In the wake of my last post‘s exhortation to acknowledge grief as a part of life, I was recently put to the test. Life has a funny way of giving me opportunities to practice what I preach.
An Opportunity for Grief
The other day, I received news that a long-time co-worker of mine had put in a 2-weeks’ notice of departure. Since my first job at 16, I’ve grown fond of many co-workers. When they moved on (or I did), there was always a measure of sorrow to be had. A team’s dynamic and camaraderie can significantly shift with the addition or subtraction of a single member. But it’s more than that.
In the back of my mind, I know that life is transitory and ever-changing. I’m repeatedly reminded how little control I have in certain scenarios, and having co-workers up and leave is a prime example. Whenever a colleague heads out, reality comes in like a gust of wind, toppling my precious little house of cards.
I guess I get attached to people. There’s a part of me that wants to downplay how much I’ve enjoyed their regular company. I feel I’ve been childish when I ignore the agency of others to pack up and go as they see fit. Perhaps, I experience a cursory bit of abandonment—a whiff of betrayal. Man, I thought our mutual employment meant something; and now you’re just going to leave?
“Have a Great Summer”
Working with others is a strange social realm. I get so used to seeing the same people, day-in and day-out, not really thinking that things could change. Then, they do.
Of course, we say things like, “Keep in touch.” But more often than not, it’s not long after someone quits that he or she gets swept into the past. We mean well, but sometimes people are circumstantial “friends.” If a friendship wasn’t established outside of work prior to, it’s not likely going to sprout after he or she quits.
Now, I hear my bro is leaving.
My response is perhaps best described as ‘freezing.’ I wasn’t willing to accept reality, putting on hold the emotions cued up by this news.
For the first day or so, I was actually sort of proud of myself for “keeping it together.” Yeah, my buddy was leaving, but I was going to be all right. “Life happens.” I didn’t even bother telling my wife about it. In fact, I didn’t really talk to anybody about it.
How’s That Working Out For Ya?
By the end of day two, I was feeling exhausted. My sleep was fractured and ineffective. Instead of listening to my body’s need for rest, I bullied myself into another consecutive gym workout. I wasn’t enjoying myself. I was existing and suffering.
On day three of silence and solitude, I woke up with a headache. I rarely get headaches. Chalking it up to a poor night’s sleep and maybe dehydration, I went to work as usual. All day, I tried to soothe my headache, taking Ibuprofen, hydrating, and, I’ll be honest, consuming more caffeine (I get headaches if I cut out caffeine—yes, I know: addicted). Nothing helped.
I came home that day lethargic, irritable, and still sporting a headache. Finally, I couldn’t hold it in any more. It took a few moments, but I was able to share with my wife I was feeling sad. Reticently, I tied it to the news of my friend at work quitting. Even to my wife, I was embarrassed by how much grief my leaking tears revealed. I felt stupid for getting attached to a “transitory” figure, and more stupid for now being sad he was leaving.
Lo and Behold
My wife met me where I was. She sat beside me, in the pit of sorrow, and saw me in my grief. The embarrassment was coming from me alone.
I was able to further unpack my grief on the phone with a close friend that night. Again, I was seen and heard without judgment. Being understood and having the emotions validated by my wife and then a trustworthy friend was like the gasp of air taken after surfacing from an aquatic dive. I could almost feel the warmth as I thawed from my frozen state.
Lo and behold, my headache went away. My energy returned. I felt alive again. The grief wasn’t gone, but I was able to find my footing in its midst.
The pent-up sadness was wreaking havoc on my physical and mental states. Despite having just published a post admonishing us regarding the dangers of withholding feelings, I ended up doing just that. I didn’t want to admit I felt so strongly about something one might label as trivial. Co-workers quit. Get over it. You thought you were friends? How naïve can you be?
The Math is not Mathing
Grief doesn’t always “make sense” when it first knocks at the door. But if we don’t let it in (or let it out), it doesn’t just go away. It was much harder for me to bring up the news to my wife after I stuffed it for three days. My body was holding it in my gut, hesitant to let go.
When I finally did feel the sadness, it was such a relief. It didn’t last forever. I didn’t die. And, you know what? I was able to go to work the next day with renewed energy and appreciation for the people in my life. I even went to the gym after work, and actually felt strong and empowered versus dutiful.
The question I wanted to ask but stopped short of was, “Why?” Why was I so perturbed by this particular co-worker quitting? This wasn’t the first time I had been through this.
Grief is Grief is Grief
I don’t need to build a case to prove my grief was warranted. Grief is grief. Yet, the more I thought about the ‘why,’ the more it made sense.
I feel a lot more these days. After getting the message as a child that I was too “sensitive,” I hardened myself and swore off “weak” emotions like sadness. I’m in process of reclaiming my sensitivity, seeing it for the gift it is instead of a flaw as I had grown to recognize it. My maturing ability to attune to and experience grief is not an indicator of weakness; it is a signpost of strength and courage. It shows I am learning to be present with what is, no longer running to fantasy to escape.
In a strange way, noticing what happens when I try to avoid grief nowadays is telling of how far I’ve come. For years, I pretended I was beyond the reach of sorrow. I ignored the knocking for so long, and grief resorted to slinking in through the back door. Taking up residence in the cellar, sadness would surface as anger and physical ailments, knowing it wasn’t welcome in its true form.
If it’s Hysterical, it’s Historical
Another potential reason I felt this departure more was the very real fact of having multiple friends move to a distant state in recent years. Friendships feel more tenuous and fragile these days, with a mounting background fear that any day someone else might announce they’re moving away. This has stirred up my own pain from the past.
My family moved around a lot when I was growing up. Sometimes, it was across town; other times, it was to another state. But each time, I felt the pain of being uprooted and the loss of familiarity—with people, environments, and routines. As a child, I had no say or control in the matter. I had to go along with it, powerless and helpless, forced to adapt to change time and time again.
Now, I’m experiencing other people moving away, and I think it brings up that powerlessness again. I’m separated from people I care about, and I have no say in the process. Likewise, there is a deeper sense that I don’t matter. My feelings and preferences didn’t seem to matter when my parents would decide to move again. When another friend moves away, that narrative shows up: you have no qualms about leaving because you never really cared about me—I must not matter.
To be clear, I do understand people have reasons for moving away, and one such reason is not to personally abandon me (egocentric much?) Logically, I can handle this. The feelings that can arise are rooted in my younger years; they are merely triggered by current events.
Alone in the Dark
So when someone at work leaves, it can trip the breaker and leave me in my room of dark emotions. An inner voice might criticize me for being emotionally attached to a buddy at work and feeling bummed about him leaving. I realized that this wasn’t just a co-worker. He is my friend.
Over our 2.5-years of working together, this colleague of mine and I developed a bond that went beyond the typical acquaintance status one establishes with most co-workers. We shared similar humor, interests, and perspectives of a grand variety.
We each went through great joys and great agony, both at work and in personal life.
This wasn’t someone with whom I merely shared a workplace. We trudged through the filth and over mountains together. We felt more like brothers-in-arms.
When the Darkness Comes
The news he was leaving did activate the powerless, cynical part of me. What I’m embracing now is my capable, intentional part. His departure does not have to signal the end of a friendship. After our last day of work together, we went skateboarding at the local skatepark for nearly 3 hours. He still lives in the area, and we can make plans to hang out again.
This experience was a powerful reminder to me to attune to grief when it knocks. Even if it doesn’t make sense. Even if it’s embarrassing.
They say it’s darkest before the dawn. Ignoring grief is like holding back the day. Welcoming the darkness can make way for the light to shine.
