In Honor

Why do it at all?

In the days since the death of my friend and coworker, Joe, I ask myself that question far more than I ever intend to. 

Joe and I used to email or text at 11:00 PM, calling it Power Hour and challenging each other to get the most done. We used to joke about who sent their weekly letter closest to midnight, when it was due "End of Day." We used to be the last to leave the office, teasing each other when the significant other would call or text "What time are you planning to be home?"

And what, I have to ask, was all that for? The company made more money, but he died in the process. 

I can't blame the company or our boss. The choices we made were our own. And while we enjoyed the success and adulation, the stress was leaving its mark. 

For him, it was energy drinks, alcohol, and slow and steady weight gain. For me, it was those moments where my heart would flutter in panic, and I would have to take deep breaths to steady it. The overwhelming guilt at either not accomplishing what I knew was my best at work, or not being the parent/spouse I knew I needed to be. The piled up "should have's" that threatened to choke me at the end of the day.

Death has a tendency to bring shoulds into sharp focus. Like this blog, a should I've had for over a year. 

Like the exercise I no longer put off. Or the baseball games I now attend for my sons. Or the birthday party I take PTO for. Even the fact that I try to get home by 7:00 so I can put my littles to bed. 

But then the question always comes back to where I started. If being successful at work means so much action that I'm sacrificing what is most important for it, is it even worth it? Because I'm not succeeding at the moment. I'm not having the stellar results I'm used to. As of now, I'm supposed to be writing an "Action Plan for Immediate Improvement." And I'm blogging instead. Because I know the easy answer to the question. It's more hours, more action, more of . . . me. But I have to remind myself why that precious commodity is worth giving. 

At some point soon, when grief doesn't have its hand so hard on my shoulder, when I don't feel so alone in this because I can't laugh with a dear friend about how hard we're working, when I'm not quite so overwhelmed by all that didn't get done while I spent a couple of days in mourning, I'll dust myself off and remember.

It's not just me. People count on me. My immediate family of five counts on me. 

The people who work for me, need me to help them remember how to succeed. If they're struggling, it's not just my problem. It's a problem for everyone who counts on them. 

And I am not strong enough for this load. But with Grace and honor for the friend I lost, I will do it.