I found out early this week that my boss’s father had unexpectedly passed away. I didn’t know the deceased, but I consider my boss my friend and it turns out that I know his…half-sister-in-law? I think – the obituary wasn’t quite clear on how the relationships were organized. Used to work with her many years ago. Anyway, I got the details on where/when the visitation was being held and decided that I would go and show my support.
The visitation was yesterday and I got there slightly early as I always do. They were just about done setting up and my boss hadn’t yet gone into the viewing room. I walked up to him and he was surprised to see me – and smiled behind his mask. I told him how sorry I was and asked how he was holding up. He said the first few days were toughest, but he was looking forward to getting back to work next week and the ordinary problems there. He then introduced me to his wife – and she said she’d heard of me on campus (she works at UA too) and knew me as “the web guy”.
There are worse things, I’d wager.
I saw and recognized my former co-worker and went over to say hello. She didn’t know me at first until I said my name, then asked me to drop my mask to confirm. She laughed, delighted to see me, then asked me what had happened to my hair – I guess it had been a while since we’d seen each other. She introduced me to her husband and mother-in-law and we chatted for a few minutes, then I went to sit down.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I couldn’t stay long – it was a work day and I had a meeting – but it felt weird to just leave. So I sat there for a few minutes, waiting for things to officially start so I could officially get in line – and then officially make my leave.
Jim said later that this is “compound grief” – that when we grieve it brings back all the times we had grieved before. Like muscle memory, perhaps.
I wasn’t grieving, exactly. I felt bad for my friends and what they had gone through, but it was a bit disconnected. But, as I sat there and looked down at the floor, every funeral I’d ever been to came creeping back.
The carpet was a pale, sea-foam green. As tasteful and utterly neutral as possible while still hiding wear and traffic. The same carpet you could find in any funeral home – intended to be unnoticed and serve a function. I looked up at the walls and saw the same prints I’m sure I’d seen before if only I could remember. So utterly bland that you could study them for hours and have every detail slip away if your gaze wavered. I’d never been to this funeral home before, but it was still completely familiar.
And in all the sameness, I remembered all the funerals I’d been to and all the chairs I’d sat in while I’d said goodbye – or helped someone else say goodbye.
I felt that compound grief start to well up and the muscle memory start to flex – and I tamped it all down. This was not about me.
So, I pulled myself back from my memories and gauged the flow of people traffic. When there was the right kind of lull, I stood and got in line. My boss, his wife, and my former co-worker were all standing together and I talked to them for a few minutes – trying to say the right things and mostly succeeding, I guess – before heading out.
And then I got on with my day. It wasn’t much and I didn’t stay long, but it was the right thing to do. Sometimes all it takes is just showing up and being present for people.
I’ve stood in those receiving lines before and it is exhausting and terrible. But I know that each person that stops by with a kind word can, in a small way, make things ever so slightly better.
I hope that my presence was a pleasant surprise on a terrible day. And I hope that all of us brief visitors made it a little less terrible for them.