"You're back to work already?"
It was surprising, it seemed, to my colleagues that I went back to work two weeks after Bill died.
Some thought I'd be out much longer.
Some thought I'd move back to New York.
For me, it wasn't an option.
Fear drove me back.
I was terrified because I didn't know what our financial situation was. Our company provided limited time off for bereavement so I didn't want to risk losing income by taking more than what was allocated. Everyone assured me that it was fine and that I wouldn't be penalized, but I was frightened by the thought of losing anything else.
Fear of being in the house alone also drove me back. If I took more time, what would I do? Being at home surrounded by Bill's things was torture. I'd rather just throw myself into work and have some relief.
But the biggest reason I went back to work is because I'd taken two long painful weeks off. To everyone else, I was "already" back to work but to me, those two weeks were the longest of my life. Every day slogged by and I just wanted anything at all to make time speed up. It was impossible to believe that two weeks before, my life was totally normal and progressing as it should. And here, somehow, everything had changed - so incredibly quickly but slowly at the same time.
Loss really highlights that time is irrelevant. We lose track of time so easily. What was only a week before feels like years ago, but it's shocking to think that they're gone. How did that happen? Won't they just walk through the door like always? How was it that only one month ago? And how is this new normal already... well, normal?
For me, it was impossible to think that a life that existed for so many years suddenly was gone forever. This gets us into the "what ifs" that can torture us so much. What if we saw the warning signs? Would he still be here? What if I pushed him harder to go to the doctor? What if...? There are never answers to these but the distortion of time almost makes us believe that if we could just go back to a certain moment, everything would be ok.
The distortion of time eventually evens out, but there can still be really weird gaps. Like, don't ask me what happened in 2019 or when. I'm a journal-keeper, so I do have frames of reference but without those entries, that year would be lost completely. When I did go back to work full time, colleagues would mention something I'd said previously, like a policy or procedure - and I'd be totally blank. I had no recollection of it whatsoever. I eventually would half-jokingly reply "I got nothing. You're going to have to fill me in."
Like most other experiences in grief, I've found that just being honest helps. I can't pretend to remember 2019, so why bother? When I say "Sorry, I had a lot going on - refresh my memory," people seem more than understanding and willing to do so.
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