisoning in other states, but not Maryland, where the person lived. I found it odd that he worried about eating lettuce, but not about smoking two packs of cigarettes a day.

But our fears are like that – they move to what the media sensationalizes, or to what may be remote, because otherwise no one would get in a car or clear their walkway of snow. Life is most easily lived with a bit of denial: We shut out the reality that we can be here one moment, overscheduled and overwhelmed, with deadlines, mortgage payments, and summer vacation plans, oblivious to the fact that life may end at any moment. The early months of COVID-19 felt like a global game of Russian roulette, with each venture out a pull of the trigger and everyone’s defenses stripped bare.

While death belongs to us all, we relegate it to the disciplines of religion, philosophy, the arts, and psychology. Religion offers answers – whether a heaven, a hell, or continual reincarnation until the individual attains enlightenment, there is a destination. Perhaps it will be pleasant, perhaps not, and for some there is the hope that one gets to be the driver by having the right beliefs or doing good deeds, while others are comforted by the hope of being reunited with loved ones.

“The suddenness endures and the shock lasts – it’s like a meteor that creates a crater and we revisit it in different ways from different angles,” Dr. Lewin said. “It may leap on us unexpectedly, often many years later.”

Patients talk about death, and when their fears seem unrealistic we may long to reassure them, yet there is no reassurance and psychiatry grasps for how to help. Psychiatry has looked to draw lines for when normal grief crosses to abnormal. Is it an adjustment disorder, complicated grief, “prolonged” grief, pathology in need of medication and medicalization, or something one experiences individually, sometimes for a very long time even with treatment?

One justification for pathologizing “prolonged” reactions includes the fact that insurers will pay for treatment only if there is a diagnosis code, and shouldn’t people in distress be entitled to psychotherapy or medication? Yet there is something offensive about telling someone that they are mentally ill if they don’t grieve along a prescribed timeline, as much as there is about denying them the possible benefits of therapy or medication if they seek it, but are suffering in all the “right” ways. Psychiatry’s approach to death is inelegant at best.

In his poignant podcast series, All There Is, Anderson Cooper is tasked with sorting through his mother’s apartment after her death at age 95. In the course of packing up her belongings, he brings on other guests to talk about their emotional reactions to death. Mr. Cooper’s mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, died at an advanced age, but his father died after a brief cardiac illness when Mr. Cooper was a child, and his brother died by suicide when he was 21. He uses these experiences as a springboard to examine childhood losses, the aftermath of suicide, and the loneliness of grief.

“Loss and grief is this universal experience that we will all go through multiple times in our lives,” Mr. Cooper says, “And yet it leaves us feeling so alone and so separated from other people. At least it does me and has my entire life.”

When we talk about grief and loss, we talk about “getting over it,” or “moving on.” But loss doesn’t work that way – time usually eases the pain, leaving scars that are part of the road map for who we are on the journey that defines us.

Sudden death is hard, and the unexpected death of a young person is tragic. For Cait McFarland, there are the decades she won’t get to experience. For her family and friends, it may be excruciating, and for all the patients who have lost a psychiatrist, may time bring healing and peace.

The Dr. Caitlin McFarland Educational Fund for LGBTQI+ Mental Health is being established, and donations are being accepted at https://www.gofundme.com/f/in-memory-of-cait-mcfarland.

Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

“It is one of life’s most self-evident truths that everything fades, that we fear the fading, and that we must live, nonetheless, in the face of the fear.” – Irvin D. Yalom, MD, Existential Psychotherapy, 1980

The email was titled simply, “A sorrowful note,” and I knew that someone had died. I held my breath and read as Dr. Jimmy Potash informed our entire department that Dr. Cait McFarland died in a car accident on December 7 while driving to work at West Cecil Health Center, Conowingo, Md., where she was director of psychiatry.

Sadness swelled as I remembered the outspoken resident who was interested in LGBTQ issues. Cait graduated from the Johns Hopkins residency program in 2020, she had recently married a social worker in the department, and the plan was for her to return to Hopkins full-time in July 2023 to be director of a clinic focused on mental health for people who are transgendered.

Sudden deaths are tragic and jarring and they call to the surface our losses from the past. These deaths don’t stand alone – I found myself thinking of my editor at Medscape, Dr. Bret Stetka, who died unexpectedly in August 2022, and then of Dr. Lidia Palcan Wenz, a psychiatrist I trained with, who died in a motor vehicle accident in 2004. Lidia’s husband also died in the accident, while their two young children in the back seat survived – this tragedy haunted me for some time. None of these people was close to me, but I am no stranger to the impact of unexpected death: My parents and brother all died from cardiac events, and any sudden death is a reminder of those losses.

Julia Riddle, MD, trained with Cait McFarland and was her close friend for years. “I don’t have a belief in ‘the afterlife’ but do like to think of the people that I have lost together in my memory – as if they are all suddenly in a new room together. And, with each loss, all the other occupants of that room come freshly to life again,” Dr. Riddle said.

Death is our shared destination in life, but sudden and unexpected deaths carry their own weight. There is no chance to tie up loose ends, to repair riffs, to say goodbye. Nothing is put in order, and the life that was to be lived goes on for some time as bills arrive, social and work events go unattended, vacations are canceled, and there is the awkward moment of running into someone who didn’t know your loved one has died.

Roger Lewin, MD, is a psychiatrist and writer in Towson, Md. He has both personal and professional experience with sudden death. “There is no way to prepare beforehand, so we have to get ready for what has already happened, and that is hard,” he said. “We invent a life for ourselves and others that extends into the future, and that gets interrupted.”

Most people become ill and die on a vaguely predictable schedule. There may be a chance to plan, to know and honor the wishes of the individual, and often there is the opportunity for loved ones to begin the grieving process gradually as death approaches. For those who are elderly, there may be a sense that this is the natural order of things – which may or may not temper the intensity of the grief for those who remain. If the person has suffered, the end may come with relief.

Still, I sometimes find myself surprised at the length and intensity of anguish that some people experience after losing a loved one who has lived a long and full life, who declined and suffered, but whose absence remains a gaping wound that takes years to form a scar.

Sudden death is not rare; accidents, homicide, and suicide are the top killers among young people, and cardiovascular deaths are number one among those who are older. Natural disasters and terrorist attacks can cause catastrophic numbers of sudden deaths and leave survivors to grieve not only the dead, but the loss of all that was familiar to them.

Psychiatry has been a bit lost as to how we approach grief. We often hear patients talk about anxiety surrounding death and illness, be it a fear of death or a longing for it. These fears can seem irrational – I am reminded of a patient who was afraid to eat romaine because of news reports that it was responsible for food poisoning in other states, but not Maryland, where the person lived. I found it odd that he worried about eating lettuce, but not about smoking two packs of cigarettes a day.

But our fears are like that – they move to what the media sensationalizes, or to what may be remote, because otherwise no one would get in a car or clear their walkway of snow. Life is most easily lived with a bit of denial: We shut out the reality that we can be here one moment, overscheduled and overwhelmed, with deadlines, mortgage payments, and summer vacation plans, oblivious to the fact that life may end at any moment. The early months of COVID-19 felt like a global game of Russian roulette, with each venture out a pull of the trigger and everyone’s defenses stripped bare.

While death belongs to us all, we relegate it to the disciplines of religion, philosophy, the arts, and psychology. Religion offers answers – whether a heaven, a hell, or continual reincarnation until the individual attains enlightenment, there is a destination. Perhaps it will be pleasant, perhaps not, and for some there is the hope that one gets to be the driver by having the right beliefs or doing good deeds, while others are comforted by the hope of being reunited with loved ones.

“The suddenness endures and the shock lasts – it’s like a meteor that creates a crater and we revisit it in different ways from different angles,” Dr. Lewin said. “It may leap on us unexpectedly, often many years later.”

Patients talk about death, and when their fears seem unrealistic we may long to reassure them, yet there is no reassurance and psychiatry grasps for how to help. Psychiatry has looked to draw lines for when normal grief crosses to abnormal. Is it an adjustment disorder, complicated grief, “prolonged” grief, pathology in need of medication and medicalization, or something one experiences individually, sometimes for a very long time even with treatment?

One justification for pathologizing “prolonged” reactions includes the fact that insurers will pay for treatment only if there is a diagnosis code, and shouldn’t people in distress be entitled to psychotherapy or medication? Yet there is something offensive about telling someone that they are mentally ill if they don’t grieve along a prescribed timeline, as much as there is about denying them the possible benefits of therapy or medication if they seek it, but are suffering in all the “right” ways. Psychiatry’s approach to death is inelegant at best.

In his poignant podcast series, All There Is, Anderson Cooper is tasked with sorting through his mother’s apartment after her death at age 95. In the course of packing up her belongings, he brings on other guests to talk about their emotional reactions to death. Mr. Cooper’s mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, died at an advanced age, but his father died after a brief cardiac illness when Mr. Cooper was a child, and his brother died by suicide when he was 21. He uses these experiences as a springboard to examine childhood losses, the aftermath of suicide, and the loneliness of grief.

“Loss and grief is this universal experience that we will all go through multiple times in our lives,” Mr. Cooper says, “And yet it leaves us feeling so alone and so separated from other people. At least it does me and has my entire life.”

When we talk about grief and loss, we talk about “getting over it,” or “moving on.” But loss doesn’t work that way – time usually eases the pain, leaving scars that are part of the road map for who we are on the journey that defines us.

Sudden death is hard, and the unexpected death of a young person is tragic. For Cait McFarland, there are the decades she won’t get to experience. For her family and friends, it may be excruciating, and for all the patients who have lost a psychiatrist, may time bring healing and peace.

The Dr. Caitlin McFarland Educational Fund for LGBTQI+ Mental Health is being established, and donations are being accepted at https://www.gofundme.com/f/in-memory-of-cait-mcfarland.

Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.