Letting go

I put the shop keys into an envelope walked out of the house in my slippers and dropped them into the letterbox just down the street.

It's taken me since April 20th when I received the postage paid envelope to do this.

On 17th April I read the letter which said I they could no longer hold my job for me because of the amount of sickness time I've taken but when I was ready to work I was welcome to apply for any available positions.

I want to write a letter telling this charitable organisation how poorly my colleagues treated me when I went back to work. I haven't done it yet. I keep drafting snippets of remembered fury and pain in my head but I haven't managed to get them into my macbook yet. Maybe it doesn't matter any more.

I don't care about the job. I've finished with that place and I couldn't go back there for all the pay rises in the world. Financially it's messy but we'd rather I was sane than bringing in a pay check.

I used to love my job. The first year there it was great. Something I'd never even thought of doing before and so much fun. I laughed so much. I met the man I will spend the rest of my life with. I learned to manage people and run a business. I learned about customer service. I learned to wash my hands regularly after sorting through donations. I made friends. Or I thought I did. I have come away with one wonderful poppet and one good friend and learned that people can be absolutely utterly crap when it comes to death and grief.

I met with the new area manager before I went back and I tried to explain how things were for me, how I was feeling, how I thought I might cope and was asked how they could help me. And they took it all the wrong way. When I tried to go back I was made to feel guilty for still grieving. I was told that I had to think about my colleagues, about the business...

"You're not the only woman in the world to have gone through this".

Those words still grate. That woman will never realise just how much I know that I'm not the only one. But I was the only one at that time, in that place, in that much pain who had recently buried their dead baby in the earth. In the few days that I tried to go back I threw myself into work, I tried to chat to the people who said they didn't want to talk about my tragedy.

"I don't want to talk about babies all day"

(Yup, same woman) I listened to them moan about the mundane things that people complain about and I was screaming on the inside, "It doesn't matter!"

And it doesn't.

When I got the letter I wasn't sad, I didn't cry. I already knew I wasn't going back.

One volunteer who hadn't been around and hadn't been told asked, "Where's your baby?" "He died and we lost him". I had to leave the shop at that point to cry. I was standing sobbing and my boss told me to, "Go and have a cup of tea". Nothing more. Two days later I was crying again after telling the area manager that I couldn't stay and my boss rushed to hug me. In front of the area manager. Obviously I still have issues with the boss I once thought was a friend but in the end it doesn't matter. She is not worth my anger, my time or my energy. I'm learning to let it go.

I saw the area manager once more before the letter terminating my contract. I told her I had never felt so unwelcome anywhere in my life. In another letter I was promised that she would ensure that I was welcomed back when I decided to return to work. What nonsense.

I will write that letter if only in the hope that the next woman to go through the loss of her baby while working for that company will be treated a little more gently. It's not about sick leave and phased returns, it's about people.

And that's what matters.

"Return to work"

We started painting late this morning because I had a scheduled home visit from my area manager to discuss my "return to work".

I told her that I had never felt so unwelcome anywhere in my life when I walked back into that workplace. I told her that my two co-workers has both left the little kitchen/office within a minute of me entering on my first day back, that there was no "Welcome back!" of any sort above a weakly smiled "morning". She asked me how they could help me "when" I return. "I don't know". I don't think there is anything that would ever make working there a comfortable experience again.

She wrote all of this down and I signed it. I cried (of course) and she said that it seemed as if I hadn't moved on from our last meeting.

I have. Indeed I have moved on a long way in my journey. But talking about my grief and talking about that place and the utter lack of compassion and for some reason, hostility from someone I once thought of as a friend brings on the tears.

But I'm ok now.

Meeting done, Ray and I trundled off to splosh some more paint about. Well, I splosh, he is definitely the professional in this situation. Although he has offered me the job of painters mate after my trial period so I can't be too bad. I'm giving the offer some considerable thought.

An overloaded veggie pizza and meat laden kebab later (we lazily ordered from the take out that Ray's brother works for so we got "extras") and the bloated poppets are off to bed.

Love to you all.
xxx

The outsider

I feel quite satisfied with the feeling that I don't belong in that work place any more with all the stress that went with it (there's a certain irony that goes with the nature of the charity I "work" for and the amount of stress they inflict on their employees but I really shouldn't mention it here... not yet anyway) and the two colleagues that look at me with something akin to distaste when I pop in to drop off another sick note. I could send the sick notes by post but I find that I want to go in there and make them feel uncomfortable, is that wrong of me?

Mischievous?

Moi?

The word nincompoop doesn't get much use any more does it? I think I might bring it back.

My boss is a nincompoop.

Compassion

Yesterday wasn't the best day. I went into work to find that the second hand pram that I'd put aside had been thrown away. It felt like a slap in the face. It wasn't the pram, we can get another. It was the disregard, the assumptions, the thoughtlessness and the palpable lack of compassion.

Later I went to twitter and the Dalai Lama's quote for the day had just been tweeted, yes, even the Dalai Lama tweets, do you?

"If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion." ~H H, the Dalai Lama

I think I might write this out and stick it on the noticeboard.

Each time I go in there it reconfirms my decision. I don't belong in that place.

I have run away to join the circus

Or I have run away from the circus to the safety of the sofa.

Area manager turned up today. I knew she would. I've been back two weeks and we needed to review my situation. She disappeared across the road to McDonalds with Bossy-cow and then Cow-pie was summoned to join them. Huh? How about that to make me feel even more isolated.

They came back and Area manager and I took some chairs upstairs to a storeroom to talk. I cried, I told her what I thought and how I felt and I've decided that, hell yes, I came back too soon and since I have an appointment with my doctor this afternoon I'll be asking him to sign my sick note for another month... or more.

And I've decided to ask for counselling. I think I need some coping-with-insensitive-cow strategies or even just coping-with-each-day strategies.

Who knows, I might go back there eventually, but somehow, and I know you know this too, I very much doubt it.

Bossy-cow gave me a hug in front of Area Manager. I needed one on Wednesday with no witnesses, not today.

Today was better than yesterday.

Last night in bed Ray whispered to me that I really don't have to go back to work if I don't want to. LOVE.

I went. Sucker for punishment eh?

Boss (or Bitch according to my friend Tracy) was day offing. Colleague (or Cow according to me, Tracy quite likes her) was at work.

Colleague (who was employed as my maternity cover) didn't seem to like that I was doing her job and sorting through a delivery of donations and so decided to question nearly every item of clothing that I had sorted to be hung, steamed and priced. But the thing is, I really don't care. I have no enthusiasm for my job and couldn't care less whether an item of clothing goes for sale or for rags. She got bored of the questioning when she could see that it didn't bother me.

Colleague said I was having a nice week wasn't I, having sunday, monday and tuesday off. So I told her that yesterday had been a bad day, she asked why and I told her. She turned her back on me and mumbled something about the volunteer who didn't know. Cow.

I suppose it doesn't really sound like it but it was a better day than yesterday. Boss wasn't there and Tracy was. She doesn't mind that I cry at her one moment and laugh the next. And now I have an appointment booked to have a look at those damned evilfibroids, even though it seems years away, it feels like things are moving forward.

Today was better than yesterday. Tomorrow won't be good because both Boss and Colleague are there and they're just such good buddies. *sticks finger down throat making attractive retching noise*

Another day

Another day at work. The feeling of dread began before I went to bed last night and came back to me before I got up this morning. The feeling is worse than the doing of course but I hope it goes away soon.

Boss was off today, I had the pleasure of Colleague all to myself. It's easier when one of them is off, they can't exclude me.

Colleague asked me how I was finding it. "Finding what?" I asked, was this a glimmer of compassion? "Being back at work, are you tired?" She quickly answered with a don't mention babies look on her face. "Yes, I'm tired" I said.

I was sorting through some stored bags of teddies, looking for valentines bears for a display when I came across a little blue teddy still in it's gift box. "It's a boy!" shouted it's teddy jumper. Breathe. Just. Breathe.

I got through another day. I don't want to get through another day. I want to enjoy my days.

One day I will. Soon soon soon please.


Today I feel subdued.

Second day of work

They broke into my locker while I was off sick. "We did it together" boss told me as I asked for my things, as if that made it better. I had a legal document in there relating to my parents will and bits and pieces that weren't important. There are only 8 lockers and apparently the new rule is that no one has their own special locker any more. You use it for the day and empty it when you leave. Fine. But really, a phone call too difficult?! I live a 10 minutes walk from work and I haven't been bed-bound. Let. It. Go.

Boss had a good moan about the cold she'd had for 3 weeks that put her in bed for a few days. Hmmm... Bite. Tongue.

I had amassed a small collection of donated items for our baby. (Not paid for, just put aside) I have a cot, a stroller, a swing, a bath, and a few clothes, toys and books. They are all stored in the shop. My friend Tracy who volunteers in the shop has been protecting them. I'm going to take it all home. I'm going to keep them in what would have been George's room until George's brother or sister can get the benefit of them. Colleague threw her hands up in horror, "It's bad luck, you can't take it home!". My response, "Well leaving it here didn't stop me losing my baby did it?". Oh oops did I mention the unmentionable? Stupid superstitions. If you have a baby and keep the baby stuff for your second child are you tempting fate? Of course not. I'm just being practical and prudent. I'd rather store it in an attic but since we don't have one the spare room will have to do.

I worked my socks off today, up and down stairs all day, was it enough? Of course not.

I need a new job, sod the maternity benefits.


Home, shower, candles, dinner made with love, smile, breathe and relaaaaax...


Today I'm looking for a new job.

Home and safe.

"What's for dinner Poppet?" My not so subtle hint that I really don't want to cook tonight.

"Oh I don't know, I'll have to see what's in the freezer." Poppet goes to look in the freezer, comes back, sits down.

10 minutes later the buzzer sounds.

"Who the hell is that? Bet it's him from next door wanting his laptop fixed again."

Poppet comes back 2 minutes later with lovely Indian takeaway food ordered just before I got home. My treat for getting through today.

Hooray! I love my poppet.


My day wasn't great but it wasn't awful despite what I'm about to tell you. I walked in the office and my boss and colleague said hi, how are you and walked out one after the other. Seriously! The area manager turned up unexpectedly five minutes after I arrived and I'm glad she was there.

I work for a major British charity that has shops in many UK towns. We receive donations from the public which are sorted, cleaned and priced. The shop normally has two paid members of staff and as many volunteers as can be recruited. At the moment our shop has three paid members of staff and lots of volunteers.

Ms Area manager got the three of us together in the office to get anything we wanted to say in the open. One colleague (the one I've mentioned before that I don't like) said she didn't want to talk about babies all day and I must realise that I'm not the only woman to have gone through this. My boss said that she didn't want to talk about it either. At this point I realised that I really don't want to share my George with these people: they don't deserve him! and so I said fine, but they must remember that it has happened to me, it's the worst thing that has ever happened to me and I can not hide my pain for their benefit. I cried a bit.

Things were as I expected after this. I got on with whatever I was asked to do. I laughed with some of the volunteers. My dear friend Tracy who volunteers and who so totally gets it without having gone through it came in at 11am and said how good it was to see me and how glad she was that I was back. I had no such welcome from the other two.

Ray came for me at lunch time and we sat outside on a cold bench getting some fresh air, weak sunshine and eating sandwiches. We joked about how useless boss and colleague are at being human.

I did my work and at the end of the day, the area manager thanked me, told me I'd worked hard and said welcome back. Nothing from boss.

I'm so very glad that I gave myself permission not to worry about not caring because I really don't care. I could have let those two hurt me but I didn't. It's great, I don't care what they think! I don't care that they seem to think I'm wallowing in my pain. I don't care that they excluded me from some of their conversations. I honestly found that quite funny. These people are so flawed that I wonder how I ever expected any compassion from them!

What I've realised is that I absolutely do not want to work there any more but right now I have to. I'm doing what Sally said, working towards the goal of bringing my baby home and I'll probably have to stay in this job so I can use my maternity benefits and the sooner that happens the better.

Four days working this week: Monday (sick), Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday.

Today I think I can deal with that. I can.

I don't care anymore.

I find myself panicky today.

I'm going back to work tomorrow and I don't want to. I feel like stamping my feet, rolling on the floor screaming, "I don't wanna, I don't wanna!"

I should have started my maternity leave at the end of December but I find myself returning to the job I would have left behind me for a year and possibly longer. But that's my sadness, it's intense, it's making me cry, I knew it would be there and it's not the reason I'm feeling panicky.

I'm feeling panicky because I find that I just don't care about the business. I don't care about the charity organisation that I work for. I don't care about sales targets, I don't care about doing a good job and oh my, I really don't care to hear the petty problems of certain people there who constantly gripe and moan about their lot in life.

I'm worried that the all new me might just tell these people exactly what I think of them thus creating an impossible working situation. I'm worried that my attitude will show and I will be unable to work there when we need the money. The money. Yes, that's the only incentive I have for going back.

A few times during my back to work interview on thursday I almost laughed when the area manager thought that throwing myself into work might be good for me or when she mentioned the exciting promotions coming up or when she talked about her passion for the business. Great. Good for you. I do not care.

What I do care about, what I do feel passion for are Ray, my lost son and our families. I care about getting my body fixed so that we can try to make another baby with love. I care about getting pregnant as soon as I can so I can get on with being a mother to a living baby. I feel enthusiasm for a small business idea that I need to save some money for to make happen. I don't feel enthusiasm for the job I'm going to do tomorrow.

I know it's all normal and natural and I imagine that I will cope; that these concerns will come to nothing and I'll slip back into the daily routine of work.

Today I'm also getting ready for another monster period from hell to start tomorrow or wednesday and quite possibly this might be colouring my view.