Grief Can Be Good

I was going to say I left my old job two weeks ago, but I left more than a job.  I left a fun-loving group of co-workers who I called my dysfunctional second family, because I spent more time with them than I spent with my own family.  I left a group of patients that shared the deepest parts of their lives with me, as well as their kid's lives, and pictures of Mine-craft robots, and sparkled flowers, and little hand prints from the copy machine.  I left a comfortable office space where tears were shed, laughter was heard, and many Almond Joy and Mounds Bars were consumed.

I knew this would be a tough situation to walk away from so I gave almost an entire month's notice, made an appointment with my therapist, and took a week off before my new job started so I had some time to adjust.  But none of this preparation kept me safe from the grief that finally caught up to me.  Near the end of my week off I woke up one morning at 4:00 a.m. the same time I'd gotten up for work the last 2 years.  I turned to look at the clock, and realized right away I could go back to sleep, and then it hit me; I won't be going back to my old job.  I won't work again with my co-workers, and I won't see my patients again. Tears ran down my face and onto the pillow as I cried myself back to sleep.  I cried the next day when I looked at all the cards and gifts I'd received sitting on my dining room table.  I cried when I opened the Menards ad from the Sunday paper, and I cried when I ate a snack size Mounds bar.  After a few days of crying I decided to do what I would advise my patients to do; embrace it.  I told myself it's ok to be sad because it means I shared enough of myself to earn the trust of others and develop strong relationships.

I decided as part of embracing the pain I would start brainstorming how to bring my gifts to my new office.  I pressed and dried some flowers I received, framed them and placed them on a wall I stare at all day.  I made a collage from all the pictures that patient's kids made for me. I put my angel of peace keychain on my new work keys and my angel of hope figurine on a shelf by my desk.  I placed a very special silver ring on a necklace that I either wear when it matches my outfit or I hang on my computer screen.  I have a journal I started writing in and a book of weird facts I read on my own or to my new clients for light discussion topics.  I drink water out of my "amazing, wonderful, fabulous" red cup, and I put up a calendar from June covered with smiley faces representing a new start and a great victory for one woman whose whole future is ahead of her.

I'm crying again.  And it still hurts, but the pain is partially eclipsed by the gratitude I feel to have been a small piece in someone else's recovery.  To think that by sharing part of myself with others their lives might be different in some way is humbling.  I asked my therapist months ago when I felt like I was burning out, "how do I do this job without caring so much?"  It was a rhetorical question because I knew I wasn't capable of doing this job without caring.  And although it's the caring that makes this job of chemical dependency counseling so tough, it's also the caring that makes the job so rewarding.  So, tomorrow when I go to work in my new office I will make a conscious decision to remember the people I left behind, continuing to pray for their health and happiness, and I will be willing to open my heart to care about my new patients.  Then I'll pick up the eight ball on my desk and ask it how my day is going to go.  And if it replies with any negative responses I'll shake it again and again and again until it says, "Outlook good."