Mom, Ma'am, Me

I need a drink.

I need a tall, stiff drink, with several shots.  Perhaps a Long Island Iced Tea or one of those poorly named concoctions that they serve at chain restaurants with names like "Holy Crap Am I Glad This Week Is Over." (The chain restaurants, not the drinks.  The drinks have names like "Your Baby Mama's Miniskirt.")

(I feel like I'm channeling Deb here.  Not a bad thing at all.)

Anyway, back to my point.  I'm really not a big drinker, despite the fact that 1) I'm currently wearing my Mommy Needs a Cocktail t-shirt (get yours today!), 2) I've been known to drink with girlfriends on occasion, and 3) I actually sound in this post like I've already been drinking, although I am sadly stone cold sober.  I guess after a lot of drinking in college, plus some instances where I saw up close and personal the effects of alcohol abuse, drinking heavily just doesn't hold much appeal for me anymore.

But not tonight.  Tonight I could use that drink.

(Can you tell I'm having a hard time getting to the point here?)

OK.  Sigh.  The funeral was today.  The funeral of my coworker and former friend.   I'm sure my current coworkers probably thought I was off to a job interview today in my somber attire (hose and heels on a FRIDAY, even).  I wish.

The service was nice, but very rough.  I stood in line for several minutes to greet and express my condolences to Joe's stunningly beautiful wife, who I had not previously met.  She looked fragile, but was holding her composure so well.  When I said that Joe was a great guy who would be sorely missed, she looked me straight in the eyes and said sadly: "Joe was perfect, to me."  I nearly wept right then and there.

There were a few moments during the service that I really had trouble.  When Joe's brother did a reading, I could hear a familiar cadence and pronunciation in his voice.  Closing my eyes it was like hearing Joe, and I lost it.   And another time, more than once actually, the officiant  referred directly to the manner of Joe's death, which was like a shock to my heart even though I'd heard the rumors. 

The turnout from my old office was amazing, though, and made me proud.  It would have touched Joe deeply to see how many people from work were there, to see how many of us had been impacted by his strong work ethic, his kindness, his gentle but insistent ways of educating others.  I know Joe's family was tremendously grateful to have so many people paying their respects.

Such a roller coaster of emotions hit me directly after the service.  I'd just said final goodbyes to one friend and then saw so many other friends (most of whom I have not seen in over a year) for a teasingly brief period of time.  I felt a little bit guilty to see these friends with fresh tears on their faces, grieving at Joe's loss, come over to greet me and give me a hug after the service.  Guilty because I'm the one that left, and I haven't been great about keeping in touch, and I don't want to wait until someone else is gone to see these people again.  I'm not going to let that happen, no way.

After the service and lunch with a few former coworkers, I headed back to my current job in a haze of residual grief and exhaustion.  I barely remember the drive back.  Not surprisingly, it was business as usual at work, and I just couldn't keep my mind focused.  I kept whipping out the program from Joe's service to gaze at his dear face. 

So I called it a day and went to pick up Rosie, only to discover that the car was not where I'd left it when returning from the funeral.  I take that back.  The car was EXACTLY where I'd left it, only I'd parked one level up in the garage from where I usually park.  I just shook my head ruefully when I realized my mistake.

That's when I first started thinking about a nice frosty beverage, or maybe a fruity one.  Figured I'd come home this evening and let J handle the kids while I relaxed a bit. Also, my disease seems to act up when I'm under stress (bone pain increases) so I thought the drink might numb me nicely.

Heh.  No such luck.  J's come down with the horrible icky achy sickness thing I had two weeks ago, and headed to bed about 6:30 PM.  Rosie tormented Annie while I prepared dinner (a bagel and fruit, which she asked for but did not eat).  Mimi insisted she was not hungry, though I asked her repeatedly, until 3 minutes before bedtime when she was immediately STARVING and needed food ASAP.  The girls wanted to sleep together, but could not agree which room to sleep in, and Rosie for kept up her shenanigans for almost an hour (keeping Mimi awake, calling me, etc.) before passing out a little while ago. 

So no drink, no relaxation. 

But do you know, I am just so happy to be alive today.  Despite everything -- the grief, the regret, the difficulty of young cranky children -- it's a blessing to be here in this world, living this life. 

I think that calls for a toast.

Life is short. Live today.

When he shall die
Take him and cut him out in little stars
And he will make the face of heav'n so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
~William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life.  It goes on.  ~Robert Frost    

Just over 10 years ago, on an otherwise quiet Sunday afternoon, I received the shocking news that my boss had perished in a small airplane crash.  I'll never forget the remainder of that afternoon, when I phoned coworkers to give them the horrible news -- or that evening, when I lay awake stunned and grieving with the knowledge that I would never see my dear friend again.  But the worst of all was that next morning at work, when I gathered with all of my coworkers to cry and laugh and remember our beloved colleage and mentor, because that made it all REAL.  Although we half expected Susan to come in and tell us it was all a mistake, she did not walk through that door on Monday or Tuesday or any morning after that.

This morning I received a similar call.  One of my very favorite former coworkers, one of the guys that took me to lunch during my last week of work, passed away unexpectedly over the weekend.  He leaves behind a loving wife and a teenage son, not to mention a legion of current and former coworkers who can hardly fathom this loss.  It's a cliche to say he will be deeply missed, but it's so true -- Joe was one of the most intelligent and respectful managers that I've ever worked with during my career.  And as the icing on the cake, he was a nice guy too. 

Joe sent me a brief note a couple of weeks ago just to congratulate me on the Washington Capitals' playoff run.  I remember that I sent back a fairly quick reply, in between meetings.  Of course hindsight is 20/20, but if I'd known that would be my last contact with him, it would have been different:

Dear Joe, thank you for thinking of me and remembering how much J and I love the Capitals.  I appreciate that you always take the time to send a brief note even when you're busy with work and undoubtedly juggling a million things with your wife and son.  I want to thank you too for all the support that you provided me while I was there.  While other managers seemed to view my role as an obstacle to productive work, you recognized that I could provide value and made sure I had the unlimited support of you and your team.  I know you had a hand in getting me that award, and I thank you for it.  And speaking of your team, I hope you know your group is such a strong one because you have made it so.  The guys that work for you are pleased and proud to have you as their leader.  Keep on doing those great things you do, and as you always say to me: Be well.  Sincerely, Nancy

You know what, I don't want to be in this position again where I'm telling someone what I need to say once they're gone.  I'm going to make sure I say what I need to say when the person I'm talking to can hear me.  Starting now. 

I'm going to go and live.