Working On A Quirky Graph

It always amazes me the complexity of the machine we are walking/running/skipping/wheeling around in. Not just the mechanics of keeping the bodysuit moving day to day, but the intricate relationship between the mind and body. Like code that was a set and forget, we breathe and our hearts beat. When we are too hot our bodies will sweat and when we are cold we shiver.

Even more fascinating is the way the brain subconsciously tells the body to react in certain ways to specific stimuli. Laughter, anger and tears are not things we tell our brains to convey physically, but little triggers in your brain simply take these bits of information and flips around with reactions we don’t always have control over. In fact, sometimes we believe we will be providing one reaction or facial expression or feeling only to be gut punched with something different.

A coworker recently lost a parent. It was unexpected and they are working through their process in a way that makes perfect sense for them. I’m not super familiar with this person. We have only worked together a short while and they are finding their way in the job and with others that is cautious and careful. I respect their work and the way they hold themselves and, always, am friendly.

When they let me know of their loss we were half an hour into a complex conversation about a client. Straight out of the blue, their current truth was dropped and we navigated the rest of the conversation the best we could. One of my character traits? I suppose? Is that I rarely can leave a conversation without trying to solve someone else’s issue. In my job that is a gift that keeps giving. Not only do I make my customers, both external and internal, happy, but I get a sense of satisfaction from it as well. Win – win. In this particular instance, trying to be mindful of their past behaviors and needs, but still let them know that I was here in case they needed an ear, a shoulder or a pair of hands to take some of the work load off to give them the time to parse the information, I inadvertently made them cry.

Chatting about self care, and the enormity of the next few days and weeks, I offered advice and ramblings on how I dealt with the grief of losing my own father over 6 years ago. I made a small joke about keeping a cucumber handy to relieve the puffiness of their eyes and they laughed and burst into tears. And suddenly I feel like an asshole as they specifically mentioned not wanting to let loose in front of others. As we are all remote, I told them I’d offer a tissue, but didn’t think it would make it there in time, which started a fresh round of waterworks.

Eventually they calmed, we ended the call and have touched base over the last few days. I always ask if there is anything I can assist with and they always say no, but I still feel a bit guilty.

We talked in chat today and they mentioned they were getting ready to meet with other family members to discuss the funeral plans. And how that was just a weird and hard conversation to have. I talked briefly about my own dad’s passing and the ways we celebrated his life. And then mentioned a dream I had some days after he passed.

He had been in hospice at home and there was a large hospital bed in the living room to help him be comfortable. In my dream he was sitting up tall in the bed, back against the wall, smiling wide and looking so much healthier than he had at the end. I remember walking in the living room and saw him there and I was so confused. He just kept smiling at me and said over and over that it was ok. That everything was going to be ok and he was fine. Telling me not to worry and I kept saying what are you doing here?

That dream is crystal clear for me. I remember waking up still confused, not sure where even was and missing that guy so much. Over the years that memory will pop up and I am almost instantly comforted and smiling at the look on his face. Whether it was his conscious making an effort to drop by and let me know that he’s ok after his last breath, or just my brain filling in the blanks to make some sort of sense of the loss, it is something I hold dear, real or not.

As I’m conveying that memory over to my coworker and how it generally makes me smile and helped me through the process of grief, sure enough I’ve been crying off and on since I told them that story. I’ve been trying to make sense of my reaction while still reacting which feels a little like smoking in a downpour, there isn’t anywhere to go to fully protect what you’re smoking and unless you are huddled into yourself, there isn’t a good way to get it all those carcinogens into your lungs.

I have no doubt it is stress. The stress of starting the scheduling process on bracing the foundation to stop the sliding staircase. The stress of needing to get a new transmission as the one I had choked out its last rpm last week. The daunting task of all these projects stacking up for the house, but pretending to have patience for the process. It could be the mechanics of the body, trying to decide day to day if basic exercise will make it wilt over or energize it for the next day. It could be the stress from being unexpectedly important at work, needing to provide solution documents and processes when just last month no one wanted to hear from me.

And it could be some weird combination of all of it. Of just being a grown up and needing to deal with my own mess. Of looking around for the adultier adult and realizing that I am that person, scary thought or not. Meanwhile, as my logical part of my brain tries to figure out just what is going on to provoke this throwback reaction, I’m just sitting on the couch like a broken machine trying to get my neurons to fire correctly, and find the secret sauce to sleeping through the night like I used to so many years ago. I’m not sure I don’t just need a quick reboot.