I read this passage from a post on A Glow in the Woods today and found myself relating to it all too well. Here's an excerpt:

"I read Deborah Davis’ Empty Cradle, Broken Heart: Surviving the Death of Your Baby about 4-6 weeks after Maddy died.  I found it . . . redundant.  I guess it was nice knowing I didn’t exist in a void, but confirming that I’d be feeling . . . exactly what I was feeling?  Thanks?  I guess?

But there was a gem in there that helped me significantly, and rolls around in my head to this day.  I’m sorry I can’t quote it verbatim because I sent off my book to another grieving mom, but it went something like this:  it’s actually a good thing that the major decisions we make during the time from hell are made while we’re sleep deprived and loopy and trying to juggle a million different balls and exhausted from crying because that way, they come from the gut.  Davis suggests that it’s a good thing we don’t over-think the major decisions, and that instead, because of our circumstances, they come from somewhere subconscious rather than based on intellectual reasoning."

I have often wondered how much LJ's death influenced the major life decision I made last year to resign from my job of 6+ years. I do remember--after finally returning to work after the long road to healing--thinking "this can't go on for much longer." All the stupid shit that plagued my thoughts every day ("Are people following the process?" "Are people reading the documentation?" Will anyone attend this UCD session?" "And who the eff cares, anyway?") seemed completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I knew that I needed a new career--a new life--in which I felt like I was making a difference and helping people. Though I am not in a classroom with students every day, working in education has been more rewarding than I could've ever imagined. People's gratitude for an article I've written to publicize their role/work, a program, or an event amazes me. Not only do I get to really, truly write every day, but people appreciate that I do my job. Imagine! Being thanked, regularly, for doing what you get paid to do. Imagine! Getting pulled aside by co-workers who "just wanted to tell you that news release was fantastic." Some days it doesn't seem real; it seems almost too good to be true: I get to do what I enjoy, and people are grateful for it. How is this possible?

When I resigned in October, I felt a lot of mixed emotions. It would be weird not working at the same company as Drew anymore (he has since left for a different company, though, too, so no biggie there, anymore). I never quite accomplished all that I hoped I could at that company (though I am realizing getting re-orged every couple of years made that nearly impossible, anyway). I didn't want to leave my colleagues high and dry (they hired a replacement relatively quickly, and from what I hear, she is probably a better fit in that position than I ever was in the first place). As time has gone by, all of these unsettling feelings have been put to rest. Things have worked out. For the better. On both sides. I am a happier person. I don't hate my job.

Why does it sometimes take a tragedy for us to have the rawness of emotion--or is it just the courage?--needed to make the difficult decisions? I think part of me must have felt as though, "My God, I somehow survived the loss of a child, why the hell couldn't I survive a job change?"

I guess I can thank my LJ for that. Thank you, little one, for giving Mama courage.

-Em