"My daughter killed herself by jumping off the 12th floor." 

My heart sank, and it was then that I felt the weight of a father's heart.

It was a busy overbooked clinic day. I started 30 minutes early and hoped for uncomplicated consults and straightforward patients. Every patient had an assigned 10-15 minute time slot to check whether they were taking their medications, monitor for complications, analyze abnormal lab results, check and examine if there were any new symptoms to address, and discuss a plan forward. Any deviation from a targeted consultation might mean an additional 5-10 minutes and a lengthy wait for those sitting outside.

It was my second time meeting Mr Ong*. He had a chronic condition that required him to take medications on a regular basis. Prior to seeing me, he was being cared for by another physician for over 8 years, but had his care transferred to me as a result of some changes in the previous doctor's schedule. Mr Ong was what doctors would consider a "good patient" - he took his medications on time, was compliant to lifestyle advice and had good insight into his medical problems. He never took more than his allotted 10 minutes of consultation time. The first time I met him, he shared that he was having some back pain that he thought may have been a result of carrying some heavy good the week prior. I had not had time to speak with him at length about his family and social background during his first visit. I'm just meeting him for the first time, he might not be so comfortable. Maybe I will get the chance to next time, I thought before, as I trudged through my busy clinic afternoon.

That day, Mr Ong walked into my clinic alone.

Good afternoon, how have you been Mr Ong? How was your Chinese New year?

Me? I have been okay...my daughter though, has not. 

It was then that he shared with me what had happened. His daughter had been diagnosed with a psychiatric illness, and was struggling with school related stress. It sounded like a long drawn battle with auditory hallucinations and self hate that culminated in a choice to end her life.

I told her, no need to think too much, she was going to complete her final year of tertiary education. But still...my words never got through to her...

He shared with me photos of her funeral, the wreaths that were gifted, the photos of her siblings and her burial grounds on his mobile phone. A beautiful girl, laying serenely in a coffin. Her youth, broke my heart.

I had no words to say. How was I to console a man who just lost his youngest child, a girl not far younger than I am? I listened in silence. Mr Ong did not shed a tear as he spoke, but only stopped to pause in between his sentences as he looked at the photographs, the longing in his eyes, all that he had left to remember his beautiful child.

It was then I had a glimpse of the banner placed behind the casket. It read "I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die. John 11:25"

Hope. Because Jesus lives, we also will live. In that moment of grief, we shared a moment of hope that is in Christ, that there is a hope of being reunited with his daughter on that glorious day when Christ comes again.

It was perhaps 15 minutes later when Mr Ong kept his phone and asked about his medical results. He had a clean bill of health. His lab results were pristine, his back pain was resolved. He need not come back till half a year later for routine review.

"God is good. We gain some, we lose some."

We talked about how we could help him and his family cope during this difficult period. Before he left, he shared that he clung tightly to the hope that is in God.

"希望, 我们有耶稣的希望"

I'm not certain why Mr Ong decided to share such a personal event with me, an almost-stranger, that day. Perhaps he needed someone to talk to, perhaps I reminded him of his daughter. Perhaps it was my own reminder from Him who is above - of Hope.

Easter is a celebration of victory over death. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.

*Names and details changed.