A guide for the morning you have to go back to work after losing a child.
There is a morning that nobody prepares you for.
It isn’t the day you receive the news.
It isn’t the funeral.
It isn’t the days immediately afterwards, when your phone won’t stop ringing, meals appear at your door, flowers arrive from people you haven’t spoken to in years, and everyone tells you to “take all the time you need.”
It’s the morning after all of that.
The morning when life quietly expects you to return.
You wake up because the alarm says you should.
You shower because that’s what you’ve always done.
You make coffee that goes cold.
You put on clothes that suddenly don’t feel like they belong to the same person who wore them before.
Then you drive to work.
You pull into the parking lot.
You switch off the engine.
And you sit.
You stare at the building.
You know you need to walk inside.
You know people will be kind.
You also know they’ll expect you to smile eventually.
To answer emails.
To attend meetings.
To make decisions.
To be “back.”
But you’re not back.
You’re simply here.
If you’re reading this from the driver’s seat of your car because you cannot make yourself open the door…
…stay with me for a few minutes.
This isn’t a guide on how to “move on.”
There is no moving on from losing a child.
There is only learning how to carry a love that no longer has somewhere physical to go.
And that is a very different thing.
When Compassion Ends
Compassion has an unfortunate habit of following a timetable.
The first week, everyone asks how you are.
The second week, people check in.
By the third or fourth week, life begins pulling everyone else back towards normal.
Eventually, someone says the words they probably wish they didn’t have to say.
“Whenever you feel ready…”
Sometimes it’s your employer.
Sometimes it’s your family.
Sometimes it’s your own bank account.
Grief doesn’t end because annual leave does.
Mortgages don’t pause because your world has.
School fees still arrive.
Electricity still needs paying.
Life continues with remarkable indifference.
That doesn’t make you weak if you’re returning before you feel ready.
It makes you human.
The Things Nobody Tells You
Nobody tells you that grief is exhausting.
Not just emotionally.
Physically.
Mentally.
Operationally.
You might read the same email five times.
Forget why you walked into a room.
Lose your train of thought halfway through a sentence.
Stand staring into the office kitchen because you can’t remember why you came in.
Drive home without remembering the journey.
These moments can be frightening.
You might wonder whether something is wrong with you.
There isn’t.
Your brain has survived one of the greatest psychological injuries a human being can experience.
It is trying to keep functioning while carrying a weight that nobody else can see.
One of the greatest human risks after profound loss isn’t a lack of commitment—it’s the invisible cognitive load that grief places on attention, memory, judgement and decision-making.
That weight affects concentration.
Memory.
Decision-making.
Patience.
Energy.
Sleep.
Attention.
None of this means you’re failing.
It means you’re grieving.
There is an important difference.
Bereavement affects far more than our emotions. Research has consistently shown that grief can temporarily affect attention, working memory, concentration, decision-making and executive functioning. Many bereaved people describe “brain fog”—forgetting appointments, rereading emails, losing words mid-sentence or feeling mentally slower than usual. These experiences are recognised features of acute grief and, while distressing, are common responses rather than signs of personal failure.
The death of a child is considered one of the most profound stressors a person can experience. Studies consistently demonstrate that bereaved parents are at significantly higher risk of depression, anxiety, sleep disturbance, physical illness and prolonged psychological distress than parents who have not experienced such a loss.³ While every person’s grief is unique, the impact reaches far beyond emotions—it affects the whole person.
What Your Colleagues May Not Understand
Most people want to help.
They simply don’t know how.
Some won’t mention your child because they’re terrified of upsetting you.
Others will tell you how strong you are.
Some will avoid you altogether because they don’t know what words exist for something so unimaginable.
Very few people mean harm.
Most are simply frightened of getting it wrong.
If someone says something awkward, try to remember that discomfort is often another name for compassion that hasn’t yet learned what to say.
If You’re Sitting in the Car
Don’t ask yourself whether you can get through the rest of the week.
Or the month.
Or the year.
Ask yourself whether you can walk through one door.
That’s all.
One door.
You don’t have to perform today.
You don’t have to be productive today.
You don’t have to prove that you’re recovering.
Today is simply about arriving.
Tomorrow can look after itself.
Trauma-informed care recognises that recovery rarely happens in a straight line. The goal is not to force someone back to previous levels of functioning, but to create enough safety, predictability and support that they can begin rebuilding confidence at their own pace. This principle underpins Psychological First Aid, one of the world’s most widely used evidence-informed approaches to supporting people after major life events.
Practical Things That May Help
Tell one person you trust that today feels difficult.
Write things down instead of trying to remember everything.
Give yourself permission to work more slowly.
Take short breaks before you’re overwhelmed rather than after.
Expect your concentration to drift.
It isn’t laziness.
It’s grief.
Don’t apologise for needing space.
Don’t feel guilty if you laugh.
Don’t feel guilty if you don’t.
Carry a photograph if it helps.
Speak your child’s name if you want to.
You are not leaving them behind by returning to work.
Love doesn’t stop when employment starts again.
What Good Leaders Can Do
If someone returns to work after losing a child, don’t measure their recovery by their productivity.
Don’t expect them to “be themselves again.”
The person who left your workplace is not the same person who has returned.
Instead…
Welcome them quietly.
Ask what they need today—not next month.
Reduce unnecessary pressure where possible.
Allow flexibility.
Accept that grief has no timetable.
Remember important dates.
Most importantly…
Never be afraid to say their child’s name.
For many bereaved parents, the greatest fear isn’t being reminded.
It’s discovering that everyone else has forgotten.
Research consistently shows that supportive leadership, psychological safety and flexibility during major life events improve employee wellbeing, reduce burnout and contribute to healthier long-term return-to-work outcomes. People rarely remember exactly what their manager said during the hardest weeks of their lives—but they almost always remember how they were treated
Why I’m Writing This
I spend my professional life helping people and organisations prepare for crises.
Natural disasters.
Political instability.
Violence.
Critical incidents.
Emergencies.
As a risk manager and psychologist, I’ve learned that not every risk appears on a register.
Some arrive quietly.
Invisible.
A grieving employee sitting in a car outside work.
A parent trying to remember how to answer emails while carrying the impossible.
These aren’t simply wellbeing issues.
They are human risk.
Because when people carry invisible burdens alone, the effects ripple through families, workplaces and communities.
Good organisations understand that resilience isn’t asking someone to return to who they were.
It’s helping them become who they are now.
And It’s about the quiet moment before someone has to walk back into a world that has continued without them.
Before You Open the Door
If you’re reading this before walking into work…
Take one slow breath.
Put both feet on the ground.
Remind yourself of one thing.
You are not walking away from your child.
You are carrying them with you.
Into every meeting.
Every conversation.
Every ordinary Tuesday.
Love doesn’t end because life continues.
And neither should compassion.
If nobody has told you this today…
You’re not alone.
You don’t have to have all the answers.
You don’t have to be okay.
You only have to open one door.
The rest can wait.
There Is No Right Way to Grieve
One of the greatest myths about grief is that it follows a predictable timetable.
It doesn’t.
Some mornings will feel manageable.
Others will bring you back to the very beginning.
Anniversaries.
Birthdays.
School concerts.
Father’s Day.
Mother’s Day.
The smell of shampoo.
A song on the radio.
Grief isn’t a disorder to be cured.
It is love adapting to absence.
If today feels harder than yesterday, it doesn’t mean you’re going backwards.
It simply means today hurts more.
References
1. American Psychological Association. Grief: Coping with the loss of your loved one. Washington DC: APA. Describes common cognitive effects of acute grief including concentration and memory difficulties.
2. National Institute on Aging. Coping with the death of a loved one. Bethesda, MD. Notes that grief commonly affects thinking, memory, sleep, appetite and daily functioning.
3. Margaret Stroebe”,”Bereavement researcher】, Henk Schut. The Dual Process Model of Coping with Bereavement. Death Studies. 1999;23(3):197–224.
4. World Health Organization, War Trauma Foundation, World Vision International. Psychological First Aid: Guide for Field Workers. Geneva: WHO; 2011.
5. National Child Traumatic Stress Network & National Center for PTSD. Psychological First Aid: Field Operations Guide. 2nd edition.
6. Amy Edmondson. The Fearless Organization. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley; 2018. (Foundational work on psychological safety in organisations.)
7. Center for Creative Leadership. Research on compassionate leadership and employee wellbeing.
