It’s safe to say that I’m a hopeless romantic. I cry at sappy movies. Heck, I cry at sappy commercials. The Hallmark commercials are the worst…
That’s why it probably doesn’t come as a surprise that I hang on to past relationships with like a child holding onto a balloon. Tightly. In awe. Afraid that the next gust of wind might rip it from my hand.
Granted, I hold on to some relationships harder than others.
Take JB, for example.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let go of that string… It’s twisted around my wrist. No, it’s twisted around my heart.
With each memory – like a little gust of wind – the string pulls tighter.
It’s pathetic, really, that I can’t seem to let JB go, to soar upwards, to ride the winds along with the butterflies and birds. To disappear amongst the clouds. To land far away. And tangle that damn string in somebody else’s tree.
I lost my best friend a half a lifetime ago. In the span of those (almost) 21 years, my thoughts of my Mom have never been limited to a single day. In fact, it is a rare day that passes when I don’t wish that I could pick up the phone while at work or pop into the kitchen at home and talk with her, ask her opinion, learn from her infinite wisdom, laugh and love with her.
And, yet, with every passing Mother’s Day, I am actually surprised to recognize that the knot of grief that has grown like a mass around my heart hasn’t diminished in size.
If anything, the knot has now become scar tissue.
This painfully reminds me of the nugget of wisdom (and warning) that my Mom shared with me a long time ago – scar tissue of the soul leaves a debilitating loss of capacity for life or love.
She was right, of course. She was always right.
When she died, I recall Father Tim’s words of sympathy echoing that grief is a process. Even then I knew that any person who tells you grief is a process is a fool. Grief isn’t the flu; it’s a disease, like cancer, a gnawing thing that grows and spreads and debilitates. You simply go ahead and rebuild a life around the hole, the knot, that gnawing thing.
So today really isn’t any different than any other day.
I still miss you – and wish you were here to hug and tell me that everything will be alright.
This one lasted just over 4 months.
I really wasn’t surprised when the CFO told JF and I that our boss was gone. To her credit, we were told before the other members of our department. In her words, “Things didn’t work out.”
Um, yeah, guess that’s the understatement of the year.
In all fairness, I don’t think RB was given enough time to prove himself. I actually liked him and thought that he had some great ideas. I also thought that he genuinely had integrity – not the kind of integrity so many in senior management have been displaying since the government lawyers cracked down on the company so hard for the previous management’s infractions.
RB called me over the lunch hour to say ‘goodbye’. He sounded choked up (who could blame him? I was, too.) He advised that he “wasn’t supposed to have contact with anyone, but felt that I had to tell you goodbye today. I really enjoyed working with you. You really have a lot of potential. You’re a great employee and I felt lucky to have you reporting to me. Keep up the good work.” He added that he would call JF later, “when things settle down… I just really wanted to call you to say goodbye.”
I was surprised how emotional I was all day long.
So now I’m back to reporting directly to the CFO until they find a replacement.
This evening I happened to log in to my work e-mail system and discovered that we have a department meeting tomorrow morning at 10:30. My stomach immediately started to do flip-flops. This couldn’t be good news.
I looked at the distribution list for the appointment – sure enough, suspiciously absent is RB’s name…
My stomach says NO. I fear that I’ll be down another boss.
I guess we’ll see tomorrow if I’m right.