Today was the first day of our surprisingly popular end-of-summer fundraiser. We had about 1,300 people descend on the site for a variety of activities- games, live musical performances, and a beer tent. It's a nice family atmosphere, with a lot of little kids running all over the grounds. It's also a good dry-run for our major fall fundraisers... staff members from all of our various sites converge on my primary workplace and a bunch of our fall contract players and temporary workers return to the site after a long hiatus.
Hanging over the normally joyous proceedings was a patina of melancholy, as word got out about a co-worker's near-fatal car accident. Details are slowly beginning to emerge- our director of Human Resources was able to ascertain which hospital our friend is in, and was able to visit her in the trauma unit, where she lies cocooned in bandages and hooked up to a machine. The manager who informed me of the situation in the first place was also able to visit her. The young woman is an only child, so it's been difficult for a bunch of non-relatives to visit and impossible to learn about her conditions (the privacy laws are rightfully draconian). When I got to work as the event was winding down (I'm the night-man), longtime co-workers would take a brief moment during a lull in the action to mouth a quick question or offer a vague update about our friend.
As I mentioned, the event is normally an occasion for mirth. One of the musicians playing the event is friend that I have known since the days I had a big blond 'fro. Three of our long-time contract entertainers are individuals that I am particularly fond of (the sweet NPR nerd, the moon-faced comedienne, and the flame-haired snarkslinger- for the record). I know all of the temps, and have even been involved in zany misadventures with some of them. Even the guy who comes across as Santa Claus' jollier brother was subdued. Everybody went through their paces with the usual aplomb, but there was just the merest patina of melancholy, which I doubt the visitors were able to pick up on.
When the event ended and everybody could drop the brave facade, the topic of the conversation turned to our friend. We filled in co-workers who hadn't heard the news (nobody knew before yesterday afternoon) and those who knew more details told what they knew. The number of hushed conversations would have led a distant observer to think that we were hatching a conspiracy. Tomorrow, the manager who had initially enlisted my aid will be working the event (she sent me a half-dozen text messages over the course of today), so I will be able to provide a sympathetic ear and a supportive shoulder.
Here's a melancholy number from our stricken friend's favorite band:
We'll get through this weekend's event, and few, if any, of our visitors will be aware that there's a sadness weighing on our minds. We'll get through, we always do.
Grim.
ReplyDeleteA couple of my co-workers over the yrs. died in car accidents, although both after they'd gone on to new gigs. Still awful.
Old chum, I don't even like driving anymore- people are aggressive and distracted and competitive. I just want to get from point A to point B in one piece.
ReplyDeleteGood to hear your friend's mom is out of the critical care unit, at least.
ReplyDelete~
Indeed. I drive a tiny car that isn't likely to do well in extremis. My strategy is to avoid the freeways whenever possible, drive slower than everyone, yield to anyone who wants to get in front of me, get there last and have more fun. People often mock my driving style, suggesting that I drive like old people fuck, but I haven't had a ticket or an accident (outside of a parking lot collision at less than 1MPH) in decades.
ReplyDeleteI like it like that...
After a while, knowing more and more dead people, every event has a tinge of melancholy. I rely on the wisdom of Scarlet O'Hara: fiddle-dee-dee! It's irreverant and callous, perhaps, but it beats sobbing in public.
ReplyDeleteGood to hear your friend's mom is out of the critical care unit, at least.
ReplyDeleteIt's something to grasp onto.
Indeed. I drive a tiny car that isn't likely to do well in extremis. My strategy is to avoid the freeways whenever possible, drive slower than everyone, yield to anyone who wants to get in front of me, get there last and have more fun. People often mock my driving style, suggesting that I drive like old people fuck, but I haven't had a ticket or an accident (outside of a parking lot collision at less than 1MPH) in decades.
I'm the same way- give yourself enough space and let the lunatics pass.
After a while, knowing more and more dead people, every event has a tinge of melancholy. I rely on the wisdom of Scarlet O'Hara: fiddle-dee-dee! It's irreverant and callous, perhaps, but it beats sobbing in public.
Yeah, and talking it out with people helps a lot. Another friend visited her in the hospital and said, "The nurse told me that she has a long road ahead of her, but at least she has a road."
at least she has a road
ReplyDeleteI am grateful for my fellow travelers on this long and winding road. Without them I would not be where I am. I try to show them how much they matter. Compassion can be hard but it's what makes life worth living. Being a good friend is a noble goal. Your friends are lucky to know you.