All my life, or at least for most of it, I’ve been aware of the need to accept change.

The reason for that was simple. In the workplace, I saw what happened to others who clung to the past, refusing to accept change.

In my early career I was flabbergasted when a longtime employee said she couldn’t accept the awful thing the boss did to her. She said it was shoddy for him to treat her that way after all her years of service. She was so distressed, she said, that she had to take heavy meds to prevent a total mental breakdown.

I thought the boss was extraordinary in his leadership and in his treatment of employees. I asked the distressed woman what the boss did to upset her. I will never forget her answer.

”The rotten boss” changed her seat, telling her that as the receptionist she needed to be facing the door so she could better direct visitors. For years she sat away from the door with her back to visitors, which meant they walked in unseen, wandering around looking for the department they wanted.

“We never did it that way with the old boss,” said the employee, who ended up leaving because she couldn’t accept the new procedure.

“We never did it that way before” are deadly words to be avoided in any workplace. Anyone who believes otherwise might have a job, but not a career.

Whether it’s in the workplace or in your personal life, you will always be faced with change. Change is an inevitable part of life. And it won’t always be as inconsequential as having your seat moved a few feet.

Even though I have always worked hard to accept change, there have been some life changes that were hard to handle. And, truth be told, the older I get the harder it becomes to deal with major change.

My first stumble in accepting change came when my husband lost his job and we had to pull up our deeply planted roots and move three hours away, where my husband would be school superintendent. He was looking forward to the challenge.

I had always relished living in the town in which I was born and never thought I would move from there. I knew every man, woman and child. If I met someone, I knew chances were good that I also knew his parents, his grandparents and the name of his pet.

One major joy for both me and my husband was that our extended family all lived there. Both of us were close to our families and we never envisioned being away from them.

One of my best friends at the time was the school psychologist. She couldn’t understand why we didn’t look forward to spreading our wings and soaring to new heights.

Because everything and everybody we loved was there, that’s why.

But as Mom the cheerful cheerleader, I had to pretend to my children that the change was welcomed and would be good for all of us.

The joke was on me, I guess, because it turned out to be a positive move for me professionally. But it hurt to know we could not always be there for our older parents.

At one point, branded on my heart was the adage: Bloom where you are planted. That’s exactly what we all did.

Looking back I can see where I should have had more faith that God was leading us where we belonged.

Then came what was at the hardest change I struggled to accept. Andy died. Our life together was like a beautiful sunset that made every day a joy to behold. Without him, I had to lean strongly on my faith. This time I trusted God because I knew the road ahead would be hard, but He would walk it with me. And He has.

I attended grief classes and eventually taught one, where I could ease my own grief by helping other people.

I remember attending one retreat that was going fine until the speaker said every single thing that happens to us is a gift from God. I couldn’t accept my husband’s death was a gift.

It was by moving to Florida that grief finally left me. In its absence is joy. I’m thankful for that joy every single day,

Eventually, David and I married and we became kids again, dancing, kayaking, biking and exploring Florida. We were like two dolphins dancing in the water.

Bear in mind this was a late in life marriage. We should have been prepared that we wouldn’t always be able to frolic like children. But every physical loss comes as an unwanted surprise.

I’ve always been very agile. My body went where I wanted it to go.

Until shopping in a grocery store wiped away that illusion. When I couldn’t reach something on the top shelf, I gave myself a boost and jumped high in the air to reach the shelf. Down it came all over the aisle, while I was lying on the floor with people asking, Are you OK.

No, I’m not OK. I have to accept new limits and find new strategies to accept this latest loss of physical ability.

I will, of course. Because when change comes we must accept it and deal with it. Or, it will defeat us.

Email Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcastnet