Closing down a program comes with many small griefs along the way.
When I first began a Pittsburgh-based team to sew components for menstrual kits for Days for Girls, I had no idea the effort would grow into a fully funded, volunteer-flooded team. I also had no idea that several moves and organizational shifts would eventually lead the chapter to fizzle and close.
The journey has been long — full of beauty and heartbreak.
Many of the transitions were beyond my control, and some of the choices were difficult. Once again, I find myself trying to do the next right thing. Leaving ordained ministry while holding the Days for Girls team together felt like the right decision at the time. For years, I focused on keeping the team afloat, even if that meant accepting only job opportunities that allowed me to continue the demanding volunteer work.
I’ve written before about how preparing for my sabbatical became a transition away from church work — toward becoming a church-less pastor and discovering new ways to serve God. In the end, Days for Girls International restructured, and part of that process included closing the Pennsylvania Collection Point.
I’ve been surprised by how similar shuttering a beloved program feels to caring for a loved one at the end of life.
The complicated emotions of caregiving and endings
I have walked alongside caregivers and provided end-of-life care myself. It is hard work.
There are losses at every stage of dying: when a loved one slowly becomes less able to care for themselves, when dementia changes their personality little by little, until they are almost unrecognizable. When grief is prolonged by illness or by slow transitions, there can also be a sense of relief when it is finally over.
We often talk about being grateful that the person we love is no longer suffering.
What we don’t often talk about is the relief caregivers feel when their burden of care is lifted.
There are no more doctor’s appointments. No more pill management systems. No more constant updates to keep everyone informed about what is happening. Suddenly, it all stops.
After the funeral, after the estate is settled, after the loose ends are tied up, a quiet relief settles in.
And then comes the guilt.
When grief and relief arrive together
That mixture of guilt and relief can be difficult to sit with. Yet allowing those feelings space has taught me a great deal about myself.
Love and burnout. Sadness and joy. Death and renewed life. On the surface, these feel like opposites. Yet sometimes they arrive together.
It is possible to love someone deeply – or feel passionate about a ministry – and still feel relieved when the work comes to an end.
At first, I felt a little guilty for feeling “good” about the end of the program. But I have come to see that relief can also signal that meaningful work has been completed and that a new journey is beginning.
And that is worth celebrating.
Trusting God in seasons of transition
While I am still discovering the new shape of my life and work, I know that even the loss and grief are reshaping me so that I can more fully live into who God is calling me to be.
The gradual downsizing of my pastoral work and my Days for Girls work has been difficult, but it has also been full of love.
I now find myself in a moment similar to those days after a funeral — when the estate is settled and the loose ends are tied up. There is relief in having fewer responsibilities, and I can begin to see the new contours of the future forming.
I look forward to having more time to travel, to write and to advocate for period-positive workplaces (and churches).
Allowing grief to shape the next chapter
If you are experiencing grief or loss, I encourage you to sit with all the feelings that come with it – the unpleasant ones and the surprising ones – because all of them are shaping you into the next version of your beloved self.
Choose love over apathy. Love is what made us caregivers in the first place. Grief reveals the depth of love we held for those we cared for.
But the caregiver’s life does not end when the loved one dies — or when a passion project comes to an end.
I could never have imagined the path of ordained ministry I have traveled. Not when I took the first step, or the second. Not even when I stopped counting steps and simply learned to trust the walking.
Every journey is filled with companions who guide us along the way. Just as caregivers are grateful for doctors, nurses and home health aides, I am grateful for all those who have traveled this road with me — family, friends and coworkers.
My heart is full.
My hope for you, as you take your own uncertain steps toward God’s call on your life, is that you allow yourself to feel both grief and gratitude, to hope for the next right decision, to surround yourself with love and support and to trust the God who loves you beyond measure.
