“Are you taking time off between jobs?” my coworker asked. “I have two weeks off,” I replied. “What!? How did you score that? That’s not fair.” “Well,” I explained, “my grandmother died.”
My last day is tomorrow. All week I have been called “short timer”, been asked what I am even doing here, and interrogated about what it is that I am actually working on. To announce my departure, the president sent out the following email to the agency:
Hello everyone…
If you haven’t yet heard our C.S. will be leaving us to tread upon a different career path. I truly valued and am thankful for the time that C. has spent with us. Please join me in wishing her the best of all things to come. C., you will be missed.
While my time at this agency has been nothing short of a roller coaster ride, I have formed amazing professional and personal relationships. What struck me about the email was that he claimed me as belonging to the agency, despite my most recent career decision. When we spoke of my resignation, he made me promise to at minimum grant him a conversation about what it would take to rehire me . . . should I ever find myself unhappy in the future. I am blessed to be held in such high regard; something I do not take for granted.
The other aspect I am going to miss is the camaraderie. I am the Mayor of Shantytown (the nickname the Creative department gave the Account Service department, characterized by the piles of boxes and furniture in disarray). Not only did I name myself the Mayor without an official election, but my creative friends hooked me up with an official sash and propaganda. News of Shantytown spread and everyone played along, as if it was completely normal for a place of business. “Good morning, Mayor,” became the usual greeting, in lieu of my given name.
My first week will be spent releasing the pain accumulated through the low points at this agency. Shaken confidence needs to be rebuilt, hurt feelings need to reconciled and a soul needs refreshing.
The second week is my grandmother’s funeral, bringing with it closure of a different time. Childhood memories will be shared, clothing will packed away and affairs will be put in order. Most likely this will also bring to a close the yearly Fourth of July summer vacations and family gatherings will become more infrequent.
“This is the circle of life,” my brother explained over eight years ago when my grandfather passed. “With death comes life.” At the time I thought this to be a little too practical, maybe even borderline callous, but I now know he is right. I am horrible with goodbyes because I focus on the permanence. The finality. But with it comes a new beginning.