Grief and work

I've been wading through sludge. A deep, dark morass that sometimes threatens to pull me under. Whenever I manage to push my way through for a few steps it sucks me back down, waist deep. I often feel so tired I want to sleep all day. I have terrible dreams, not really nightmares, but so vivid and disturbing they often wake me up. And I hardly ever remember dreams.

And yet, I'm also able to go about my life as if it's the same. To see friends. To laugh. To do the school run. And work. Do a lot of work, actually. 

This surprised me. Grief is weird. No great revelation, I know, but the double whammy of losing both my parents within two months has certainly reminded me to expect nothing but the unexpected.

Losing my parents. Gah, I'm a trained journalist. They haven't wandered into the desert or got lost on some ridiculous bush hike. They aren't missing in some foreign country. They aren't lost. They are dead. They are no more. They're pushing up daisies. Well, technically, they are hanging out in my spare wardrobe at the moment, until we find a time we four siblings can come together to scatter their ashes, but my parents would have loved the Monty Python reference.

Still, sometimes euphemisms work. The reality is they are gone but I can't help thinking that Dad might just pop up with one of his regular sayings ("I open thy mouth, I shelf thyself' was his final one to me as we sat on his balcony the week before he died). That Mum might ring to lament the slide of her beloved Eagles (dying was a pretty extreme way to show your displeasure, Mum) or tell me the latest novel she's read.

Or maybe it's me that is lost. For so long my life has revolved around two generations of my family - my parents and my children. I was the typical sandwich generation, dealing with teenage angst at the same time as my parents were devolving.

It's strange not to have that pull on both sides. Perhaps that's why I feel like I'm at risk of going under some days - my balance is all out of whack. Or at least the balance I knew.

Thankfully - and, yes, I mean it - I have work to help anchor me. I am lucky to not only have an understanding boss and colleagues where I work part-time but truly supportive clients. 

One sent me a beautiful care package just after Mum died; I burst into tears when I opened the box with the fluffy dressing gown - so thoughtful, it felt like the cuddle she couldn't give me from the other side of Australia. Another dropped off a selection of West Australian produce with a bunch of flowers on behalf of their whole team.  

You expect the support from your friends (and I am grateful for them every day) but you never know how it will go with work. Life goes on, right? Things still need to get done. Your absence puts pressure on others.

Aside from the acts of kindness, I was given the gift of space and time. None of them made me feel like I had to get something done urgently, even when I knew a deadline was pressing (there are always deadlines in my line of work). Neither did any of them question when I wanted to get stuck back in earlier than I thought possible. 

Work gave me purpose. Made me forget about the enormity of life (and death) for a while and focus on the pieces I could handle. The only concern any of them has shown is that I do what feels right for me. What a gift.

I know not everyone is so lucky. When you're doing your best to wade through grief, having an employer or client that gives you room to navigate your new reality is truly meaningful. A million times more so than the flowers and food (though they are very much appreciated). Even if we look like we are holding it all together, underneath we are struggling. 

A little empathy goes such a long way. And helps shine a light on the way forward. 

Thank you to all those who have given me the space and time to grieve.