I've been dealing with depression and bi-polar disease for 40 years. When Karl died I knew I needed help to get through this, so I immediately made an appointment to get back on Depression drugs. I thought that with my history and the grief complications that the doctor would surely send me to therapy, but he didn't and I was in too upset a state to insist. It was the first of several tries at therapy where I felt discounted and not listened to because I was in grief and we know all about that.
I tried with him for 3 months, the drugs weren't helping the way they had in previous bouts of depression and the doctor gave me something new rather than listening to me when I told him what had worked before. Then he wanted blood to check my liver function and that was the last straw. I don't do needles and I would never have consented to take a drug that required blood tests. I refused the blood test, left and never came back. But of course I still needed help. After six or seven more months of grief and depression I got up the courage to try again. No drugs this time, right to therapy. Three sessions later when we were still taking history and hadn't talked a bit about what was currently my problem, I quit that therapy too. I was starting to feel invisible. I went for four or five more months just barely getting by. I tried again, different doctor, different drugs, different therapist. She told me that I was a loser who would never be happy unless I had a complete personality change. She hadn't even talked to me and heard any of what I had to say and she thought I was a loser. It's no surprise that I never went back.
I had never had this kind of luck with therapy before. But as a person dealing with grief, I never once, through 4 different caregivers, felt that any one of them actually heard what I wanted to say or let me show them what aspect of grief I was having difficulty dealing with. I had become invisible an interchangeable part with all other people suffering grief.
Well, grief is not like that. People cope differently, people have different problems that most concern them. And most especially people who seek therapy to deal with grief need to feel they are being listened to. When I went to the therapists for depression treatment in the past, I was listened to and they paid attention to what issues I was having and how to deal with it. I was a person. Going to therapy with grief, I was no longer an individual, I was suffering from grief and steps a, b, c would fix that. One size fits all therapy isn't just wrong; it's harmful to the grieving person.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
He was my extrovert
Talking to someone at work today, I noted that Karl had been my extrovert. And as an introvert it was hard for me to got out and mingle - especially with strangers. It's funny, I hadn't ever really noticed how much Karl helped me to be sociable and how he pushed me to move out of my comfort zone. It's hard to take over that function on my own.
I recently attended a meeting of a digital photography club and it was all I could do to force myself to get in my car and go even though I had been planning to go for a couple of months. Of course, I had to think about it for two months before getting in the car was even a possibility. It will be good for me to start getting out and do social activities; I can't sit home and cry forever. But taking that first step was harder than I thought it would be.
But it got me to thinking about the nature of relationships. We need to have people in our lives who are brave when we are fearful or who are responsible when we are carefree or who are funny when we are too serious. The most successful relationships I have ever seen are those where each partner brings different strengths to the partnership. Of course when that relationship is broken through death, we suddenly realize how much that person was doing that we found difficult.
So even though it's hard and even though I didn't want to do it, gradually I've come to realize that the grief process is also a growth process. You have to tackle those weak parts of yourself that you were able to pass off to the other person before. I'm a stronger, more compassionate person for having been in this place.
I recently attended a meeting of a digital photography club and it was all I could do to force myself to get in my car and go even though I had been planning to go for a couple of months. Of course, I had to think about it for two months before getting in the car was even a possibility. It will be good for me to start getting out and do social activities; I can't sit home and cry forever. But taking that first step was harder than I thought it would be.
But it got me to thinking about the nature of relationships. We need to have people in our lives who are brave when we are fearful or who are responsible when we are carefree or who are funny when we are too serious. The most successful relationships I have ever seen are those where each partner brings different strengths to the partnership. Of course when that relationship is broken through death, we suddenly realize how much that person was doing that we found difficult.
So even though it's hard and even though I didn't want to do it, gradually I've come to realize that the grief process is also a growth process. You have to tackle those weak parts of yourself that you were able to pass off to the other person before. I'm a stronger, more compassionate person for having been in this place.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Sorting Through the Pictures
The one thing that helped the most the first week was going through the pictures for the memorial. Marty and I laughed and cried and told silly stories as we sorted through photos neither of us had looked at in years. It was a way to remember the good of my life with Karl in the face of the overwhelming pain I felt at his death. It was the only part of that first week that I can remember with any fondness.
There was the picture of Karl holding our dog Kiki the day his daughter gave her to him for Christmas. We loved that dog and she shared our lives for almost 17 years. He took her everywhere but especially to the park where he would let her run and run and run.
And there were pictures of Karl in uniform and with his grandkids reading to them when they were small and pictures at the lake and picture of me at horse shows that he took and him in his recliner and in his hammock in the backyard – which reminded me of the day one spring when he lay in the hammock watching the leaves come out on the trees.
And pictures of him building his experimental airplane. I remember well how much he enjoyed that and how when they first put it together, they found the wings somehow had ended up two different lengths. Pictures with his Cessna and his scuba gear (Oh my, remember the time my nephew almost drowned in the Marty's pool with that scuba gear?) Not many picture of him as a young boy, but then again, he was born in 1936, people didn't take as many pictures then.
Oh and look here's that newspaper clipping of him and our old neighbor, Teresa, at the opening of the trail at the Great Dismal Swamp. He and Teresa became such good friends after her husband died; he even cut a gate in the side fence between our two yards, so she could come over more easily. I remember, too, how hurt he was when she died unexpectedly. And I remember sitting with him at his sister's funeral.
Oh and here is his 60th birthday party, the one with the dancing girl. And remember this cake our friend June made. It had a little airplane on a runway and tiny candles as the runway lights, but when we lit the candles, they melted the wings on little plastic airplane.
And picture of his ex-mother-in-law who used to come visit us when she was still alive. Even though her daughter lived just four doors down, she would stay with us because she liked Karl better.
It's really a modern ritual this sorting through the photos. It's an emotionally healthy activity. It takes you back through the deceased's life. It helps you remember why you were in relationship to this person all along. And why that relationship was worth it even though it ended in grief.
Other things about the modern grieving process are not so healthy. In our busy, push-push world, we don't think people should take time out to grieve. Take a week off, be sad for another week and then never mention it again. Or of course there are those who seem to think it is a commercial opportunity – sell the grieving family on a memorial website, a fancy coffin, a bigger and better marble stone, a decal for your car window, etc. The costs of funerals rivals the (also way overblown) cost of a wedding - only you don't even get happy memories out of it.
The older rituals do provide some comfort or at least closure. Karl wanted a viewing, so we had one. And yes it was comforting to have the huge number of people who loved him or me to show up to remember him and comfort his family.
The funeral itself gave me a chance to publicly speak about my feelings for Karl and describe what a wonderful person he was. It was difficult to speak at the funeral but I'm glad I did.
The most moving part of the process was Karl's interment at Arlington National Cemetery. The formal ceremony was beautiful, the day was beautiful and Arlington is such a peaceful place. Karl had wanted very much to be buried there, I'm glad we were able to make it happen.
I miss him still; I will always miss him. But at least going through the pictures helped bring back the vital, interesting person he was after several years of serious illness. He hated being diminished; I'm glad the ritual of the photos helped restore the old Karl as foremost in my memories.
There was the picture of Karl holding our dog Kiki the day his daughter gave her to him for Christmas. We loved that dog and she shared our lives for almost 17 years. He took her everywhere but especially to the park where he would let her run and run and run.
And there were pictures of Karl in uniform and with his grandkids reading to them when they were small and pictures at the lake and picture of me at horse shows that he took and him in his recliner and in his hammock in the backyard – which reminded me of the day one spring when he lay in the hammock watching the leaves come out on the trees.
And pictures of him building his experimental airplane. I remember well how much he enjoyed that and how when they first put it together, they found the wings somehow had ended up two different lengths. Pictures with his Cessna and his scuba gear (Oh my, remember the time my nephew almost drowned in the Marty's pool with that scuba gear?) Not many picture of him as a young boy, but then again, he was born in 1936, people didn't take as many pictures then.
Oh and look here's that newspaper clipping of him and our old neighbor, Teresa, at the opening of the trail at the Great Dismal Swamp. He and Teresa became such good friends after her husband died; he even cut a gate in the side fence between our two yards, so she could come over more easily. I remember, too, how hurt he was when she died unexpectedly. And I remember sitting with him at his sister's funeral.
Oh and here is his 60th birthday party, the one with the dancing girl. And remember this cake our friend June made. It had a little airplane on a runway and tiny candles as the runway lights, but when we lit the candles, they melted the wings on little plastic airplane.
And picture of his ex-mother-in-law who used to come visit us when she was still alive. Even though her daughter lived just four doors down, she would stay with us because she liked Karl better.
It's really a modern ritual this sorting through the photos. It's an emotionally healthy activity. It takes you back through the deceased's life. It helps you remember why you were in relationship to this person all along. And why that relationship was worth it even though it ended in grief.
Other things about the modern grieving process are not so healthy. In our busy, push-push world, we don't think people should take time out to grieve. Take a week off, be sad for another week and then never mention it again. Or of course there are those who seem to think it is a commercial opportunity – sell the grieving family on a memorial website, a fancy coffin, a bigger and better marble stone, a decal for your car window, etc. The costs of funerals rivals the (also way overblown) cost of a wedding - only you don't even get happy memories out of it.
The older rituals do provide some comfort or at least closure. Karl wanted a viewing, so we had one. And yes it was comforting to have the huge number of people who loved him or me to show up to remember him and comfort his family.
The funeral itself gave me a chance to publicly speak about my feelings for Karl and describe what a wonderful person he was. It was difficult to speak at the funeral but I'm glad I did.
The most moving part of the process was Karl's interment at Arlington National Cemetery. The formal ceremony was beautiful, the day was beautiful and Arlington is such a peaceful place. Karl had wanted very much to be buried there, I'm glad we were able to make it happen.
I miss him still; I will always miss him. But at least going through the pictures helped bring back the vital, interesting person he was after several years of serious illness. He hated being diminished; I'm glad the ritual of the photos helped restore the old Karl as foremost in my memories.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The Look
If you've suffered a serious grief, chances are you seen the Look. You know the “Oh please, hasn't she gotten over this” look or maybe the “Don't annoy me with your pathetic emotions” look or even the “How inappropriate of you to be talking about such an uncomfortable subject” look.
We all know the Look. It's the one that trivializes your grief and makes you feel less than nothing for having sad feelings. It's the one that says don't bother me; I can't be bothered with your pathetic emotions; I'm too important for you to bother with this.
The trouble with the look is that it makes the person who is grieving feel worse for not being Little Miss Happy Sunshine. It tells you clearly that the other person doesn't care about you and thinks he or she is much more important than you are.
Oddly, I never get the Look from strangers when I happen to mention my beloved who died or my grief or anything to do with mourning. No, the Look comes from relatives and friends and co-workers. It wounds so deeply precisely because it comes from the very people you expected to support you in your grief.
Sometimes, it's not even a look but a sudden silence when you say something or a drastic change of topic. At any rate the common theme is that it says, “Your grief is unimportant, I don't want you to talk about it.”
There is nothing guaranteed to make me angrier than the Look. All those people who don't want me to talk about the event that most affected my life or the 26 years of life that preceded it are going to be disappointed in me, because I will talk about this and the Look will make me more determined to tell you about it. I don't give into the Look and shut up like a nice girl. So try to have a little compassion for those of us suffering grief and don't make it worse by making us feel we can't talk about the most significant event in our lives because it's too sad for someone who only has to spend five minutes with it. I have to spend a lifetime with it, so forgive me for not feeling very willing to accommodate your lack of sensitivity.
Not all of us who are grieving want to talk about it, I can respect either choice. But when someone does want to talk, don't cut them off with the Look. Honor their grief and treat them like a person worth listening to.
We all know the Look. It's the one that trivializes your grief and makes you feel less than nothing for having sad feelings. It's the one that says don't bother me; I can't be bothered with your pathetic emotions; I'm too important for you to bother with this.
The trouble with the look is that it makes the person who is grieving feel worse for not being Little Miss Happy Sunshine. It tells you clearly that the other person doesn't care about you and thinks he or she is much more important than you are.
Oddly, I never get the Look from strangers when I happen to mention my beloved who died or my grief or anything to do with mourning. No, the Look comes from relatives and friends and co-workers. It wounds so deeply precisely because it comes from the very people you expected to support you in your grief.
Sometimes, it's not even a look but a sudden silence when you say something or a drastic change of topic. At any rate the common theme is that it says, “Your grief is unimportant, I don't want you to talk about it.”
There is nothing guaranteed to make me angrier than the Look. All those people who don't want me to talk about the event that most affected my life or the 26 years of life that preceded it are going to be disappointed in me, because I will talk about this and the Look will make me more determined to tell you about it. I don't give into the Look and shut up like a nice girl. So try to have a little compassion for those of us suffering grief and don't make it worse by making us feel we can't talk about the most significant event in our lives because it's too sad for someone who only has to spend five minutes with it. I have to spend a lifetime with it, so forgive me for not feeling very willing to accommodate your lack of sensitivity.
Not all of us who are grieving want to talk about it, I can respect either choice. But when someone does want to talk, don't cut them off with the Look. Honor their grief and treat them like a person worth listening to.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Cranky, Whiny, Bitch Girl
One of the the things about the grief process is that you lose yourself for awhile. Sometimes you turn into this person you don't even like very much or who seems like a stranger.
Me, I turned into cranky, whiny, bitch girl. I was very easily upset, I felt a little like I was was coming across as poor little me (well to be honest, I felt a lot like poor little me), and I got angry so much more easily than at any other time in my life. I did things I wouldn't normally do; I complained and cried and sighed and screamed and cried some more. I'm an introvert and usually I'm pretty adept at keeping my emotions to myself, but cranky, whiny, bitch girl sure didn't keep any of her emotions to herself and none of her emotions were pretty. Sometimes I was amazed that anyone I knew was still talking to me.
For a year and half at least, I was not fun to be around. Even at work I had trouble staying professional. It didn't help that the workplace made some policy changes that I strongly disagreed with and in cranky, whiny, bitch girl mode, I had no trouble at all letting them know. Well, maybe I should have kept my mouth shut a couple of times, but they hit every one of my psychological triggers. And I was in no mood to play nice. I have to thank my coworkers for understanding that I wasn't myself and giving me the benefit of the doubt. I didn't want to be that awful person, I just couldn't stop myself.
Two years later, I still have cranky, whiny, bitch girl moments although they are getting farther apart and now mostly hit when I'm really, really tired. I'm glad to see her leaving. I didn't like being unable to control my emotions and I don't care for the feelings that I felt. I knew it was all part of the grief process, but still...cranky, whiny, bitch girl? Really, did I have to go there?
I grew up being the good girl, the nice girl, the one who followed the rules. I had no idea that side of me even existed. Well, if there was any positive to this at all, at least I realized how easily I could be pushed into being angry and out of control and that it was best to express emotions before they got to that point. I've suppressed my emotions (except around the very few people I trust) for so long, that I'm not sure I can do that long term, but at least I'm going to try. 'Cause I sure don't ever want to descend into cranky, whiny, bitch girl again.
Me, I turned into cranky, whiny, bitch girl. I was very easily upset, I felt a little like I was was coming across as poor little me (well to be honest, I felt a lot like poor little me), and I got angry so much more easily than at any other time in my life. I did things I wouldn't normally do; I complained and cried and sighed and screamed and cried some more. I'm an introvert and usually I'm pretty adept at keeping my emotions to myself, but cranky, whiny, bitch girl sure didn't keep any of her emotions to herself and none of her emotions were pretty. Sometimes I was amazed that anyone I knew was still talking to me.
For a year and half at least, I was not fun to be around. Even at work I had trouble staying professional. It didn't help that the workplace made some policy changes that I strongly disagreed with and in cranky, whiny, bitch girl mode, I had no trouble at all letting them know. Well, maybe I should have kept my mouth shut a couple of times, but they hit every one of my psychological triggers. And I was in no mood to play nice. I have to thank my coworkers for understanding that I wasn't myself and giving me the benefit of the doubt. I didn't want to be that awful person, I just couldn't stop myself.
Two years later, I still have cranky, whiny, bitch girl moments although they are getting farther apart and now mostly hit when I'm really, really tired. I'm glad to see her leaving. I didn't like being unable to control my emotions and I don't care for the feelings that I felt. I knew it was all part of the grief process, but still...cranky, whiny, bitch girl? Really, did I have to go there?
I grew up being the good girl, the nice girl, the one who followed the rules. I had no idea that side of me even existed. Well, if there was any positive to this at all, at least I realized how easily I could be pushed into being angry and out of control and that it was best to express emotions before they got to that point. I've suppressed my emotions (except around the very few people I trust) for so long, that I'm not sure I can do that long term, but at least I'm going to try. 'Cause I sure don't ever want to descend into cranky, whiny, bitch girl again.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Grief and Work
I have to start by saying, that I was lucky enough to have a supportive workplace. Sadly this is not true for everyone.
When I first learned that Karl's illness would be fatal, I talked to the VP of HR about whether I would be eligible for bereavement leave. As I read the policy, it seemed that I would not be eligible since we weren't married. I wanted confirmation of this, so I could always make sure to have a week's leave available. She confirmed that was the policy and then called back about six hours later to tell me that company had changed the policy to include anyone you lived with. This was more than year before Karl died and it was much appreciated (as well as making me feel good that others in my situation both gay and straight would have the same benefit).
On the day I left for bereavement leave, the HR rep told me to go and not to worry about anything. When I returned she had gathered together all the paperwork I would need to change. Karl was my emergency contact as well as the beneficiary of my life insurance policy. She had the forms I needed to change filled out as much as she could and ready for me to fill in the new names and contact information. I might not have thought of doing that for weeks even months; I appreciated that she made sure it got done right away.
The office sent flowers and several of my co-workers attended either the funeral or came to the viewing. I work at a satellite site away from our HQ, so I received flowers from some of the people I directly worked with in our HQ as well as local co-workers.
My boss at the time was not the type of person to let others know his emotions especially when they are not happy. I'm fairly sure he didn't understand why I was not the same way, but he respected that I was not able to hide my emotions when I returned to work.
I came in a couple of times that week before the funeral for half days. Not because work insisted I come in or to meet a deadline, but simply to escape the dysfunctional family funeral for a few hours. I told my boss when I came in to pretend I wasn't there, that I was hiding out from Karl's relatives. He was good about doing so and giving me something completely non-stressful to do. I wasn't thinking clearly at that point, so this was critical. I could not have handled a high stress task at that point. My co-worker was still doing my normal tasks as that point. Something I was very grateful for as it couldn't have been easy to do my job and hers.
The first time I came back after Karl's death was the hardest. I was still crying at the drop of a hat and many of my co-workers wanted to express their condolences. I was grateful for the condolences, but it was hard to get through them. There's no way to avoid this, waiting to express condolences would have made me feel as if nobody cared. So pretty much the first hour I was back at work all I did was cry and get hugged by distressed co-workers.
Dealing with work and grief together is just one paradox after another. It hurts terribly to return to the normal routine of life and yet, it feels good to do so as well. It seems strange and unprofessional to insert strong emotions into the workplace, but it was also the only way I could return to work as the emotions were most definitely not under control for months. Work was a place of security where everything hadn't changed, but it also terrified me that I would make a serious mistake and lose my job now that I was my sole support for the first time in 26 years.
I cried at work every day for months. I never cried at work before; it was very strange. Luckily my cubicle was in an out of the way corner. People would say something innocuous on a phone call and I would start to cry. I had to apologize repeatedly to co-workers so they would understand I knew they weren't deliberately trying to hurt me and I ended up explaining to many of my co-workers at other sites what had happened as they didn't get a general announcement like they put out here at the local office.
I have no doubt my performance suffered. I tried to do good work, but for at least a couple of months I wasn't thinking very straight. At least I'd been a decent performer to start with, it makes it easier for others to cut you a little slack I think. My boss at least tried to keep things lighter the first month afterward anyway. My co-worker did her best to help me out as I wasn't working as fast as normal either and things were getting a little backed up. She was a champ, I couldn't have made it through without her. Sadly nine months later, she left work for cancer treatment and died a few months later. I miss her still.
I found that for at least a year and half, maybe close to two, I was far more easily stressed at work than I had been. Part of that was we were going through a lot of organizational changes at work and I ended up on a new team, one I never would have gone to by choice. Part of it was the grief and the loss of the feeling of safety in being alone now brought up some psychological issues, I thought I had moved past 20 years earlier. But now a little more than two years after the death, I'm starting to feel comfortable at work again. My brain doesn't feel like it's in such a fog. It's not so hard to concentrate.
Co-workers are uncomfortable with strong emotions in the workplace. I know I made them uncomfortable, but I needed to express those emotions. It still bothers them when I mention that I'm still grieving (my new boss gets this “oh spare me” look on his face when I mention anything to do with Karl or grieving, but then he wasn't someone who actually ever expressed personal condolences either)– somehow society has decided that we shouldn't do that for more than a week or so after the funeral. But what society wants and what I was able to do weren't in synch. I think it cruel that we don't expect grieving people to grieve and that we make them feel even worse if they should happen to show how bad they feel to relatives, friends and co-workers. I reached out some to others I worked with who suffered griefs after me. I like to think it helped that they had some one who knew what it was like to talk to.
One thing that amazed me was how few of my co-workers attended the funeral or the viewing, less than ten percent of the local employees came even though we were a small enough office that I knew everyone. No one from the local senior management came (even though I'd worked closely with all but one of them) and none of them even expressed their condolences in person until weeks later. It's colored my view of management here, I don't know that I will ever feel loyalty or trust in them, since they were absent when I most needed support. Another person here lost her father recently, I was the only person from work who actually attended the funeral (several more did make it to the viewing). Why wasn't her boss there? Where were her teammates? Are we really all so busy and important that we can't take a couple of hours out of a day to attend a funeral when one of our co-workers needs our support? It seems wrong to me; 20 years ago when someone had a funeral that was local, people were expected to attend. Now it seems to be too much trouble.
When I first learned that Karl's illness would be fatal, I talked to the VP of HR about whether I would be eligible for bereavement leave. As I read the policy, it seemed that I would not be eligible since we weren't married. I wanted confirmation of this, so I could always make sure to have a week's leave available. She confirmed that was the policy and then called back about six hours later to tell me that company had changed the policy to include anyone you lived with. This was more than year before Karl died and it was much appreciated (as well as making me feel good that others in my situation both gay and straight would have the same benefit).
On the day I left for bereavement leave, the HR rep told me to go and not to worry about anything. When I returned she had gathered together all the paperwork I would need to change. Karl was my emergency contact as well as the beneficiary of my life insurance policy. She had the forms I needed to change filled out as much as she could and ready for me to fill in the new names and contact information. I might not have thought of doing that for weeks even months; I appreciated that she made sure it got done right away.
The office sent flowers and several of my co-workers attended either the funeral or came to the viewing. I work at a satellite site away from our HQ, so I received flowers from some of the people I directly worked with in our HQ as well as local co-workers.
My boss at the time was not the type of person to let others know his emotions especially when they are not happy. I'm fairly sure he didn't understand why I was not the same way, but he respected that I was not able to hide my emotions when I returned to work.
I came in a couple of times that week before the funeral for half days. Not because work insisted I come in or to meet a deadline, but simply to escape the dysfunctional family funeral for a few hours. I told my boss when I came in to pretend I wasn't there, that I was hiding out from Karl's relatives. He was good about doing so and giving me something completely non-stressful to do. I wasn't thinking clearly at that point, so this was critical. I could not have handled a high stress task at that point. My co-worker was still doing my normal tasks as that point. Something I was very grateful for as it couldn't have been easy to do my job and hers.
The first time I came back after Karl's death was the hardest. I was still crying at the drop of a hat and many of my co-workers wanted to express their condolences. I was grateful for the condolences, but it was hard to get through them. There's no way to avoid this, waiting to express condolences would have made me feel as if nobody cared. So pretty much the first hour I was back at work all I did was cry and get hugged by distressed co-workers.
Dealing with work and grief together is just one paradox after another. It hurts terribly to return to the normal routine of life and yet, it feels good to do so as well. It seems strange and unprofessional to insert strong emotions into the workplace, but it was also the only way I could return to work as the emotions were most definitely not under control for months. Work was a place of security where everything hadn't changed, but it also terrified me that I would make a serious mistake and lose my job now that I was my sole support for the first time in 26 years.
I cried at work every day for months. I never cried at work before; it was very strange. Luckily my cubicle was in an out of the way corner. People would say something innocuous on a phone call and I would start to cry. I had to apologize repeatedly to co-workers so they would understand I knew they weren't deliberately trying to hurt me and I ended up explaining to many of my co-workers at other sites what had happened as they didn't get a general announcement like they put out here at the local office.
I have no doubt my performance suffered. I tried to do good work, but for at least a couple of months I wasn't thinking very straight. At least I'd been a decent performer to start with, it makes it easier for others to cut you a little slack I think. My boss at least tried to keep things lighter the first month afterward anyway. My co-worker did her best to help me out as I wasn't working as fast as normal either and things were getting a little backed up. She was a champ, I couldn't have made it through without her. Sadly nine months later, she left work for cancer treatment and died a few months later. I miss her still.
I found that for at least a year and half, maybe close to two, I was far more easily stressed at work than I had been. Part of that was we were going through a lot of organizational changes at work and I ended up on a new team, one I never would have gone to by choice. Part of it was the grief and the loss of the feeling of safety in being alone now brought up some psychological issues, I thought I had moved past 20 years earlier. But now a little more than two years after the death, I'm starting to feel comfortable at work again. My brain doesn't feel like it's in such a fog. It's not so hard to concentrate.
Co-workers are uncomfortable with strong emotions in the workplace. I know I made them uncomfortable, but I needed to express those emotions. It still bothers them when I mention that I'm still grieving (my new boss gets this “oh spare me” look on his face when I mention anything to do with Karl or grieving, but then he wasn't someone who actually ever expressed personal condolences either)– somehow society has decided that we shouldn't do that for more than a week or so after the funeral. But what society wants and what I was able to do weren't in synch. I think it cruel that we don't expect grieving people to grieve and that we make them feel even worse if they should happen to show how bad they feel to relatives, friends and co-workers. I reached out some to others I worked with who suffered griefs after me. I like to think it helped that they had some one who knew what it was like to talk to.
One thing that amazed me was how few of my co-workers attended the funeral or the viewing, less than ten percent of the local employees came even though we were a small enough office that I knew everyone. No one from the local senior management came (even though I'd worked closely with all but one of them) and none of them even expressed their condolences in person until weeks later. It's colored my view of management here, I don't know that I will ever feel loyalty or trust in them, since they were absent when I most needed support. Another person here lost her father recently, I was the only person from work who actually attended the funeral (several more did make it to the viewing). Why wasn't her boss there? Where were her teammates? Are we really all so busy and important that we can't take a couple of hours out of a day to attend a funeral when one of our co-workers needs our support? It seems wrong to me; 20 years ago when someone had a funeral that was local, people were expected to attend. Now it seems to be too much trouble.
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