Why Are Compassionate Leave Policies Often So Uncompassionate?

In the Spring of 2024, my Dad died after a year-long battle with cancer. The absolute last thing I needed - or wanted - to think about after this devastating loss was my job. Unfortunately, I realise how unrealistic that is for so many people. For many, work is one of the most central aspects of life: it's their 9-to-5 routine, their source of income, their structure. It's something that inevitably demands attention. But during the initial period of grief, work should fall to the very bottom of the priority list.

I was one of the lucky ones. While my Dad's bleak diagnosis and the experience of "anticipatory grief" allowed me some warning to prepare my business for my leave, I also believe my colleagues at Ambient People would have supported me just as much had the loss been sudden. During the weeks I was unable to work, my responsibilities were shared among the three other members of the business. I was told I could take as much time as I needed. Other than occasional check-ins to see how I was doing - genuine check-ins, not coded queries about when I'd return - I wasn't bothered with work-related issues, despite being the only person in my specific role.

This support allowed me to navigate my grief, knowing my business had my back. Ultimately, I returned to work sooner than I had anticipated - not because I was pressured to, but because I knew I was coming back to a place where, even if I faced breakdowns down the road (and I have), I'd be supported in the same way. That knowledge lifted a heavy weight from my already burdened shoulders.

But how common is this kind of experience? We've all heard horror stories: employees forced to take annual leave to attend a parent's funeral, unpaid leave limited to a single week, or worse. But even policies that fall well short of these worst-case stories are often still disappointing. The law only requires employers to provide "reasonable" bereavement entitlement, leaving the definition of "reasonable" up to individual companies. The term "entitlement" itself feels misplaced when referring to such an unwanted, tragic necessity.

Yes, 95% of employers in the UK offer some form of bereavement leave (a figure that still leaves approximately 135,000 businesses without any such policy) but the bad news is that the average length of bereavement leave for a close relative is a mere five days. Let's be honest - five days after losing a close relative, most people are far from ready to return to work. This brief window doesn't even allow for funeral arrangements to be completed, let alone reestablishing a normal sleep schedule or beginning to process the immense loss.

So, what version of an employee are businesses expecting to welcome back after just five days? Will it be the employee ready to provide the five-star customer service their company promises? The one who can dive into complex spreadsheets their business' success depends on? Most importantly, will it be an employee who respects the organisation's decisions and feels valued as a person?

I recognise that some businesses may not have the financial capacity to offer extended bereavement leave. However, this is something companies should factor into their hiring and operational strategies, considering that most employees are likely to experience one or two "close relative" bereavements during their careers.

A truly compassionate and flexible bereavement leave policy is beneficial for several reasons. It demonstrates a commitment to employee well-being, increases the likelihood of employees returning to work in a healthy and productive state, and, most importantly, alleviates some of the significant burdens weighing on an already overwhelmed mind.

Compassionate leave policies should live up to their name. It's time for businesses to adopt approaches that truly reflect empathy and humanity.

NB: I'm aware that the leave in this article refers to 'bereavement' as opposed to 'compassionate' and that the two are often blurred. However, I believe the premise applies to both.