When you look behind you...
This week, I officially ended working. It was a day that I knew would come, but I had planned it for "someday when I'm older."
I had mixed feelings about going in to empty my office. One part of me was hurt that my coworkers hadn't sent a card to wish me well, and I didn't want to meet any of them because I didn't want my hurt to show. Another part of me cringed from the finality of emptying my office -- of giving in and admitting that things have changed. The third part wanted to be back with people that I've worked with for over 10 years, and who are an extra support system. Then, of course, was the part of me that wondered "what am I going to do with all the stuff in my office?"
So last Thursday -- August 31, the end of the month, and (symbolically) Independence Day -- I headed in, carrying my laptop, phone and pass for the last time. The comforting familiarity of being there, going up the escalator, walking past the line at Tim Hortons (that line never disappears!!) and swiping into the towers, lulled me into a sense of normalcy. I still remember the first time I went to work at Portage, and I felt a sense of welcome. The first year, I always had a happy thrill at seeing those buildings against the skyline, and being able to point to the window of my office. In the more than 12 years that I worked there, I've had views of the Gatineau hills, the day care and the Ottawa river and of Parliament hill.
I've met so many wonderful people, some of whom have become close friends. There were challenges (RGSS, anyone?); frustrations; celebrations and mind-numbing boredom. I admit that part of my positive attitude is due to knowing that there were people in the office who looked after me, so I didn't have to deal with all of the administrivia that goes with bureaucracy. Part of my recovery was going back to work -- returning to normalcy -- and having the fantastic support system in place.
Back to Thursday. I walked on the floor, and was greeted by warm hugs and smiles. There were flowers and cakes waiting for me, and a large sheet with loving greetings. I had received offers of help to clear my office from so many people that I joked that they were trying to get rid of me (one person said that he made the offer so he could measure my windows for drapes!) Sorting through my things was cathartic, but sad... Most of the items on display in my office were gifts from colleagues - from the little angels to the voodoo dolls -- or the toys that visitors enjoyed (and kept the kids coming back for candies and crayons.) 12 years of my life fit into a small box.
The hurt feeling is gone, and I'm happy I didn't say anything about it. I'm still struggling with the parting -- I almost cried when I handed in my id tag -- and I imagine that it won't go away too quickly. As for the people -- I am in touch with many of them, and I hope that won't change. The summer had many coffees and lunches, which hopefully will continue through fall and winter.
I don't know what's next. I have plans, dreams and hopes, all of which hinge on uncertainty. I am trusting that whatever God has planned will allow me to share more good things with the many loving people who surround me.
I had mixed feelings about going in to empty my office. One part of me was hurt that my coworkers hadn't sent a card to wish me well, and I didn't want to meet any of them because I didn't want my hurt to show. Another part of me cringed from the finality of emptying my office -- of giving in and admitting that things have changed. The third part wanted to be back with people that I've worked with for over 10 years, and who are an extra support system. Then, of course, was the part of me that wondered "what am I going to do with all the stuff in my office?"
So last Thursday -- August 31, the end of the month, and (symbolically) Independence Day -- I headed in, carrying my laptop, phone and pass for the last time. The comforting familiarity of being there, going up the escalator, walking past the line at Tim Hortons (that line never disappears!!) and swiping into the towers, lulled me into a sense of normalcy. I still remember the first time I went to work at Portage, and I felt a sense of welcome. The first year, I always had a happy thrill at seeing those buildings against the skyline, and being able to point to the window of my office. In the more than 12 years that I worked there, I've had views of the Gatineau hills, the day care and the Ottawa river and of Parliament hill.
I've met so many wonderful people, some of whom have become close friends. There were challenges (RGSS, anyone?); frustrations; celebrations and mind-numbing boredom. I admit that part of my positive attitude is due to knowing that there were people in the office who looked after me, so I didn't have to deal with all of the administrivia that goes with bureaucracy. Part of my recovery was going back to work -- returning to normalcy -- and having the fantastic support system in place.
Back to Thursday. I walked on the floor, and was greeted by warm hugs and smiles. There were flowers and cakes waiting for me, and a large sheet with loving greetings. I had received offers of help to clear my office from so many people that I joked that they were trying to get rid of me (one person said that he made the offer so he could measure my windows for drapes!) Sorting through my things was cathartic, but sad... Most of the items on display in my office were gifts from colleagues - from the little angels to the voodoo dolls -- or the toys that visitors enjoyed (and kept the kids coming back for candies and crayons.) 12 years of my life fit into a small box.
The hurt feeling is gone, and I'm happy I didn't say anything about it. I'm still struggling with the parting -- I almost cried when I handed in my id tag -- and I imagine that it won't go away too quickly. As for the people -- I am in touch with many of them, and I hope that won't change. The summer had many coffees and lunches, which hopefully will continue through fall and winter.
I don't know what's next. I have plans, dreams and hopes, all of which hinge on uncertainty. I am trusting that whatever God has planned will allow me to share more good things with the many loving people who surround me.
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