Sometimes, being incredibly, almost comically busy can be a blessing in disguise. Although it’s a short work week for us here in the US, with Thanksgiving being this Thursday, I arrived to an unexpectedly busy office yesterday morning. It was a madhouse for the entire day, and even as I drove home, I was receiving phone calls from co-workers, asking for assistance with their IT needs. I spent at least half an hour hunched over in our “office” after getting home, online, and on the phone.
I didn’t get lunch yesterday. I was unable to even break away for 5 minutes to grab a cup of coffee. I spent almost the entirety of the day away from my desk, with the fleeting moments that I was able to sit down on the phone.
Password resets, email problems, printer outages, accounting programs mysteriously losing information, our president forgetting his laptop at home, broken cell phones, misbehaving monitors, and a bevy of other issues all seemed to occur at once.
It was Monday. They’re always busy, but wow...never THIS busy. It’s a holiday week; why isn’t everyone kicking back and skating through it, so they can enjoy a long weekend of eating, relaxing, and in my case, avoiding any form of shopping at all costs?
Alas, that didn’t happen. By the end of the day, my brain, legs, and body in general were all fried. I had no time to think about anything other than the next problem that was in my queue. I barely made it out of the office, but somehow, I managed to resolve each and every issue that arose.
When I finally left the office, arrived at home, and resolved that one final phone call, I was wired. I was pacing, excitable, and I didn’t even think to take my boots off. My brain was still in overdrive, and it needed time to wind down.
Sarah, gloriously, had bought a “take-and-bake” pizza after picking Shelby up from school, so dinner was quick and easy. The phone stopped ringing, Shelby finished up her homework, we sat down together and had dinner, and I decided to finally calm my nerves and hop in the hot tub afterwards.
Then I remembered.
Megan died, four years ago, on November 19th.
Even though it is tattooed on my arm, I was so busy yesterday that the fact it was November 19th never crossed my mind until the evening, when I finally had time to stop and feel.
There was no conscious blocking-out of the date. I didn’t suppress the thoughts of her death just to “get through the day”. They just...weren’t there.
I’m far beyond feeling guilty that I don’t actively and outwardly grieve Megan’s death. It is what it is. I miss her terribly, and it still and always will suck that she died. I didn’t post anything to her facebook wall, or do anything special because of the date. It’s not a day to celebrate in the first place. It was the worst day of my life...why in the HELL would I even WANT to remember it?
But I still do. I vividly remember it, at least when I have time to do so. I described it, yet again, in detail to Sarah. I cried. I recalled the stories of her lung transplant, of her trips to the emergency room, of the initial signs of rejection in January of 2014, of that first Christmas morning without her. Sarah sat and listened while I erupted with emotion.
Then, it was over. I stopped talking, and we went inside to start our bedtime routines like it was any other day. Throughout the morning and afternoon, this had NOT been “welling up” or building to a crescendo. I was, simply put, too busy to think at those times. I am kind of happy that I didn’t remember. I remembered the date, not when it was “too late”, but rather, when it was “just right”. When I was sitting with the perfect person to listen and understand and love, rather than sitting beside a co-worker, fixing their keyboard.
Turns out, that it may have been the best kind of Monday to hope for on November 19th, four years later.