When I asked the depressed
lady why she wanted to die,
“to get to Heaven,” she said.

If I were to go back to my
Catholic school days, “I would
tell her, “You go to hell if you
kill yourself.” But I don’t.

The depressed lady not only
wanted to die, but she wanted
to speed up the process by
overdosing on her pills or
cutting her wrists with a blade.

I asked the depressed lady
if she read or if she had hobbies
to make her feel better, she
said, “Yes. But I lost interest.”

I was way over my head here.
I could not make the depressed
lady smile or feel good about
the future. I wondered if that was
even part of the job.