Loss

I will never forget the pained look on my mentor's face when she walked into the room and stood there sobbing for a while before she managed to form the words: "I am a widow". The short sentence, which sounded like she was trying to put herself in the new role she'd been given with her husband's death, sent shivers down my spine.

When we heard the news, the corridors of the office building were packed with staff and students. It was as if we didn't know what to do with ourselves. I felt like my brightly coloured chlotes were completely inappropriate and had a sudden urge to rip off my baby pink jacket. It wasn't until I got out and opened a dull grey umbrella that I began to calm down a little. No one knew what to do with themselves, we just sat around, some with tears in their eyes, others still in complete shock. When a group of staff came out of their meeting, they knew immediately that something wasn't right. Their smiles faded as they saw the boss's lips spit out the word 'dead'. One accountant's hands shook and he went out into the rain for a cigarette. Some refreshed the news about the car crash, while others got really technical and started doing my mentor's work, cancelling her service users. I heard one social worker say: "It's so hard to accept that when something so unfair happens, the world goes on". But the world didn't seem to be going on at the centre. Everything was slow, as if time had stopped. As four pregnant women cried, you could see in their eyes that they felt the urge to call their partners to see if they were OK, or at least to hear their voices, a young man told us that he never knows what to do in situations like this. But who does? We all run to offer our shy, uncertain, quiet condolences, make tea and sit with the family of the dead. It helps a little, of course, it lets them know they're not alone. But at the end of the day, we'll go home and tell our families all about it. They'll hug us and reassure us that they're still with us. We won't be the ones who have to tell their children that daddy's never coming home.