 |
|||||
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
I love you, Joe My friend Joe died about eight months ago. I have talked about his death in this diary. But I haven't talked about the day after he died, and what it was like for me. Michael had called me early that morning, and let me know what had happened. I called my mom, and we watched the early news coverage of it while on the phone together. I called Bill, and told him what had happened. And I called Bob, and he was sobbing. My mom had begged me to come over to her house, so I showered and went over to my parents' house. I was wearing a white shirt and black cropped pants. My mom's eyes were teary and red when I got there. She had always felt so sorry for Joe, for his depression, and self-hatred. I stood in her kitchen and had a cup of tea while my mom and dad tried to hold themselves together. I was better off than they were, at that time. I left, and went to work. I went upstairs to Michael's office, I was the first person there that he had to tell the story to. I sat down in one of his chairs reserved for clients, and he told me what had happened. Michael told me that some grief counselor had said that we would be better to be open for business that day. Yvette and her husband showed up, then, and I didn't want to hear the story again. I went downstairs and started to call people...the first person I called was Pauline, as I knew she was very close to Joe. I told her what had happened, and that Michael felt we should be open for business as usual. She said, "I can't work today", and I agreed. I went back upstairs and told Michael, "Pauline can't work, and I can't either." Michael agreed readily to close for lunch, and open at 5.00. We all went downstairs and sat around and talked about it. It was hard. The phones were ringing, and we had to tell them that we were closed due to a death in the family. Finally, we stopped answering the phones. At one point, Anne said, "God, all the times he asked me out. I wish I had gone out with him and had sex with him. Maybe it would have helped." We all laughed. Then we had to call the staff and tell them. It was, like, 9.00 am. We started calling, saying, "Hi, give us a call back, it's pretty urgent but we're not trying to cover shifts" on the message machines. Customers called, and we had to tell them. We told our staff that we had a grief help group there for them at 3.00 pm. I didn't expect anyone to show up for the grief counselor thing at 3.00, but a lot did. It was a weird discussion, the counselors were nice, but not too involved. At one point, Michael, who must have been SO exhausted and emotionally drained, started crying, his face in his hands. His wife hugged him. I totally started to lose it then, but I pulled it together. Bob and I got lunch from another restaurant...and food helped, a lot. We felt better, then. So, we got it together, and opened the restaurant at 5.00. I was feeling ok, and then Michael brought out this framed picture of Joe...Joe had a photo of himself and Fernando and Gunter taped over his desk, and I guess someone had taken this pic to Kinko's, or something, had it enlarged, and framed. It was a great idea, we needed to have a pic of Joe in the front of the restaurant, so people could know about his death. But I took one look at that pic and fucking LOST it...ran out the back door and stood against this pillar and sobbed my eyes out. Seriously cried SO hard....snot and tears going down my face. Finally pulled myself together. Went inside, and went back up front, and Yvette said, "oh, geez, what got to you?" cuz my eyes were obviously red and wet. I said, "Joe's pic." I started crying again, and went into the office. Sat at Joe's desk and cried like I have never cried before...cried my eyes out. Bob moved his chair over to me and pulled me onto his lap and let me cry. Snotty-nosed, hysterical, I cried on Bob's lap, my face against his chest, like one of his little daughters would. Bob made me wipe my nose on his shirtsleeves. Michael came in at some point and very nicely told Bob to send me home. And I did. And cried myself to sleep. And that was my day, when Joe died. I love you, and miss you, Joe. Miss These?
|
|||||
