Grief waited & it’s okay to talk about it
A year ago this October 15th, I lost my father suddenly just a few short days after I had lost my aunt (his sister).
I was just starting my position at what is now Luminate Louisiana Credit Unions.
I was named after my Aunt Nancy.
To make me just a wee bit different, my mom dropped the y and added an i instead.
Losing her was a blow as she and I were always close.
Her battle with faulty kidneys ended sooner than anyone would have liked and although I know that she is surely golfing in heaven, she is sorely missed down here.
Just a few short days later, I received a call from a hospital in Kansas telling me that my father was about to be life flighted to a larger facility.
He had a stroke but was alert and slowly talking.
There wasn’t a moment in my mind where I thought that my dad wouldn’t make it.
In fact, my sister and I devised a “divide and conquer” plan where she would go be with him now and I would come when he was headed to rehab.
Because … he WAS going to rehab.
At least that is what my mind told me.
A day later the phone rang, and my sister’s voice said more than any words ever could have.
Dad had another major stroke overnight and the scan of his brain went from a small vision of hope to solid black.
He was gone.
I don’t remember booking the flight.
I don’t remember getting from one gate to the next.
I don’t remember my childhood friend picking me up and driving me to the hospital where he was on machines to keep him alive until I got there.
I do remember turning the corner and seeing him in the bed, lifeless.
Heavy breathing.
Closed eyes.
Distant beeps from rooms around him.
Loud beeps from the machines beside him.
They had kept his pacemaker magnetized until I got there.
He could linger for a while.
Only God knows that timeline.
My sister had been there for a few days, and I encouraged her to go to the hotel and rest.
I would sit with dad.
Beep.
Beep.
I held his hand and spoke to him gently.
I love you.
I love you.
These last recent years had been troubled between us.
I was growing up and he seemed to have been growing the opposite.
Some of his choices were tough.
Some of his words were hard.
Always being daddy’s girl, watching him lifeless on that bed only made me want him to say something dumb so I could reprimand him for doing it.
I just wanted to have words with him that would inevitably end in us telling terrible dad jokes and later laughing.
I had been desperately trying to meet him and love him where he was in life for a long time.
After all, my dad was IN there … somewhere.
Somewhere between listening to music that I knew his mother had loved on my phone placed on speaker, to my son calling and saying, “I love you, grandad”—my dad took his last breath.
I remember sitting there holding his hand realizing that his labored breathing was done.
His fight was over.
His peace had come.
And yet, I couldn’t help but feel this emotion of desperation for just a few more moments.
I went back to work shortly after it all happened.
I had bereavement leave and all of the things that employments do to make sure that you get the time that you need, but I simply didn’t allow myself time to heal.
Work is my normal.
Sometimes my safe place.
I know what to expect at work.
I know what I am doing there.
It felt like a welcomed routine to my chaotic heart and mind.
My new team was amazing.
How are you?
Are you ok?
We are here.
The care, compassion, and concern only secured the fact that I was where I needed to be.
I’m fine.
Famous last words, right?
So, I went back to work.
Back to the routine.
Back to what felt normal and secure.
I tucked grief away like a black little box in the back of my mind’s closet.
Life goes on regardless of who you lose.
Regardless of how many you lose.
Regardless of it all.
The month of October hit this year, and I found myself struggling.
Why are you so sad, Nanci?
Buck up, I would whisper to myself.
Turns out I opened my closet, and that little black box of grief had moved to the front as if it were reminding me that it had been waiting.
Inch by inch it came closer to the forefront.
I remember my CEO and friend saying to me, “At some point, this will all hit and when it does, I am here.”
I’m fine.
Everything is fine.
Smile, Nanci.
However, I’m not.
When you push grief and feelings that need to be sorted to the side they don’t go away.
They wait.
They wait until you are ready to face them.
Until you are ready to open that black box of emotional baggage that you don’t want to deal with.
They just wait.
For me, that wait started to end October 1st.
I didn’t realize what was happening, but I knew that as much as I fought to smile, I was feeling turmoil on the other side of it.
Thank goodness we live in a world where we can be open about the need for help.
Mental health is such an important part of life and yes, that involves your work life as well.
Regardless of how hard we try, we are human and what we feel, we WILL feel in our day to day.
It doesn’t stop on the threshold of your home.
To have a CEO and friend who understands that grief would wait for me, is priceless.
To have a team that I can openly say—Can we reschedule this meeting, I am going to a counseling appointment—is priceless.
Before my dad passed away, he had been so proud of my career growth.
So excited for my future.
So proud to tell others.
Going right back to work seemed the right thing to do at the time.
Grief waited and thank goodness I work in an environment that meets my “I am going to grief counseling” with “We are so proud of you”.
Empathy belongs in the workplace.
Compassion belongs in the workplace.
Human transparency belongs in the workplace.
Check on your folks.
In a world that is always testing the tightness of your seatbelt, it matters.
