Grief at work
People die.
And some of the people they leave behind, some of the people grieving the loss of loved ones, have to go to work.
Bereavement leave is generally about a week, and the careful list of who qualifies (parent but not cousin, sister but not brother-in-law) can be limiting. Many jobs don’t have bereavement leave at all.
Grief lasts longer than a week.
Today is the anniversary of the day my son died. He died a long time ago, but it’s still a tough time for me. You never get over the death of a child.
I went back to work right after he died. Because of medical bills, and because I didn’t know what else to do with myself.
Once I worked at a small agency that gave out sympathy cards when someone’s pet died. Which I thought was nice. I loved the dogs I had, and many people have great affection for their pets, and the loss of them is very difficult. The last dog I had was one we got as a puppy when my son was still alive. The dog outlived the child. When I had to put the dog down my vet and I both cried. She knew my son. She had watched the puppy and the kid grow up together.
But also at that small agency, there were five women who had lost their fathers. Men who died young, in their forties and fifties and their daughters, reeling without the ballast and guide of their father. I lost my dad when I was nineteen, and this was twenty some years later. But other fathers had died more recently; a year, two years, and then the one who died while we were all working together. We talked about it, those of us in that terrible club, and watched out for each other. Birthdays are hard for some, for other it’s the anniversary of the death.
The owners of the agency never gave us cards for those days, they hadn’t lost parents yet and were, like most people, uncomfortable acknowledging losses they had not personally experienced.
When my son died it was really hot. Today it’s really hot again. My body remembers; the temperature of the sidewalk outside the hospital, the exact length of the sunlit day in Seattle in the middle of August. Any hot day reminds me now.
Here are some things I’ve learned. If you work with someone who is grieving, or if you are someone who is grieving, maybe they will help you.
· It’s going to take longer than you think. There is no timeline, but for losses of a close family member it will be years and years.
· Grief shows up differently than sadness. For some it’s rage, for others it’s sorrow, for some it’s greed for any experience that reminds them that they are alive. I was angry with my father when he died, of heart disease, something over which he had no control, but I was angry, nonetheless. I yelled at the undertaker because he was wearing shiny patent leather shoes. If you work with someone who is grieving, don’t be surprised if they have trouble managing their emotions. Of course, you need to expect professional behavior, but be kind. Assume they are doing the very best with what they are carrying. If you are the one grieving, give yourself breaks. Walk around the block if you’re upset. Realize and accept that you’re not the same person anymore, you might not be able to work the way you used to for a while. Be careful with yourself.
· In this country, the majority of people who declare bankruptcy do so because of medical bills, and that’s true even for people who have insurance. The bereaved person may be broke, so don’t suggest vacations, or ask why they are working now.
· If you don’t know what to say to someone who has suffered a loss, it’s better to say that than nothing, or something stupid. “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here for you,” is a good message. Anything to do with the will of God or the dead person being in a better place will not help and you should bite your tongue and not say that.
· Don’t judge another person’s loss. People are prone to do this with pregnancy loss, assuming the loss of a baby to still birth or miscarriage is less heart rending than the loss of my son at nineteen. It isn’t. How and why someone else grieves is their journey.
· You can talk about the person who died. I love hearing stories about my son from his friends or from family. There’s not a day I don’t think of him, so you’re not going to be reminding me of something that’s not already in my mind. You’re reminding me that he was here, and he mattered to other people besides me and my daughter, his sister.
And if you are close to someone who has suffered a loss, check in with them on the day their loved one was born and they day they died. And, if it’s a spouse, the day they were married. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. In fact, the longer it’s been, the more it matters to me. I have clients – you know who you are – who have sent me flowers on August 16th most of the years that we’ve worked together. Every time I cry out of sheer gratitude.
Our culture acts like there is something slightly embarrassing about death, as if there is a sell by date on how long we get to grieve, and we, the bereaved, start to smell bad if we pass that date, like wilted produce.
So anytime we can honor the individuality of someone’s loss, the integrity of their emotional process, we help. Anytime we step out of cultural tropes about how long you are “supposed” to grieve, or how that grief may show up, we help. And as we move away from the worst of the pandemic realize that the million Americans who died of COVID have children and spouses and friends and siblings. Most of them go to work, every day. Be kind to them. Be kind to yourselves.