Farewell to My Coworkers

It had been threatened for months, but today was the day.

One by one, managers called staff members into their offices. Behind those locked doors came the word, who would go and who would stay. When it was all over, nearly twenty percent of the people in my building lost their positions and would have to find another position within the company, quit or retire.

That afternoon, you could feel the air being sucked out the pores of the building, leaving the cubicles, the hallways, and even the elevator shaft seemingly devoid of oxygen. The atmosphere was stifling.

There was either shock at being one of the twenty percent, or relief at being in the other eighty percent. There was no neutral that day. My job was safe. But I still felt a deep compassion toward my friends and coworkers.

Soon the rumor mill began to churn and the names of those affected leaked out. Those who were tapped had a sad resignation. In the hallways they walked with little zeal or purpose, a sad march toward oblivion. They had a glazed look about them, having invested decades in this company - and now, their job was no longer important enough to keep. That bitter pill was tough to swallow.

The ride in the elevator each morning was telling. Uncertainty and fear clung on them like the cheap perfume found next to the deodorant at the drug store. Nobody looked at each other, avoiding the question.

I didn’t know what to say at first. But then I began to purposefully talk to them with honesty and compassion. A hand on a shoulder. An ear to lend. A mind to reason. A heart to understand. It wasn’t really so hard.

Some were bitter, even angry, while others seemed to take the news well - like Sophie. She had been in her position for almost thirty years, serving dozens of executives over the years as a secretary. At first, she was shocked, but then a peace came on her. She was going to retire. Earlier than she planned, but she was full of positive hope.

”I want to stay, but I think God has another plan,” she told me. “He knows better than I do.”

Her smile and spirit was infectious, and served as a source of inspiration to others that were displaced.

The Friday goodbye cakes and speeches filled with platitudes are a regular thing these days. One by one, people I have known for years are leaving to different pastures. And last week was Sophie’s last. She gave hugs and blessings to her coworkers. She neatly arranged her stapler and tape dispenser on her desk and pushed her chair in one last time. This was it.

I happened to be in the lobby as she left. I watched her walk out of the building - alone. Through one door, then the second, and she was outside in the streaming sunshine. I waited and watched, wondering if she would look back. She didn’t. Holding back tears, she held her head high, clutching a tote bag filled with cards, gifts and the picture frame from her desk.

Under her arm was the plaque that said, “Jesus Never Fails.”

Goodbye.

Image by Dan Hendricks. Used with permission via Flickr. Post by David Rupert.