You’d think the world messes with me some days.
I’m in the second week of the new job and it’s a lot. I’m supposed to be an energy reporter, but my bosses make the very good point that, before I can be a capable energy reporter, I have to understand the markets. So, I’m spending a lot of time trying to learn how to write market reports, which is a soul-crushing affair. Not because of the nature of the work, per se, but more because I have a knack for always grabbing the wrong number from the charts when trying to illustrate why markets today are rising or falling or going in spirals. Add to this that I’m meeting a group of people for the first time, so there’s all the rules of engagement you have to work out as you sort through who’s the introvert and who prefers speaking in German and who has a sense of humor and who will hold up a story to make you double check this or that fact.
And, lest we forget, this is the first time I’ve been regularly leaving the house since March 2020. It would be wrong to say I actively think and worry about the pandemic, but it would also be a lie to say that I crush myself into a train full of other commuters and don’t give a second thought to the chances that maybe the person to my left will cough and cover me with something that will send me to an emergency room that can barely handle something like Covid-19 on a good day. I push through it, but it’s tense.
Also, and this is whiny, but as little as I liked the late shifts at my old job, I did get used to not always having to start my day early. With the new job, the “late” shift is 9-5. Getting up early and trying to juggle the kids while making sure I’m out the door on time is a whole return to an experience I’d almost forgotten. That said, once things are more normal, I’m probably only going to be in the office two days a week, on average. We shall see how it all goes.
But the point is, I decided on my second day that my two direct superiors had to at least know about Colin. It’s not as if I have breaks from reality on a regular basis due to the death of my son – if anything, not working for a general news desk where there was always the risk of a story about a dead child peering around the corner – but you never know when you’re going to be triggered. And I wanted them to know that.
The thing is, I try to read a page or two of the Bible every day. Here’s what I stumbled across the morning I decided I was going to do the big reveal.
Ecclesiasticus 38:16
Mourning
My son, shed tears over a dead man,
and intone the lament to show your own deep grief;
bury his body with due ceremonial,
and do not neglect to honor his grave.
Weep bitterly, wail most fervently;
observe the mourning the dead man deserves,
one day, or two, to avoid comment,
and then be comforted in your sorrow;
for grief can lead to death,
a grief-stricken heart undermines your strength.
Let grief end with the funeral;
a life of grief oppresses the mind.
Do not abandon your heart to grief,
drive it away, bear your own end in mind.
Do not forget, there is no going back;
you cannot help the dead, and you will harm yourself.
“Remember my doom, since it will be yours too;
yesterday was my day, today is yours.”
Once the dead man is laid to rest, let his memory rest too,
do not fret for him, once his spirits departs.
Sigh. I guess it’s appropriate, because my life is going on. I guess it hurts all the more, because I hate that my life just keeps on going on without him. I’m such walking poster child for survivor’s guilt.
They took it as well as one can. “It’s unfathomable,” they told me, and I felt bad, because they both have young children and I hate that I had to open the window on the possibility that young children can die. It had to come out, but I hated it as I did it.
As it happened, less than a week later, I was in the office and one of my new colleagues got bad news about the health of a family member. I told her I understood. You could see the skepticism in her eyes. “You don’t want to hear my story right now,” I said, because the hot topic right that moment was her loved one’s health. But she asked “Horrible story?” and I told her. She actually apologized for bringing the mood down.
It messes with you, the grief and the pre-grief and the anticipation of grief. As always, we just keep trying.