I look around me trying to grasp reality, trying to hold onto or focus on SOMETHING, and I can see that I am not alone. We all are trying to muffle sobs, slightly shaking with tear stained faces full of sorrow. We are all trying to cope with understanding the sudden loss of one of our own.
We're a small office, so the atmosphere tends to feel a lot like family, albeit a dysfunctional one most times. But then again, what family ISN'T dysfunctional in some way? Some of us are closer than others, but we are--after all-- in each other's spaces and faces for a huge part of our days and weeks. So when we received the news this morning that our dear colleague had passed on, we were left reeling.
I know it must seem abnormal for me to be bringing this here, to be writing about it now, but I assure you, I'm clinging to some sense of normalcy with desperation. Writing and sharing here is what is normal for me.
And I know no matter what I'm feeling, it's not about me. Of course I know that. I feel for her now motherless daughter in such a deep and painful way, that it erupts a violent and fearful emotion within me. I can only relate this to what I know through my experiences; that is how we all process anything. We relate. I relate. I am a mother. I am vulnerable. I am temporary. I.am.temporary.
That's the hardest piece to type... to say.. to think. But I am. And we all are. We know it, I know it, but it's never given the weight or presence or focus it probably should. We never think these things until someone we know dies, so although it's cliché, it's no less real because it's cliché.
And that's really all I got right now. I'll hug my family a little tighter today. I'll look them in the eyes when I tell them I love them, and I'll let my kiss linger a little longer on their foreheads as I put them to bed tonight.