The sadness is overwhelming.
My youngest brother died on Monday. In some ways, it feels like forever ago. And it feels sort of surreal, to see the word ‘dead’ and try to wrap my head around that word’s application to my brother. How can that be? It can’t possibly be. But it is.
My work partner of 33 years retires this coming Monday, two days from now. He’s had enough, and it seems that the tipping point has been reached. It’s not worth it to continue pouring your heart and soul into something that is grossly misunderstood and undervalued, that seems to be constantly trampled underfoot. He’s taken a beating, championing our cause, and I’m grateful that he persisted as long as he has. The stress has made an impact on his health, and it simply can’t continue.
Three years ago today, my beautiful, vibrant niece died at the age of 29. Today, and most days, our hearts ache for our people we’ve lost.
It’s a lot of loss to process.
Standing on the curb outside the office the other day, I said something about the timing being terrible, work-wise, but I need to take some time off soon, because I’m barely holding myself together. I didn’t actually say the last part out loud, but my project manager asked me if I needed a hug. I shook my head and was saying no as I stepped toward him and let myself be wrapped in his arms, and then we both kind of laughed and said, yes, I need a hug. It was awkward in the sense that it’s sort of an unspoken thing that people at work don’t actually touch, and it was touching because it was a genuine human compassionate expression, and he hugged me with no perceivable awkwardness, and said quietly and softly, family is more important. It was pure, kind, warm energy that he infused, and I soaked it up as deeply and quickly as I could, pulling myself away long before I was ready. I don’t like to fall apart in front of people.
~*~*~*~
It feels as though the writing is on the wall, once more, and once more, the ship is sinking. It was traumatic that time. This time it’s traumatic with an extra twist of flashback fairy dust. This time it feels like a tight clenching grip from the base of my throat to the top of my stomach, centered about my heart. Sort of like the way the bladder pump fits in the palm of the hand as it’s squeezed to inflate the blood pressure sleeve. This has been a persistent and increasing ache. I’ve been stumbling across old blog posts in which I ramble on about work and exhaustion and stress and once I just get through this, then I’ll be able to catch my breath and everything will be fine. I double check the date and recount and recall the stresses that I survived during that span of time, and say, ha, you thought you were at your limit then, and you’ve met and beyond exceeded it since then! The human heart can be so resilient. That, or I’m just killing myself slowly. It’s PTSD, but instead of post-traumatic stress, it’s more like persistent traumatic stress, or maybe even perpetual traumatic stress. It doesn’t seem to end.
My team in some ways is like an ugly bastard orphan that nobody wants — we don’t fit the traditional business model in these parts, and our first and second level management chain who understood our mission retired, and the remaining management chain had to absorb us, and don’t really know what to do with us. We self-managed for quite some time, and that worked great. Now it’s all about the funding, and not so much the purpose. The thing that we do is a foundational element in the greater scheme of things, and rather than being stewarded carefully and respectfully, as one would expect things of great value to be stewarded, we are tossed about like a hot potato, dropped and smashed and left to scrape up our pieces and somehow put ourselves back together and keep on performing without missing a step, as if we were in tip top shape.
I’m feeling exceedingly depleted and am thinking about accelerating my retirement date, because I just don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. It’s almost too much for me, this time.
