Change and Grief

I haven’t had many truly white-knuckle commutes, and today, thankfully, was not one of them. But it was close. We had nine inches of snow at home, six inches downtown. It was preceded by rain, then sleet, then ice pellets. It created a several-inches deep layer of corrugated surface on the side roads, snow and slush on the freeways: slow, sloppy and treacherous driving. All this after one of the longest, coldest, snowiest winters I can remember. Maybe it’s good that Easter is coming late this year - Spring should be here by then!

The icky drive was somehow apropos for this day, as it made it pretty much miserable all around. 

Our office is moving tomorrow. I mentioned it in another blog, because as part of Lent I really have been trying not to complain about it and I think for the most part I have succeeded. But today I realized that I am grieving, silly as it sounds. We are moving only a few blocks away from our present location, but it is across the freeway from downtown and away from the location I have worked in for nearly 15 years. Away from the skyways and long lunchtime walks inside, food courts and shops and the lunch crowd. Away from good coffee shops! And a three-block walk outside from the parking ramp to the office (remember the snow and rain and ice and sleet?) instead of a short walk indoors across the skyway. And all day long I kept thinking, “well, this is the last time I’ll do this.”

The new building is very nice, if a bit cold and hard-edged in a modern kind of way. And it may turn out to be a great change. I will adapt.

Going through this grief (which surprised me, actually) has helped me remember that change is hard for people, especially change over which they have no control. Change can be experienced as a kind of death: the end of something.

Five parishes in this area (including our own) are in the midst of a planning process that will result in change - "no change" is not an option on the table. In this case I am rather looking forward to the changes, but then I have not been part of the parish for very long. Instead I have been thinking, “what’s the matter with people that they can’t see this is an exciting opportunity?”

I was quite emotional (internally) at work this morning. I knew that it was my sadness, but because I dared not speak of the grief itself it sort of squeezed itself out in other ways: I unfortunately was rather difficult in a meeting.  

So, my Lent did not go so well today - I was crabby, after all, and I was sorely tempted to buy some french fries on the way home as comfort food (I did resist that one). But gradually I also felt that in my grieving I was experiencing, albeit in a small way, the sorrow of the Lord.  

I expect in our parishes there will be anger and resentment no matter how logical the changes are. My sad, bad day today is helping me be a bit more sensitive to the fact that for many people even small changes - like moving from one building to another a short distance away - can be tough. I hope that now I will remember that there are many expressions of grief, and be willing to bear with those who are suffering.