And then I remembered my childhood friend Tam, who launched into the most extreme period of grief when her family dog "Lady" died about a year and a half after losing her father. She lapsed into fits of sobbing at the elderly dog’s death to a degree that seemed disproportionate and strange to her family. She took to her bed. But somehow, I intuitively understood what she was going through. The death of the family pet brought back all the trauma of previous losses she'd experienced, especially the recent, shattering loss of her Dad. And the cumulative impact of these traumas caused every tragic thing to resurface in a glaring, terrifying crescendo. Losing Lady reminded her how damn near unbearable her Father's permanent absence was …….. would always be. I remember standing with Tam by the grave side during her Dad's internment ceremony. Two fifteen year old girls, freezing our butts off in miniskirts and jackets on that cold, upstate New York, fall day. I held her hand as silent tears ran down her cheeks. I thought that's what a best friend was supposed to do, and my being there did seem to comfort her more than the presence of her Mom and three older siblings. I didn't know that a little over a year later, I'd watch helplessly as she heaved muffled sobs into her pillow after Lady was “put to sleep”. And even though I felt like I understood, I didn’t know how to comfort her then.
I suppose being involuntarily let go from ones' job of 16 years is somewhat comparable to the loss Tam experienced with her pet, although to be honest, I suspect Tam was fonder of her dog than I've ever been of this job. Yet the slow burning fear and trepidation I feel at having to launch a high energy, high stakes job search at the age of 59 is staggering. I feel way too exhausted to take this on, and harbor resentment at having to engage the world on so many levels right now. I seriously doubt my ability to get up to the required performance level to do this successfully. The truth is, all the taxing stuff of day to day living without you has been wearing me thin for more than six years now. The impending challenge of trying to find a job makes clear how little heart I have left for this fight; this meaningless grind of minute to minute, second to second activity against the backdrop of heart break that ebbs and flows, but never goes away. Burying your child will do this to you in a way that nothing else can. And I realize how much I don't want to do this anymore.
So I visit the many pics of you on my facebook page during these final days in my work cubical when I should be searching job web sites, and emptying out my desk. My tears come in silent, wet sheets as I listen on my ear phones to Lizz Wright’s song “Trouble”, her anthem about not being afraid to “let go”. And I think of you baby boy. I look at you …. all that you were, and all you didn’t live to become, and try to keep the characteristic chest heaves of grief from being audible or visible to my soon to be ex co-workers. I'm pretty sure they’re not seeing any of this, and I would guess this oversight is purposeful. I'm like Casper to them now, barely visible in an eerie sort of way; an unpleasant, reminder of what could have happened to them, but didn’t, as I continue my ghostly presence in their space. And the amazing and somewhat irritating thing is, if they observed my back’s heaving cries during quick, voyeuristic turns past my cubical; if they noticed what looked like a tear during a brief glimpse of my profile, they'd think this unrelenting sadness was over a lost job. No different from those who thought all Tam's inconsolable grief was for her lost dog.
I don't think I'm going to miss these shallow, clueless people. But to be fair, why should they be expected to have a damn clue about any of this. And why should I hold this profound ignorance against them. Somewhere Justin, in the vast expanse of whatever’s next, I know you’re getting this baby.
Forever, Your Mother
