The Inconsistencies of Grief

Grief is an odd bird.

I found out on Friday that a gentleman I've worked with for eight plus years passed away. I never met him face to face, but we spoke constantly over the phone, and I was surprised to realize how much I'm going to miss the sound of his voice. He was an older gentleman, well into his eighties, and his passing was from natural causes, but it's strange to think that I won't hear his voice asking for the whereabouts of my attorney. Even after eight years, this gentleman never assumed I would remember his name. I hardly knew him, but he's been a part of my job since I began working - straight out of college.

I hardly shed a tear when my father died, so no one was more surprised than I when I spent a few minutes in my cubicle crying. Due to the economy, my company recently announced the company will no longer provide Kleenix, so as I wiped at my eyes with a sheet, I couldn't help but wonder if the company considered all the uses of Kleenix - which added hysterical giggles inbetween my sniffles. I'm sure if anyone saw me, they must have thought I'd lost my mind.

It's strange how grief works. The gentleman lived a long full Life, and I can only hope me and mine do the same. I wonder what he would have thought of a secretary sniffling in her cubicle. He probably would have been shocked that I even remembered who he was, let alone cried for him.