Why Does Everything Happen In January?
I remember it was cold. The skies were a cool grey with that look of, “it might snow, it might not,” as I stood in front of the two-story, X-shaped building. I had been here several times before, visiting family and friends or going with my dad to take communion with fellow church members. The old two-story hospital, replaced in the late ‘90s by the shiny, off-white, eight-story Medical Center, still looked the same, down to the color of the brick. I opened the door and entered the familiar lobby. The high ceilings and large, two-story windows at the entrance of what used to be the waiting room were still there. The lobby was quiet and sterile, with a single receptionist at a desk that bore the name of one of the leading companies in the healthcare information technology industry. It was January 11, 2010, and I was there for the first day of my first job in the IT field. I was filled with nervous excitement. I was changing careers at (what I thought was a geriatric) 37 years old. Sitting in a cavernous space behind the main entrance of the building with multiple rows of grey fabric cubicles offset by a different shade of grey carpet, I began to meet my coworkers and learn about the job of supporting customers in the use of an application that our company developed to assist with the registration and billing of patients in a hospital setting.
During my time of work for the company, I experienced different life events, but the most significant event, to that point, came when we brought our son home at the end of 2019. My wife and I got married in 2009. We were both in our mid-to-late thirties. After about six or seven years of being unsuccessful at having children, doctors told us that we would most likely not be able to have children on our own. After careful consideration and prayer, we decided, in 2017, to consider adoption to grow our family. After waiting with an adoption agency for two years without being matched, we decided, in 2019, to consider fostering, and hopefully adopting a child from the foster care system. We started the foster care classes with AGAPE Nashville in mid-summer of 2019; at the end of summer, just a few days after we got approval from the state to be a foster home, our case worker reached out to us and told us that there was a child born in July who would most likely become adoptable very soon. She also told us they had us in mind for this child the entire time we went through our classes, but couldn’t say anything to us. After changing direction and being open to being foster parents, we were able to bring our son home just a few months after he had been born.
I took parental leave from work starting on January 1, 2020, to bond with our new addition. This new life, with his adorable little fat rolls, covered everything he touched with his slobber. It was a joyous time bonding with the chubby, smiling, “drool machine” who was learning to hold his head up; was fascinated by the lights and sounds of his toys; and loved to annoy Linus, an aging brindle colored Beagle-Bassett mix we had adopted from a rescue. These were times of laughter, sleepless nights, and dirty diapers. Spoons transformed into cargo planes that delivered food as they were on their final approach. I knew everything would change when I returned to work. And boy, how everything did change.
I had only been back at work for a week when management announced, “Everyone is going to work from home for two weeks”. COVID-19 had stopped the world, putting up a giant, “Sorry, We’re Closed” sign in flashing neon. Part of me was happy to work from home since my wife was still on maternity leave and we had our son at home. However, I soon learned this was the beginning of my house arrest. For three months, I had laughed and played with the chubby, smiling “drool machine” in the upstairs Bonus Room. Now, I was confined within the four beige walls of the adjacent room. I missed seeing my co-workers and interacting with them face-to-face. I have always been a person who craves personal interaction. But this was only for two weeks, right? And it provided more time to spend with our son, whose adoption we were able to finalize the week before Thanksgiving, 2020.
It was a mild day on January 4, 2021, when our company CEO made the announcement, via email, to all employees. The company was closing all offices worldwide, and everyone would work from home going forward. There goes the face-to-face interaction with my coworkers over the low walls of our cubicles covered in grey fabric. There goes the decompression time during a 30-45-minute drive home (depending on traffic), listening to talk radio or my favorite songs. I was stuck at home even after the world turned on the “We’re Open” sign. My wife returned to her office, and our son entered preschool. The house was quiet; the room’s beige walls got closer daily. The only sounds were of the robotic vacuum we called Smithers, breaking the silence every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, as it tried to consume a child’s sock and iPhone charging cables. I started to lose excitement about this job.
I took some days off work in January of 2023. My dad was in and out of the hospital. He had dealt with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder for quite a while after years of smoking. He had given up cigarettes several years prior. But after you smoke for nearly fifty years, well, it takes a toll. Beginning on New Year’s Day, he had been admitted to (the now not-so-shiny and off-white) Medical Center with fluid build-up around his lungs and heart. They drew off the fluid and sent him home. A week later, he was back in the hospital. His mother died from congestive heart failure, so I had seen this routine before. He was sent home on palliative care. The third and final time he was admitted, I drove him to the hospital along with my mother. It was Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, so I was already off work. The overcrowded waiting room of the ER was stifling. People were sitting wherever they could find a spot. My mom and I took turns going back to see my dad. She returned to the waiting room, so I went to the triage area to see my dad. In the cold triage room, he told me, “Once I get outta here, I ain’t comin’ back”. One thing about my dad: He always kept his promises. He was sent home to hospice. Two days later, he passed away peacefully, surrounded by his family, in his favorite sagging, brown recliner that sat in front of the large picture window of the house he had shared with my mother since 1965 (the same house I was raised in). They were married for 71 years. Dad died on January 27, 2023, at the age of 92. We laid him in the ground on January 31 as snow fell softly from the grey sky. I remember it was cold.
I would say that the fallout from COVID-19 that created my imaginary prison made me start to dislike my job, but it was the death of my father that started making me consider what else I would want to do instead. While helping plan my dad’s funeral and meeting with the people at the funeral home, I thought that might be a job that I would like to do. My friends have said I have great empathy and a soothing demeanor. But I never thought about quitting my job to pursue a different career. Not at my age. Who would hire a 51-year-old with no experience as a funeral director? But then, sometimes, God will give you a little nudge. Sometimes, He pushes you off the cliff.
The morning of January 24, 2025, started just like any other. I begrudgingly turned on the company laptop in the beige, upstairs compartment that served as my home office. Two accent lamps combined their efforts to provide the warmest and most welcoming light possible from a soft-white LED bulb. I went down to the kitchen to get some coffee, allowing the computer time to boot up, then returned with my cup of hot Death Wish Espresso Roast in hand. I sat down in my high-backed office chair with the scuffed arms from when I thought my desk was taller than it is, and logged in. Not long after, a message appears in Microsoft Teams, “Do you have a minute?” That’s never a good start to a message from your manager.
When my manager’s face appeared on the screen, she was visibly upset. I tried to add some levity to what I knew was coming. “I guess this is a bad time to ask for a raise”, I joked. She managed a smile. The company was downsizing our team; several of us would lose our jobs. That was my last day working for the company where I had worked for the past fifteen years. Ironically, I was having a new computer desk delivered to my house that day, a fact that, when stated, caused my manager to begin crying again. I turned off my computer, sat quietly, finished my cup of Death Wish coffee, and headed downstairs.
Many events shaping my life’s journey happen in January. I don’t know why, unless it’s because I don’t make resolutions each year, so the year decides to do it for me. I spent time thinking about what I wanted to do next. My wife and I told people I was looking for a new job. Most of the leads I got were for IT jobs, which makes sense after working in IT for fifteen years. None appealed to me, knowing how unhappy I had become in that line of work. Even my friends working in IT are dissatisfied and wish to quit their jobs. After some deep consideration and people continuing to send me IT job leads, I reached a decision. I told my wife, “I no longer want to work in IT. I want to be a funeral director.” That night, she helped me look up everything you had to do to work in that industry. I talked to the funeral directors that I know at my church about it. I got my license to sell life insurance because (ironically enough) you can’t sell a pre-need funeral plan without a license to sell life insurance (I know, right?). We found a mortuary college in Nashville that’s been there since 1946, attended by almost every funeral director in Tennessee. I began the admissions process and was accepted for Fall 2025 enrollment.
So, now I find myself at a (not so geriatric) 53 years old; back in school and pursuing a career change. One that will provide the satisfaction of helping to bring comfort to families in a time of grief and the ability to help them honor and celebrate the life of their loved ones. Had it not been for the death of my father and losing a job I didn’t like, both events happening in January, I probably wouldn’t be making this change. And you probably wouldn’t be reading about it.
Why does everything happen in January? The reality is that it doesn’t. My wife and I got married in June. We moved to our new home in April. Our son was born in July. My time working from home began in March. Our dog, Linus, passed away in September. Why, then, do the January moments seem to be more impactful? Is it because life is returning to the ordinary after a time of thankfulness and celebration with family and friends during the holidays? Is it because it’s winter? Life, for the most part, is dormant in the winter. There is not as much light. The skies are grey, and the wind is bitter. It’s cold. I suppose the same can be said of an individual at times.
Perhaps, I will consider winter a necessary time of preparation for what is to come instead of a time of cold and bitter darkness. Spring comes, and thawing occurs. New growth emerges that will eventually be in full bloom. Flowers will display their colorful blossoms, adding their beauty to the landscape. Trees will grow outward and upward as they continue to strengthen and mature. Eventually, summer will provide bright sunshine and fresh air. This, in time, leads to inevitable change and culminates in the harvest of autumn. I suppose the same can be said of an individual at times.
I will experience different moments that provide direction, and in some cases, redirection, at varying times. I must pay close attention to all of them, not just the ones that happen in January, as they are all life-shaping. I cannot determine or predict when things will happen. I’m okay if they come in January, but I would prefer if they occurred in July, maybe at the beach, when it’s not so cold.