A Humane Goodbye

What a rooftop gathering taught me about letting people go

A Friday Morning

A few years ago, I co-led a department of about 30 people inside a larger organization of around 100. We'd built a real culture of belonging on that team: strong relationships, genuine trust, people aligned around a shared mission. Each of us felt essential to the work and to each other. We loved our jobs.

Then revenue dropped, and the executive team announced a restructuring one Friday morning. About a third of the company would be let go, and our department, considered more expendable than others, took a bigger hit. At 10 a.m., the HR director set up a sort of revolving door, calling the unlucky ones in over an hour to deliver the news. Then everyone gathered for an all-hands announcement.

By the time it was over, our team was crushed. We were losing seasoned colleagues as well as younger talent, people we thought of as close friends, mentors, mentees. Those who'd gotten the news felt angry, betrayed, humiliated. The rest of us were grieving the loss of our colleagues and frightened about what would come next.

We couldn't let it end on that note.

The Rooftop

My co-lead (one of the people let go that day) and I quickly pulled together a gathering on our building's roof-deck, right after the all-hands. Some of our colleagues didn't want to come. They were too angry, too raw, and just wanted to go home. We begged and cajoled ‘til everyone showed up.

I grabbed a bottle of vodka someone had left in the kitchen, pulled chairs into a circle, and invited people to share their thoughts. We made toasts, took sips, and said whatever was on our minds.

The anger came out. So did the grief. But also gratitude – for each other, for what we'd accomplished, for what we'd learned along the way. People told epic stories from our years together – the “mythology” of our team. There were tears. There was laughter too. And there was the beginning of healing.

We honored the people leaving because they mattered, and their contributions and hard work had changed us and the organization. And we comforted the people staying because Monday was coming, and we needed each other to walk back in and get to work.

That rooftop goodbye made all the difference. The colleagues who'd been laid off told us later that despite the pain of it, they felt seen and valued. And two weeks later, when the rest of us gathered for a planning retreat to chart our next phase, the mood was hopeful and participatory.

Cruel Endings

If you've been through a layoff, you probably recognize the more typical pattern. You're called into a meeting. Someone from HR delivers the news and walks you through your separation terms. You sign a document to accept your severance, pack a box, and security escorts you out.

In a remote workplace it can be even more abrupt. I have friends in tech who woke up one morning to find a severance email in their inbox, their access to work systems already cut off. One day you're a valued employee working on what you believed were essential projects. The next day you're simply out, as if you’d never been there.

Lawyers and security experts say this approach is necessary, that it protects the company from lawsuits and the risk of retribution. And that risk is real. People do sometimes lash out when they're fired, and any organization has to think carefully about what it can safely do.

What these experts are missing is that a culture of belonging can actually mitigate those risks. When people know they matter and the workplace is designed authentically to treat each employee with dignity from entry to exit - when they leave feeling valued and appreciated rather than discarded - they are more likely to move on constructively. And the employees remaining will be more committed, motivated and productive.  

What's at Stake

Downsizing has become a defining feature of working life, and it's wreaking havoc across our economy and our communities. As estimated by Zippia, around 40% of American workers have been laid off at least once. Millions go through this devastating experience every year.

The costs run deep, and they reach well beyond the people who lose their jobs. There's the financial distress, the lost health insurance, the toll on mental health. There's the fear that ripples through the workers who remain and wonder if they're next. And there's the cost to the organization itself: low morale, lost productivity, a weakened culture, the chaos of a restructuring that leaves the actual work undone.

A lot of that damage isn't inevitable. So much of it comes down to a healthy culture that truly values its people, including letting people go humanely. 

A Different Way

There's a different way, one that honors the dignity of everyone involved: the people leaving, the people staying, and the people in charge. It means making room to recognize and thank those who are going, to simply say goodbye, to treat them as valued human beings even as you let them go.

Our improvised ceremony won't be right everywhere. Your way will depend on your people, your culture, and your legal restrictions; a rooftop circle with a bottle of vodka won't fit every workplace. But the underlying principles are the same: give people space to connect, to be honest about what they're feeling, and to be seen, both those who are leaving and those who remain.

The organizations that come through a hard transition with their culture intact are the ones that make room for the grief and the gratitude, and for each other, on the way through. They pull the chairs into a circle, even when it would be easier to just send an email.

An Invitation

Have you been through a layoff, on either side of it? I'd love to hear what helped, or what you wish had been different. Reply here or reach out directly. And if this resonates with someone you know, please pass it along.