From a young age I debated becoming a bereavement counselor. Attending funerals in my teens I helped console mourners four times my age. At nineteen years old I held the hand of a widow in her early twenties.
That one was tough. She learned of her pregnancy the same day her husband took his life. I will never forget Herb, an amazing person.
Dealing with other types of distress is another story. Recently a friend grew so distraught over something out of her control that I finally told the poor dear to just breathe. The whole group looked at me as if I’d said, “I’m sorry your puppy died. But he tasted delicious.”
Maybe I should stick with my fictional people. What do you think?