The day I returned from maternity leave after losing Quinn, my across the aisle work neighbor had also just returned from adopting her son from China.
Apparently today is one year since his adoption. She is, very deservedly, celebrating. She's reading aloud to our coworkers the letter she wrote to him this year about their year together. About how much she loves his kisses each morning. About how he's changed her life and all the other amazing things he's brought her in the last year. She's sharing the video of his adoption. She's so excited and so happy.
I think what she's doing is beautiful and wonderful and I hope her son appreciates it when he's old enough. Heck, I write letters too.
She's not only excited and happy, she's loud. Really loud. Hear-it-with-my-door-shut loud. Sitting here and hearing all this is gutting me. The only saving grace is that it's the day before the holiday, and that means there are only about five people in the office today that she can invite over to her desk to see and hear everything. So I only have to make it through this five times. We're through the first three.
I have meetings this afternoon so I can't leave, but I did ask a friend to meet in her office, out of hearing range from mine. She says I can camp out there if I need to today.
This is one part they don't tell you about loss: not only does it take your own joy away, it can also take away your ability to be wholly joyful for others. As someone who deeply values vicarious joy, and who loves to see others happy, this experience is new and hard. And I know that any other month, I would be able to be happy for her, but right now, with my own anniversaries looming so large, it's brutal.
As much as I understand you wanting to be happy for your coworker, I believe that it is okay for you to not be okay today. The day may come when the pain isn't as sharp or all consuming, but for now honor your grief and do what is necessary to protect your heart. It's not taking away from your coworker's joy, I promise.
ReplyDelete