Grief, Gratitude & Gabby: Navigating the Loss of a Co-Worker and Friend

(6/26/2023) – My cursor subconsciously went to your name this morning when I logged on; my fingers were ready to tell you I had three meetings before noon and complained about how jetlagged I was. But the sick thing about those meetings was they were all about you. It was three meetings, telling everyone you died. 

My hand subconsciously went to my phone during stand-up because I would text you how weird this meeting was. But the sick thing about that text, you wouldn’t have read it. 

My phone rang at 1:35 this afternoon, telling me I had 10 minutes until our weekly 1:1. I figured that meeting would have nothing to do with work, but instead, we’d talk about everything we did during summer break. I took a screenshot of the Google calendar to keep the little note you had for our meetings in case it went away. I half expected you to be on the call waiting for me. 1:47 PM, I waited for the ‘Are you coming’ text. How sick is that?

It’s not talked about enough what grief is like for a coworker. You would know all the right words to say to me. You always did. But you were more than a coworker to me. You were a friend, a sister. Our Slack messages turned to quick check-ins, then to hour-long huddles at the end of each day. Then we were sending texts to each other on the weekend. We planned a trip to visit each other by the end of the year. Your boyfriend learned my name, and he sometimes talked in our meetings. Your mother knows my name, even though I’ve never met her. My mom knows your name too. 

When I joined Women Who Code, I was so afraid that I wouldn’t make friends or feel comfortable enough to speak up. But you changed that. Maybe it was our ages that bonded us, our love for One Direction, or maybe it was because no matter how long we talked, neither of us got tired of one another. You made me a better person.

Sitting through that stand-up while everyone talked about you, I laughed. I laughed because I thought of how you would have reacted to this. I said you would have loved this. One thing that was brought up a lot was that you had this light about you. And they were right. You were so bright.

We had plans. We had that podcast with the two of us. I never recorded that TikTok for you. And every time I think about making a social graphic, I freeze up. 

I wrote that portion of this blog a few days after I received the phone call that Gabby had died. I was trying to understand why I wrote it. It was more of an open letter to her, even though I knew she would never read it.

It never crossed my mind what it would be like to lose a coworker. But who does? I thought it would be easier since we never met in real life, but I was wrong. I talked to Gabby every day. Gabby’s face was on my computer screen every day. 

We were a team. 

I felt awful when the first thought I had after I got the call was, how do I go to work tomorrow? How do I face everyone, knowing what I know? How do I go through the day without talking to her? And then there was the hard question. How do I even work? How do I even work if it means she won’t see it?

Navigating the first week back, I found myself trapped in a bewildering void, this place of confusion and dread intertwined. Guilt, too, took up residence within me, an overwhelming presence that weighed me down. I stared at half-finished graphics, knowing they needed my attention, but my brain was stuck in neutral. Before this heartbreak, I loved coming to work. The anticipation of connecting with my colleagues radiates joy within me. And yet, even as I still cherish those connections, the dynamic has changed completely, and I don’t think it’ll ever be like it once was.

Looking back, it’s crystal clear. I was frozen in place because I hadn’t given myself permission to grieve. I had this whole deal going on with myself – no grieving until after 5 PM because, you know, work mode. So, I stuck with that not-so-brilliant plan as the weeks rolled on. I put my grief on the back burner and dove headfirst into my to-do list. I convinced myself it was what Gabby would’ve wanted – I told myself she would hate to see me so behind and pause socials on her behalf. But deep down, I guess I was just plain scared. I was afraid to face the reality that I had to keep working and living in a world that didn’t have her in it.

You can try to run from it; you really can. You can put on that brave face, dive headfirst into your work, and pretend everything’s fine. It’s almost like playing a game of hide and seek with your own emotions. You think you’ve outsmarted grief and managed to outpace it with your busyness and distractions. But let me tell you, no matter how fast you run, how far you go; grief has this uncanny ability to catch up with you sooner or later. Because it does catch up, it’s sitting right next to you at 10 AM on a sunny Tuesday morning. The team is answering the question of the day, and you are the last to answer. And you think something is missing; we don’t finish this early. And then it hits you because she’s not here. And you message a few of your team members that you need to be camera off and on mute during this meeting, and you think they’ll be upset. But then you get that Slack message notification, and it says – 

‘It’s okay, Samantha.’

And it is okay. It’s okay to pause, let grief in, and acknowledge its presence. In fact, it’s necessary.

This feeling, it’s valid. Life doesn’t punch the clock and take a break because it’s 9 AM. There can never be a clean divide between your work and personal life. Why should we stash away our authentic selves when entering the office? After all, we spend the majority of our waking hours there. Why limit being genuine to only after you shut down your laptop? It’s like trying to stuff a world of you into those fleeting after-work hours. And honestly, it’s just not enough time. There’s a real need for more conversations about workplace friendships. They are valid and can be as strong as friendships made in school or your daily life. You see these people every day. It’s practically a given that you’ll stumble upon someone who gets you, who’s on your wavelength, and before you know it, a genuine friendship starts to sprout. Lucky me, I hit the jackpot. I hit the jackpot because I met Gabby.

Avoiding my grief led me to distance myself from others. The “what if” questions have a way of lingering, even as the days pass, and sometimes, the answers just don’t come. There will always be that itch to message them, to share the latest updates about your life – that’s a feeling that won’t quickly fade. And when that wave of sadness crashes over you, a heartbreaking realization that they won’t be on the other end of that message, don’t rush to escape it. You don’t need to bid farewell to this grief, but it also doesn’t mean you must carry it all alone. In the overwhelming waves of grief that wash over us, it’s easy to feel isolated and alone. Yet, if there’s one thing that the departure of Gabby has taught me, it’s that we don’t have to shoulder this burden alone. 

We often forget that our grief is not ours alone to bear. The echoes of their laughter, the resonance of their ideas, and the warmth of their heart have touched not only us but everyone who had the privilege of knowing them. Don’t hesitate to reach out; lean on the folks who’ve been with us through the laughter and now stand firm in these more challenging moments. When we open up and swap stories, it’s like creating a safe space where grief can find understanding, and the road to healing starts to show itself. Talking about them isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a testament to their profound impact on our lives.

Who cares if our friendship brewed over Slack chats and random Google meets? When all’s said and done, we were pals, plain and simple.