Why I Fought for Paid Bereavement Leave

I had a rough start at OHSU.

Starting in May 2016, I worked for just under six months at an OHSU oncology clinic before being let go with no specific complaints other than “not being a good fit” — right before my union protections would have kicked in. Thankfully, I was quickly re-hired, and started in Rehab Services on December 29, 2016.

On January 4, 2017, my mother passed away unexpectedly. Mom and I were very close. In the years before we lost her, she had traveled alone from Ohio to visit me a few times and was up for any adventure I could find for us. We confided in each other. She was the best.

My managers did the right thing. They told me to take the time I needed and that my job would be waiting when I got back. I will always appreciate that, and it’s one of the reasons I’ve stayed in this position for so long. Because I’d been fired, I lost the sick and vacation time I’d earned in my previous OHSU position. I didn’t qualify for our vacation-donation contract language. I had done some temping and collected a little unemployment to keep the lights on, but I was broke.

I tried to work for as long as I could, knowing I wouldn’t have any paid time off, but I was quickly overwhelmed and had to go home. As I rode the tram on my way home, my partner let me know that the GoFundMe she’d set up had raised enough money to fly us both back east for the funeral. I was entirely dependent on the kindness of others. My family, my friends, my community and even my managers all stepped up and helped me through one of the hardest times in my life. But what if I hadn’t been so lucky? What if any of the pieces that fell into place hadn’t?

When I ran for our union’s 2022 bargaining team, I had a few pet issues that I wanted to see us fight for. Not all of them made it into the contract, but I’m incredibly proud of the work our team did to get 20 annual hours of paid bereavement leave for our fellow workers. It definitely took me more than 20 hours to grieve and travel for Mom’s funeral, but 20 hours of paid time would have helped keep me from having to rely entirely on my community to get by in the weeks it took to start receiving regular paychecks again. This new contract language (see section 14.2.1) also allows for additional protected time, with a way to request more if you need it. You can choose to use your accruals (if you have them) or take the additional time unpaid. What my managers did for me has now been guaranteed for everyone under our contract.

I’ve talked before on this blog about my grandfather being a West Virginia coal miner. My mother told me that when a member of his union died, everyone worked a shift for his widow. He told her over and over how he wanted more for her than he’d had growing up, and I know that she worked to give me more opportunities than she’d had. That’s a parent’s love, but it’s also how union solidarity works. We want the next person to have it better than we did.

When our bargaining team pitched our proposals to OHSU, we all had stories like this to tell. Times when the institution had failed us or simply wasn’t set up to help us. Sometimes they were things that had happened to us in the past and sometimes they were things that were happening in the moment (nearly every member of our bargaining team experienced some sort of illness or family tragedy over the course of the negotiations). I told this story about my mom and I cried, just like too many of my teammates and our guests did when they told theirs. We shouldn’t have had to lay our hearts open like that, but we did it and I don’t believe any of us regret it.

My tragedy already happened. But I didn’t want anyone else who has lost a loved one to have to scramble like I did. I don’t want them to have to rely on a support network they may not have. I’m not writing this for any kind of praise, but to illustrate how every word of our contract is built on the sacrifices of the people who came before us. I had heard that a thousand times before we started bargaining this contract, but I couldn’t see how true it was until I was in the room, hearing the stories behind every word of what we wrote.

One of the tropes that the management class likes to trot out about union workers is that we’re selfish because we demand better benefits and higher wages. We know that isn’t true just by looking around us, but we also know it’s a lie because when our union wins any of these battles, it isn’t just for ourselves: it’s for the next person who has to go through what we did.