Love and Loss

I promised that I would move the emote needle to sunny climes where the memories are filled with warmth and laughter.  Today, a friend shared the list of people in our Team who decided to resign, retire, or take the fork in the road.  For all these differing descriptions, collectively it meant singularly a loss of employment.  I was one of them.

I loved my job.  For twenty years, I touted it as the best place to work for.  We were all focused on the mission and I was part of the whole plan of growing and developing this community.  It was more than a work place.  It was my work family.

Sadly, that all changed when people began to lose their jobs because of restructuring in the name of efficiency and cost savings.  Losing a job you love is like a death.  How can I not be forgiven if I cannot just move on to a cheery disposition?  Finding joy in the midst of a deep sense of loss is like losing your arm and saying, "it's going to be ok."

It's not okay.  I need to grieve and please don't say another lame platitude that if one door closes, another one opens.  I have one person telling me that I would easily find another job and make more money as if he's talking of another universe of reality.  Another one said that this was all part of a grand design orchestrated by the heavens.  Still another said that the job market is flooded with unemployed people that further exacerbated and reinforced fear and desperation.

So what do you say when a person shares their grief and loss with you?  Don't say anything; just listen.  Don't offer your words of wisdom.  Don't feel sorry for them.  Don't judge them for being human.  Offer only your empathy.  Walk with them in their grief.  Validate their feelings.  Someday, it may just be your turn to lose something or someone that you truly love and would then wish people around you would know better how to respond.