Tag: work

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Back to Work

First I just want to express my appreciation for all the kind messages and well wishes I received this week. I do appreciate the messages, even if I don’t respond. It’s hard to respond to those because I never used to be a person who needed taking care of. I don’t necessarily like being taken care of, even if it’s something I may need. I don’t like being the person that needs taking care of. I just want to be me. Nothing special, no extra attention. But on the other hand, the attention reminds me that I have all the support I could want.

Being back at work just outright sucks. I hate it. I work in multiple schools so there is plenty of staff in each school that I only know by sight. They know nothing else about me. The first person I saw when I walked into work on Tuesday was a teacher I just know from passing in the halls. She asked me if I had a great summer. What the fuck do I say to that? Do I say “my daughter died sooo…”? Do I lie and say it was great? I just said it was okay. And this is my issue with working. Some people know, some don’t but that doesn’t even matter. What matters is that I have to compartmentalize my life now. I have to go to a job every day and act like everything is okay. Act like I am anything but the shattered, broken shell of my former self. I have to participate in life and it is fucking exhausting. And it is painful.

Being privy to others’ conversations is just as difficult. Many talk about their kids, what they are doing, etc. I can’t join in those conversations unless I want to be a complete downer. Conversations not about kids don’t appeal to me either. It all seems so trivial and petty and I just can’t bring myself to give a shit. But those who don’t know my situation may just think I’m unfriendly.

Being back at work feels to me like I am “moving on”, living life, doing normal every day things. It feels so unimportant and meaningless to me. My daughter died. How can I care about anything else? How can I switch my focus from what’s most important to me? I can’t. All day at work running through my mind is “My daughter is dead. None of this matters.” There is nothing more important than Ariella and yet the world keeps spinning, the pages of the calendar keep turning, and life goes on. But I don’t want it to. I am not ready for life to go on. I don’t feel right doing these everyday, normal things and all I want to do is be at home, in my safe place, hiding from the world.

I cry everyday, multiple times a day. I never know when it will hit me. The tsunamis of grief come when they want. I can’t schedule them to drown me at my convenience. It takes all my energy to not allow them to overcome me at an inopportune time. What’s going to happen when the students return next week? Some of them know I have a daughter. They didn’t know she was sick or in the hospital but what happens if they ask about her or mention her? I need to be able to hold back the tears when I am with the kids. I just don’t know that I can do it.

I have found many things bereaved parents have in common but I think there is a split when it comes to work. Some, like David, have found work to be helpful. They welcome the distraction. They are relieved to be kept busy, so they can push the grief aside. I am the complete opposite. I am not distracted and all I am doing is counting the minutes until I can go home. The grief keeps asking me “Why are you doing this? What is the point?” And the truth is while I used to love my job I am only working now because I have to. Because I don’t see the point. Nothing else matters to me except that I had a daughter and she died.

Coming home from work is no easy feat either. There is no one to pick up from school on the way home. There is no rushing around trying to get to dance or get homework done and dinner on the table. There are hours to fill after work. And yes, without work I would have more hours of the day to kill but what is hard is the transition of coming home to that empty house without our regular after work and evening routine.

I really don’t want to do this. Before going back to work I was surviving. I don’t know how I am going to survive this. Life just feels that much more stressful and overwhelming. And all I want to do is cocoon myself in a blanket to never emerge.

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Not Strong

“You are so strong.” “You are inspiring.” “I don’t know how you do it.” “I wouldn’t be able to go on if my child died.” These are statements often heard by bereaved parents. And I hate them. I am not strong. Well, no stronger than anyone else. Burying a child does not automatically make one stronger. I go on every day because I have no other choice. Living each day without my child does not make me strong. I am living against my will, I did not make the choice to do so. My heart continues to pump, my lungs continue to breathe. My will has nothing to do with it. I don’t want to be admired. I am not someone to aspire to live up to. I am just here, trying to survive each day. Those who say they could not go on if their child died. Well tell, me what would you do about it? Because short of suicide you too would not have a choice in the matter. Don’t get me wrong. Suicidal thoughts are extremely common in the bereaved parent community. Not necessarily ideations, but wishing they were dead. Wishing they would go to sleep and not wake up. Wishing for a terminal illness, aneurysm, freak accident, anything to escape this life. I cannot speak for all bereaved parents but I do know many, many that would welcome death.

I am not strong. I go through the motions. I do what I have to do. I haven’t worked since Ariella died in May. I was fortunate to be able to take off the rest of the school year. Tomorrow I go back. Maybe some think that makes me strong. But it doesn’t. I don’t want to go back. Going back to work feels like I’m moving on with my life. That there are things out there more important than Ariella. But I’m not going back to move forward. I’m going back to work because again I have no choice. Bills have to be paid. Food has to be bought. I work in 5 different schools. That is going to be like 5 first days back at work, plus my orientation day. The thought of this terrifies me. Because I am not strong. Because I cannot hold back my tears. Because all I want to do is be at home with minimal interaction with the outside world.

I am already exhausted and overwhelmed. Everything just feels wrong. My whole life feels wrong now. I don’t know where I belong now, where I fit in. And I have no desire to figure it out. I don’t want to find new roles and identities. All I want is my job as Mom and I can’t have that.

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The Days Keep Dragging

Another calendar month has come and gone. People keep remarking how fast the summer is flying by. For me it’s dragging. Every day is a lifetime filled with nonstop thoughts of Ariella. The thoughts change but are always about Ariella. About what we are missing. About how much I miss her. About how much I want to hear her voice and tell her about my day. About her days in the hospital. About what we could have done differently. She is all around me. Everything is a reminder. And I mean everything. Nothing is safe. She is a constant in my life no matter what I am doing or where I go. Some thoughts are happy memories though they make me sad, and some are tragic. Doesn’t matter. I can’t escape them. 24/7 I am missing my daughter. I count down the minutes until I can go to sleep once again. I survived another day. But then I wake up. Another day to get through. I force myself out of bed. I run or go to the gym, the only thing that remotely helps me right now. And I try to fill the rest of my day until I can sleep again. The summer can’t end soon enough. I’m anxious about going back to work but at least my days will be filled. I’ll have a routine. I’ll have no choice but to get out of bed. I’ll have no choice but to keep myself busy at my job.

Work though is going to bring its own set of worries. I work with children. Everyday I’ll interact with children near Ariella’s age. I will watch them learn and progress and grow. Some of my students I’ve known for several years. They know I have a daughter. They ask about her. They didn’t know she was sick. How do I respond when they ask about her now? Some of them are the same age, in the same grade Ariella would be. How? How am I going to watch these kids learn and experience all the things Ariella will never get to experience? I love my job and I love my students but this is going to be a real test. And not just the interaction with the kids, but interaction with the staff as well. I work in multiple schools so I don’t get to know staff at any individual school very well. But they are aware of the situation. I am mostly in the same schools as last year so I am dreading the first week or so back, having those conversations with people I don’t know all that well. I just hope that it’s far enough out that when they see me it’s not immediately on their minds. I am relieved to be in the same schools because the thought of adjusting to new schools on top of everything else was increasing my anxiety about going back. At least I’ll be dealing with the familiar (other than one new school).

I’ve got a little over three weeks left to fill before I go back to work. I’ve had so many offers for lunch, dinner, etc. and I appreciate them, I really do. I can’t accept them all. While doing nothing isn’t good, doing too much isn’t good either. I pay for it later. Interacting with others is exhausting. Making small talk is exhausting. No matter who I’m with it always hits me what I’m missing, what our lives are missing and as soon as I leave, the world comes crashing down yet again. I’ve always been introverted and even more so now I prefer to be alone most of the time. It’s actually quite the conundrum. I want to be alone but I need to fill my days. I don’t want to just mindlessly stare at the TV all day but I don’t want to go out and do much of anything. Nothing is the right thing so I am trying to find that right balance of not shutting myself completely off but also not exerting myself too much.

I never understood depression before. Anxiety and I had/have a very close relationship, I know anxiety quite well, but was not so familiar with depression. I just didn’t understand how life could feel so bad that one would have no motivation to do anything or be able to take pleasure in various experiences and activities. It made no sense to me. No matter how bad things seemed there was always pleasure and happiness to be had along with the bad times. I get it now. The root of the depression may be different, mine being situational, but I fully understand lack of motivation and being unable to experience joy. It is a dreadful way to live, feeling like there is no reason to keep on going. What is the point of living without happiness, meaning, or purpose? Why suffer through that? If anyone has the answer to that I’d love to hear it.