Only recently, a dear colleague of mine, with whom I had shared camaraderie for almost three years, was laid off abruptly by my organisation. It’s not the first time they have done it, so ideally, I shouldn’t have felt as much, but this time it felt personal. It felt like a cheap shot, given how much the man had accomplished for the company.

I spoke to him afterwards and realised he was still thinking about all the half-done things and was telling me to complete them. I mean, he was still worried about all his tasks—the unpushed pull requests, the pending framework work and was continuing to think about the welfare of the company. Ah! The kind soul he was, it just broke my heart into a million pieces. Even when someone had just uprooted him from their lives so heartlessly, he was still hoping for the best for them. I mean, can you beat that kind of benevolence? I am yet to meet a kinder soul.

After a day in shock, I spent my time either mulling over or discussing his sudden disappearance with our fellow teammates. Even though I knew what’s gone is gone, I ultimately had to move on. But such attacks always feel personal. If any kind soul is struck down right in front of my eyes without a solid reason, I remain shaken. But this guy, I had worked with him, even though remotely, for more than three years. It just felt like another person had left me. The growing list of the departed continues to knock me out.

With him gone, all I can think about is the immense knowledge he shared with me during our journey together. All the learnings that I possess now, I owe to him, and I couldn’t even thank him for it. Hours spent discussing issues, how certain things worked, the minor tweaks, the PR reviews, the constructive feedback, everything only helped me grow into a better person, a better coder, and a better architect.

I will definitely miss our professional talks (it’s quite surprising how we never talked about random things), our meaningful conversations that helped build the organisation into what it is today. The workload we shared, the ease with which he wrapped things up, and his instinct to dig to the very root of every problem, never leaving a stone unturned until it was solved, will all be profoundly missed. I know it won’t be the same without him.

I am glad that we are connected via phone to drop messages and such, but yes, working on something together was a different experience altogether. I guess a line from Life of Pi by Yann Martel couldn’t put it better:

“In the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go, but what always hurts the most is not taking a moment to say goodbye.”

Here, the goodbye was taken away by our organisation on many occasions, with plenty of people who were let go, people with whom I had worked or been acquainted. But this one struck like a personal blow. I cared enough to write it down lest it steal many nights of sleep from me.

For me, any form of leaving is like the death of a person. With it comes colossal grief. I struggle to function for days; it lingers at the back of my head, gnawing at my heart. It sickens me to the core and makes me feel their void deeply, relate to their emotional trauma, as the empath I am. I carry it like a sheathed sword, turning it inward during silent nights. I toss and turn restlessly in bed until sleep claims me. But even then, it lingers, powerful beneath the surface, returning in waves of melancholia.

I envy those who can just leave people behind and forget them too quickly. For me, every farewell is a punch in the gut, especially when it’s someone I respected as an honest, trusting soul, someone with whom I shared camaraderie and worked closely toward a common goal.