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Abstract

see his status on Skype and he’s offline. But he’s not offline because he’s signed off after a day at work. He’s offline forever and seeing his smiling profile picture feels disjointed. It’s as if his picture should have disappeared with him.It was only last week that he shared with the team how much he’d like to go visit India again and how it’s been a few years since he’s had a chance to be with his parents.He opened up about the loneliness he and his family feel as immigrants in this country. He joked with the manager, telling him to consider this due notice that he’d like to take advantage of our current remote working to work from home — his home in India.He told us that we’re his family and support system here. He expressed his gratitude about having a team like us and his appreciation for introducing him to the world of hockey. He puzzled over our love of Tim Horton’s because he felt that masala chai is much better than anything found at our beloved Timmy’s.Like many immigrants do, he acknowledged that this sacrifice is for his children so that they could receive a Canadian education and start new lives here.The conversation felt tinged with homesickness but warm with optimism. At the time, it felt like warmth from the flicking glow of a fire. But now it feels like the warmth of someone who just recently left their seat and you know with a poignancy that it’s fading.We had a team meeting this afternoon so we could come together and share in the burden of grief. Each of us dialing into the call from the isolation of our own homes. A temporary outlet for the thoughts and emotions swirling through our minds and hearts.The manager shared how he’s been in contact with the family and that he’s started the paperwork with HR to ensure life insurance kicks in for the family.I was sickened to hear the discussion already shift to matters of money as if the administrative tasks were encroaching too soon on a sacred space reserved only for memories and emotions. It hasn’t even been 24 hours since his time of death and we’re already talking about money and paperwork?But as the manager continued, it made more sense. He shared the financial pressures that the family faced — health care bills, mortgage payments, university tuition — and how they had been living pay cheque to pay cheque.No one voiced it but I suspect we were all feeling like there was this invisible wall. His death on one side and our status as coworkers holding us at bay on the other side. There’s this faux pas about emotions in the workplace looming over us. That, and perhaps the limited range of emotions that engineers are so often teased for, is why it was probably easier to focus on whatever tangible support we could offer.To grieve as a coworker is a bit of an awkward position. You’re not family and while you’ve always been friendly, you aren’t quite sure if you’ve crossed into the “friend” zone. Or if you’re just “work friends”.But I’m realizing it doesn’t matter what title you want to assign to the relationship o

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r the false attempts to quantify the closeness of the connection.We were in each others’ lives and that’s enough of a reason to grieve. I’m not grieving as a coworker. I’m grieving as a fellow human being, a soul that has the opportunity to brush by his. Just because those interactions came from work doesn’t make them any less genuine.I remember him checking in on us during a busy time at work. If we said we were having a bad day simply because something workwise wasn’t going smoothly, he’d chide us and tell us there’s more to life than work.And after learning about the financial strife he was going through, I feel so silly for once telling him I bought an air conditioner for my dog. Nothing like perspective to make you realize the insensitivity of your previous comments, made all the more barbed for its casualness like a bull in a china shop.I’m surprisingly more emotional than I thought.Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it was naive of me to think I could continue on my day only minimally impacted by this news.All of a sudden he’s here with his optimism and positivity … and then he isn’t. And you’re left sitting at your desk holding on to the last email exchange, still cursing him silently for working up until he could work no more.We talk about taking care of ourselves and we talk about prioritizing our health over work. But talk is cheap and words without action are easy to say.The manager voiced his guilt — if only he had convinced him to see a doctor sooner or emphasized more strongly for him to take the time he needed to recover. I think he was voicing the pangs of guilt that we all felt.We acknowledge that there will always be work to do, and we agree that the company — any company — will take and take and take till its employees have nothing more to give.But who is “the company”? What is this nebulous construct of a “company”? It’s us. We’re part of the machine and we’re part of the problem.What is mankind’s most tragic fallacy?Is it our failure to prioritize the important things in life until it’s too late?Our hearts know that family is more important than work, but our minds might not. We’re too busy caught up in the rat race of life. Then, one day you realize there’s too much momentum for you to just step off and it’s like you’re on a train that’s lost control.Is it our inability to cherish the little moments in life?We cast them to the side as mundane daily occurrences that will come back around tomorrow. Only after something is lost do we comb back through to realize they were diamonds in the rough this entire time.Or is it the callousness with which we let living slip through our fingers?Money, responsibilities, chores, tasks all piled up on life till living falls to the bottom of our to-do list. So busy hustling around that we forget that time is not working in our favor.So tell me, which of these is mankind’s most tragic fallacy?</article></body>

I Found Out My Coworker Died Today

What is mankind’s most tragic fallacy?

We found out that our coworker passed away this morning.

It came in the form of an email from our general manager. The preview read, “It is with my deepest regrets …” and, even before opening the email, I knew.

He’d been open about his ongoing battle with cancer, keeping us up to date with his treatments and apologizing for his time out of office. He always maintained such a nonchalant and positive air that, in hindsight, not many of us knew just how dire or serious his situation was.

So this news comes as a shock to many.

How could someone who radiated sunshine and optimism in every conversation not successfully win his battle with cancer?

I joined this team a year ago, shortly before the COVID-19 pandemic sent us all home to work remotely. Despite talking to him regularly in our virtual meetings, I’ve only had a limited amount of face-to-face interaction with him.

When I heard of his passing, I at first held the news at arm's length. After all, I’m just a coworker. I read the email, put it aside, and tried to continue with my work.

In hindsight, this was probably a defensive mechanism. A way to insulate me from acknowledging the death of a fellow human being. A lag between reading about his passing and processing the finality of death.

But as the news trickled out through the rest of the organization, people from other teams began reaching out to see how we were doing. It was only with this unintended prompting that I finally began to process his death.

It didn't matter that I hadn’t spent much time with him in person. As human beings, we’re social creatures and we give as much as we take when it comes to our relationships. We leave impressions and unintended impacts on each other, sometimes in unexpected ways.

It feels surreal as I’m sitting here looking at my email. I have a message from him. It was written two weeks ago in response to my question about the timing of our projects.

It seemed important at the time but in hindsight, so stupid and minuscule.

If his health was declining so severely, why was he still working and responding to emails? How could he have spent his last few weeks alive worrying about permits for our projects? Why didn’t he spend this time with his family?

I feel guilty. As if I’ve robbed his family of some of his last precious minutes. I want to tell him to take back the time he spent emailing me and instead, give that time to his daughters, his son, his wife.

I see his status on Skype and he’s offline. But he’s not offline because he’s signed off after a day at work. He’s offline forever and seeing his smiling profile picture feels disjointed. It’s as if his picture should have disappeared with him.

It was only last week that he shared with the team how much he’d like to go visit India again and how it’s been a few years since he’s had a chance to be with his parents.

He opened up about the loneliness he and his family feel as immigrants in this country. He joked with the manager, telling him to consider this due notice that he’d like to take advantage of our current remote working to work from home — his home in India.

He told us that we’re his family and support system here. He expressed his gratitude about having a team like us and his appreciation for introducing him to the world of hockey. He puzzled over our love of Tim Horton’s because he felt that masala chai is much better than anything found at our beloved Timmy’s.

Like many immigrants do, he acknowledged that this sacrifice is for his children so that they could receive a Canadian education and start new lives here.

The conversation felt tinged with homesickness but warm with optimism. At the time, it felt like warmth from the flicking glow of a fire. But now it feels like the warmth of someone who just recently left their seat and you know with a poignancy that it’s fading.

We had a team meeting this afternoon so we could come together and share in the burden of grief. Each of us dialing into the call from the isolation of our own homes. A temporary outlet for the thoughts and emotions swirling through our minds and hearts.

The manager shared how he’s been in contact with the family and that he’s started the paperwork with HR to ensure life insurance kicks in for the family.

I was sickened to hear the discussion already shift to matters of money as if the administrative tasks were encroaching too soon on a sacred space reserved only for memories and emotions. It hasn’t even been 24 hours since his time of death and we’re already talking about money and paperwork?

But as the manager continued, it made more sense. He shared the financial pressures that the family faced — health care bills, mortgage payments, university tuition — and how they had been living pay cheque to pay cheque.

No one voiced it but I suspect we were all feeling like there was this invisible wall. His death on one side and our status as coworkers holding us at bay on the other side. There’s this faux pas about emotions in the workplace looming over us. That, and perhaps the limited range of emotions that engineers are so often teased for, is why it was probably easier to focus on whatever tangible support we could offer.

To grieve as a coworker is a bit of an awkward position. You’re not family and while you’ve always been friendly, you aren’t quite sure if you’ve crossed into the “friend” zone. Or if you’re just “work friends”.

But I’m realizing it doesn’t matter what title you want to assign to the relationship or the false attempts to quantify the closeness of the connection.

We were in each others’ lives and that’s enough of a reason to grieve. I’m not grieving as a coworker. I’m grieving as a fellow human being, a soul that has the opportunity to brush by his. Just because those interactions came from work doesn’t make them any less genuine.

I remember him checking in on us during a busy time at work. If we said we were having a bad day simply because something workwise wasn’t going smoothly, he’d chide us and tell us there’s more to life than work.

And after learning about the financial strife he was going through, I feel so silly for once telling him I bought an air conditioner for my dog. Nothing like perspective to make you realize the insensitivity of your previous comments, made all the more barbed for its casualness like a bull in a china shop.

I’m surprisingly more emotional than I thought.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it was naive of me to think I could continue on my day only minimally impacted by this news.

All of a sudden he’s here with his optimism and positivity … and then he isn’t. And you’re left sitting at your desk holding on to the last email exchange, still cursing him silently for working up until he could work no more.

We talk about taking care of ourselves and we talk about prioritizing our health over work. But talk is cheap and words without action are easy to say.

The manager voiced his guilt — if only he had convinced him to see a doctor sooner or emphasized more strongly for him to take the time he needed to recover. I think he was voicing the pangs of guilt that we all felt.

We acknowledge that there will always be work to do, and we agree that the company — any company — will take and take and take till its employees have nothing more to give.

But who is “the company”? What is this nebulous construct of a “company”? It’s us. We’re part of the machine and we’re part of the problem.

What is mankind’s most tragic fallacy?

Is it our failure to prioritize the important things in life until it’s too late?

Our hearts know that family is more important than work, but our minds might not. We’re too busy caught up in the rat race of life. Then, one day you realize there’s too much momentum for you to just step off and it’s like you’re on a train that’s lost control.

Is it our inability to cherish the little moments in life?

We cast them to the side as mundane daily occurrences that will come back around tomorrow. Only after something is lost do we comb back through to realize they were diamonds in the rough this entire time.

Or is it the callousness with which we let living slip through our fingers?

Money, responsibilities, chores, tasks all piled up on life till living falls to the bottom of our to-do list. So busy hustling around that we forget that time is not working in our favor.

So tell me, which of these is mankind’s most tragic fallacy?