Digitally dying

I'm a bit of a social media whore. There... I've said it. And each platform has a very different purpose for me.

Facebook is for personal: pictures of my daughter, reminiscing, and interacting with family members (which until recently included my 93 year old grandmother.)

Twitter is for professional: I interact with many fundraisers, post about McMaster University (where I work), and explore death education posts. I see this as my professional social media... (although truth-be-told I didn't always use it this way)

LinkedIn: Networking and CV capture.

Instagram is my gratitude practice: I try to take photos throughout my day of things that catch my eye. It remind me that beauty is all around, and reminds me to take a second glance about me.

Vivino is for my wine ratings: For no one in particular, and mainly just me.

Pinterest is for my crafty endeavours: hair and nail aspirations, home reno dream projects, and parenting hacks or humblebrags.

So yes, you could say that I am addicted to my phone, and to these apps.

But what happens when I die? My husband and I have complete and up-to-date wills, powers of attorney, and have had multiple conversations, but I don't think we have ever discussed whether I need him to go through all these platforms in order to close my accounts. For the record, I don't want people visiting my posthumous pages, and definitely don't want anyone assuming any of these handles to post on my behalf when I am gone. But these preferences aren't currently captured anywhere but here. Guess I should tell someone.

Proximity warning

One of my closest friends sent me a brilliant BBC article. It was entitled "Death of a close friend 'can impact health for years' (https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-scotland-48238600)

I have to admit, that upon reading the title, I kind of went 'well, yeah...duh'. After all, grief of any type can negatively impact our health and wellbeing. 

But then I read on. The article speaks about research out of Stirling University and Australian National University and the main research is specific to the special associated disenfranchised grief that can be experienced with the death of a close friend, specifically because it isn't recognized by society at large or our constructs. 

I have long had an issue with bereavement leave. Think about it - most workplace policies detail the exact relationship you should have with the deceased in order to qualify for a standard amount of time. Three days is the norm. (sidebar - who the hell made this the 'norm'? Is there anything more inane? Three days is barely enough to even deal with funeral arrangements and planning. But I digress...)

In the case of the type of death detailed in the study by these two institutions, the death of a friend would not even be a blip for most workplaces. And sure, there are likely flexible arrangements or caring bosses that would simply make it work. But the policy in itself is already telling the bereft employee that their grief doesn't matter. It doesn't qualify. 

As a manger, I sincerely hope that in the moments when it matters most for my employees, that I am able to remove the jargon, the policy, and the process, and be there for those who are grieving. I hope that I can recognize grief, even when society may not. Most of all, I hope that I can be empathetic, even when my own very flawed human nature does not personally recognize the pain. I hope that we can all someday understand that defined proximity does not dictate our grief. 

“Grief is a multitasking emotion”

Picture your typical day at work. now imagine a colleague/stakeholder has recently experienced a death in their family. They come into your workspace and crack a joke. Or ask you whether you caught the Raptors game, or the penultimate episode of Game of Thrones... 

What is your gut reaction? Do you think nothing of it and continue along with the path of conversation, or is there a small part of you that pauses and wonders how this individual is speaking so nonchalantly? Do you automatically think that the individual is covering up their grief, or is there even a millisecond that you question whether they are grieving 'properly'?

It's human to have any of the above reactions. But it's something we need to work on. The truth is that those who are grieving even the most personal loss can have moments of joy, laughter, silliness... you name it. And our society is still stuck in the death-denying realm of believing that 'normal grief' looks like the bereft wearing black and walking around crying constantly. 

Spoiler - there is no normal grief. Especially in the workplace. 

Here is a starting point to learning more about the duplicity of a grieving state: 

 https://www.ted.com/talks/nora_mcinerny_we_don_t_move_on_from_grief_we_move_forward_with_it/up-next?language=en&utm_campaign=social&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_content=talk&utm_term=

Ball in a box

I recently saw a post on Twitter that detailed an analogy that apparently went viral. I had never heard of the analogy and when I read it my mind was blown. It works perfectly. Apparently the original post was inspired by advice the Twitter user (@LaurenHerschel) received from her doctor. 

The theory goes a little like this - when someone close to you dies, the grief is like a ball within a box. Inside the box there is also a pain button. So with nowhere to go inside the box and the grief ball being very large at the onset, it bounces against the pain button almost constantly. The grief ball hits the pain button and you are sad, bereft, overcome with grief. 

But, as time passes, the grief ball shrinks slightly in size. As the ball shrinks, it bounces more freely in the box. The grief ball may bounce dangerously close to the pain button, but doesn't hit it as regularly as when the grief ball was full-sized. 

The catch is that when the grief ball is small, (because it will never be non-existent), it can hit the pain button without warning. No amount of planning or preparation can warn you for when the pain button gets hit... and when it does get pushed, it can feel the same. As if the full-sized grief ball has hit it. The only difference is that it catches the griever off guard. 

In our everyday lives, it is entirely possible that we are interacting with people whose grief ball is bouncing dangerously close to the pain button. How do we ensure we're ready to support when the griever themselves may not be ready for when the pain hits? 

Truth & Reconciliation; Grief & Empathy

On Friday I had the honour of attending a cultural sensitivity training activity - a field trip to the Woodland Cultural Centre, site of the Mohawk Institute Indian Residential School. This was one of the most impactful experiences of my adult life and I am still processing.

A survivor shared her brave story with our group. The building itself is under renovation so we were not able to enter, but we also received a video tour of the facility. During the tour, more personal survivor stories were also shared.

Throughout the afternoon, I was struck with deep empathy and sadness. To hear what humans have done to fellow humans, in our own backyard... its simply unfathomable. The survivor who shared her story today spoke about the importance of listening. Just LISTENING as people speak their truths.

No further action required. In grief, in life. it is really just that simple.

Open our ears, shut our mouths. Listen.


See http://woodlandculturalcentre.ca/the-campaign/ to find out how you can help this important initiative to #savetheevidence

Human connection

A few days ago I posted in my full nerdiness. And here I go again:

"I am one with the Force; the Force is with me" 

- Donnie Yen's character Chirrut Îmwe in Rogue One. 

In Star Wars, the Jedi believe that when someone dies, their spirit adds to the Force. And then the Force is what guides the living Jedi to victory, correct decision-making, etc. 

I think that true empathy is our non sci-fi version of the Force. If we are truly able to put ourselves into the mindset of a friend, family member, client, or even perfect stranger, AND if we can sit with them in their grief, i honestly think that the end product is strength for the grieving person. I think this simple act connects us at the very deepest of levels. I think it binds us together as humans, and supports us long term.

My goal is to be one with my fellow humans, in my job, and in my life.

Funeral Duty

I couldn't attend my uncle-in-law's (is that an actual term? sounds ridiculous) funeral. But my husband has gone. Begrudgingly, but attending all the same. He asked me my thoughts, and I pushed him out the door. Out of duty or a feeling that it was what is expected... perhaps. But more than that, to be there for his mom. With a complicated grief and complicated family dynamic, comes a battle ground for grief wars. Clashes in what some people view is right/wrong, important/trivial... you name it. Grief will bring it all forward. 

My MIL will need her son there to support her. And she'll need to ensure she's 'dumping out'. That is why my husband is attending. He needs to go and assume the role of the most outer-ring. And if he needs someone to dump to, he'll have to be careful that it doesn't come out to his mom. He'll need to ensure he calls me up. 

"Comfort in, dump out" - the ring theory created by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman - first presented in an Op-Ed in the LA Times. A fascinating and I think enormously helpful tool to help us manage through especially sticky times. 

The complicated battleground of strained family politics is one that will be present for the next few days for my family. I hope that those at the centre of our rings will feel supported, and that my hubby and I can do our best to keep the spotlight where it needs to be. 

Wish us luck!