Working Blues

Work-wise, last week has been one of my busier week. This come as no surprise since the last Golden Jubilee super-long weekend gave us a shorter working week, so all our meetings had to be squeezed into the remaining days, back to back.  My Division had also marked off the entire Friday for a day-long retreat. We were to engage in activities that would enable us to all “bond” better as a team.  Admittedly, we had great fun during the team bonding event, which was run like an “amazing race”, seeing us scurrying around the campus building like frantic children and inviting curious stares from the students passing by. But as the head of the team, directing the retreat event compounded my existing workload.

Since Jenny’s passing on, work had somehow taken a different meaning. It might sound like a poor reflection on my work attitude, but it is hard be all fired up when the heart is sodden with grief. Colleagues of all ranks alike had been sympathetic to my situation from the moment they learnt that my wife was stricken with a life-threatening disease. In the months that followed, I was granted permission to work from home, returning to office only for the most essential meetings.  There was total flexibility on how much time I needed to put in and many of the chores which were typically mine to deal with were duly re-directed to others to shoulder.

After Jenny’s funeral, I was expected to settle back to normality. Sad as I was, I felt a heavy obligation to make up for lost time and return the generous support that the company had given to me. But returning back to the normal work routine turned out to be a tough call. I was awash with grief and needed space and time to deal with it and try as I did, it was hard to disguise my sadness. I was clearly crest-fallen, feeling lethargic from lack of sleep and it was hard to hide this from others even as I tried to put on a brave face each day.  My HR head could not bear to see my “sad and tired face” (in her exact words) and had privately suggested that I should see the company’s appointed professional counsellor, assuring me that confidentiality is guaranteed. The company would pay all the fees too. I gave it serious thought but decided that I should learn to deal with the grief on my own. I was also sceptical. How much could the counsellors truly help with their textbook advice, unless they too had the terrible misfortune of losing a beloved spouse of 30 years!

Truth be told, a few caring colleagues had expressed concern, asking me how I was coping.  Some had even invited me out for lunch, to cheer me up and welcome my return to office and help me ease back to normalcy. But by and large, most avoid mentioning about my bereavement, which sometimes made me feel awkward also, even if the intent was good. I think most people are too dumbstruck to find the right words to say.

So I usually avoid lunching in at our company cafeteria to spare me from all the pointless small talk and office politics. Whenever my schedule permitted, I would drive off to a more secluded food court outside the campus to eat on my own, making myself anonymous amongst the lunchtime crowds. The quiet time I created for myself gave me much needed reprieve though I know I could not overdo it as my bosses might notice and fault me for slacking. But truth be told again, I have already lost my beloved wife so what more could I lose?

However, my cavalier attitude towards my job was tempered by my own basic sense of responsibility and the love I have for my job. I also felt beholden to my company for all the support given to me as I rode through what was the most difficult period of my life. I was also mindful that I still have a role to play and much unfinished work to help grow this fledging university that is providing so much hope and promise to increase education opportunities to the underclass. Many of our students come from disadvantaged backgrounds and may not receive a better opportunity for affordable education. I have also a dedicated team of young colleagues.  They had entrusted their careers largely under my care and I am not about to let them down.

I must confess that Jenny’s tragic demise has blunted my self-confidence to a large extent. Perhaps my fears and apprehension are more imagined than real but I am sometimes overly conscious of how colleagues see me. A broken man, crestfallen and a dismal object of pity.  But in all likelihood, most people are too busy to care.  Unless our work roles are so intertwined and their performance depends much on my mental state, why should colleagues be at all bothered about me? I really should not read too much on what they think of my situation.

But as it is, work has so far proven the best way to take my mind away from Jenny’s loss so for much of this week, the packed schedule afforded me little time to gravitate back to her.  By the time I returned home late in the evening, I was all bushed out. 

All in all, my employers and colleagues have been kind and supportive.  And this should be counted as another of my many blessings.  If I can pace myself in the office, aside from helping me pay the endless bills that I am still saddled with, work is fulfilling and even therapeutic in my journey of grief. I should not take my job for granted.