I stood in front of the class to deliver the last lecture of my career. After 38 years of teaching, this was the long-anticipated moment when I would walk through the door to retirement. But as I stood before my class, delivering a lecture on dying and bereavement, what I did not anticipate were the tears of grief that interrupted my words. As a gerontologist, I understood that retirement should be about moving toward new opportunities, rather than running away from the present. This was a moment that I had prepared for and felt ready to embrace. So why the tears?
In the classroom, a video clip played of Morrie Schwartz, the focus of the book and movie “Tuesdays with Morrie.” As he contemplated his impending death, he too was crying. Through his tears, he advised us to embrace our emotions and “when we feel our tears come, let them come––Cry freely.” The clip ended, and I attempted to lead a discussion about the process of dying and grief. I did not wish to follow Morrie’s advice during my final moments teaching, but I had no choice.
Although ending a career does not have the finality of losing one’s life, both mark an endpoint. What I miscalculated about my retirement was an assumption that grieving was for those who involuntarily retired or did not have a post-retirement plan that incorporated new ways of finding meaning in living. Although I assumed the university’s financial officers would be pleased to see a full professor retire, I believed that my colleagues and most students would not celebrate my departure. My varied interests, commitment to local groups, friends and family ensured that I had a rewarding future. So why the tears?
One realization was that I haven’t had much practice leaving jobs—my last letter of resignation was written in 1983. It seems plausible that people who have changed jobs more frequently would feel less pain. Another potential reason was the loss of regular contact with colleagues and students. But I have had much practice seeing students leave and know that the colleagues that are friends will still be friends. Those who know me, probably knew before I did that the root of my grief is giving up my role of teacher. Although I anticipated that I would miss the role, I had underestimated my attachment. In retrospect, this attachment makes perfect sense—the main focus of my working life has been to create better lectures, more effective assignments, and more meaningful ways to provide feedback. Even as I prepared for my last lecture, I could not help but update it.
On further reflection, I accept that my grief is a good thing. It signals that my career was worthwhile.