I’ve never lost a close family member or friend before – unless cats count. But I have worked in places where the sudden death of a service-user has shell-shocked the institution, knocking and affecting every person connected to it.

When I was 19 I was a teaching assistant in a secondary school, giving pupils learning support and managing challenging behaviour in classrooms. I loved it. My third week on the job, without going into details, one of our year seven pupils died in a tragic accident. This was witnessed by her classmates and they watched her be driven away in an ambulance.

We knew the news before the children were officially told. Someone asked me to go into the lunch hall because there were a few upset pupils in there and my role was to try and encourage them back into lessons. I remember walking into that hall to find forty or more boys and girls crying their eyes out, in absolute pieces. I was not prepared. Pushing all my personal problems aside, that was probably one of the hardest hours of my life. I’ve never before felt like I needed to be so brave for so many people at once. But we had to hold it together; we had no choice but to comfort those children, trying to remain positive without giving away any confidential information, and try to encourage them back to class. At least there we could keep an eye on them in a safe environment.

Like I’ve said, I’ve never really felt grief before due to loss, but to see that expressed on these young faces is heart-wrenching. Seeing our cheeky, challenging, lovely pupils break down at this stage in their lives, the people we are called to protect, was very hard to watch. It makes us feel helpless. But actually, they pulled together for us, living for her. The pupils put together a memorial ceremony and invited the school and the girl’s family to attend, they put together a choir to sing her favourite song – a song which still haunts me when I hear it on the radio – and everyone wrote a message of love, memory and lament on the outside wall of the canteen, showing how loved this girl was. The words are probably still there now, years later. What I’ve realised from working with these young people, is that it’s about being brave for each other. I can’t imagine how they were really feeling and I don’t doubt that that hole in their hearts will never be healed. Everyone grieves in different ways; they all carried on for her.

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I’m now a student social worker on placement at a housing support project. Here we support about fifty 16-25 year olds who would probably otherwise be homeless. It is challenging work sometimes but I am loving the experience, the skills I am picking up, and the relationships I am building with the residents and trying to engage them. We work with the aim to eventually move them into independent living.

This morning I walked into the centre to see fifty tea-light candles standing on a table at reception, surrounded by papers covered in brightly coloured messages. At first, I thought this was a memorial for Nelson Mandela. Then I saw the photos. One of our young residents had died. He was always polite. One time some service-users were abusive towards me and he had stepped in between myself and them – this 6 ft 3 lad – and told them to ‘take it easy, be nice to her, she’s alright‘.

We don’t know yet what happened to him and obviously for confidential reasons I would not be sharing that information on here anyway. It was just shocking for every resident, support worker and any person who wandered in from the street to witness. He was a very likable, very decent young man with a potentially bright future ahead of him. The candles are burning for him tonight and I hear that his friends are dressing down and raving in his honour.

It is clear to me that it is in a crisis when people’s inner strengths shine through. To witness vulnerable young people break down, managers question themselves – ‘couldn’t we have done more?’ and then seeing people – who you never would have expected – hold it together, it’s amazing. It’s maybe a process of emotions that I will never understand. I have seen a handful of tragedies myself, sudden accidents, suicide attempts and drug-related incidents, but nothing can prepare anyone for this and no amount of drinking, smoking or dancing can drown those feelings out. You can’t lock yourself away, you can’t break down, you just have to keep going for everyone else and remember why it is you’re doing this job in the first place.