Someone I work with died.
I knew her well enough that we had a mutual admiration for each other as “the other non-corporate wacky redhead.”
The first couple months I got there, Charlene McComas was planning a trip to Seattle. I did a brain dump and told her all the things I’d do if I were going home. She brought me back a mug.
But I didn’t know her well enough to know that she’d had a recurrence of breast cancer that spread through her body, to her spine, made her nearly blind, made her body simply stop working early last Sunday morning.
Nobody at work talked about her all week. Then tonight, at the “Celebration of Life,” we talked about vacations, food, art. I could only really talk about Charlene when I met her siblings and her sweet, Irish ma. We held hands.
I never know where they go when they die. But I’m sure they’re somewhere close. They’d fucking better be.