There’s A Hole

Early this morning at work, the entire staff was called to together for what we were promised would be a brief meeting.  I grumbled about being called away from what I was trying to get accomplished, but went nevertheless.

Once we were all together, I noticed a few people in tears.  The boss cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “There’s no easy way to say this.  Rich died on Sunday.”  Rich was a coworker who worked in a different department from me.  We weren’t friends exactly, but he had his lunch when I did, so I saw him every day.  He was about our age, which is to say, way too young to drop from a massive heart attack.

I blinked.  What?  How can that be?  I just saw him on Friday.  He was talking about his catering side business.  He had mountains of chocolate-dipped strawberries to make and deliver for Valentine’s Day.  He was funny, and witty, and he seemed healthy and vital, in spite of being what I would call a ‘big guy.’  Grief counselors were called in and were available all day to anyone who felt the need.  We weren’t close, I didn’t feel that talking to the grief counselors was necessary.  But I dreaded going to lunch.  I knew there’d be a hole where Rich used to sit.  And there was.

And that brought my thoughts to Mr. R.  He doesn’t always take the best care of himself.  There are small changes he could make to be healthier.  There’s a hole in my life left by a someone who I simply took for granted would be at lunch every day.

How much bigger the hole if my sweet were gone.  I need to appreciate him every moment.

10 thoughts on “There’s A Hole

  1. A sad story, Pandora. It’s never easy to hear such news. I can understand how you feel about someone who should have been looking forward to many more years ahead. Yes, it does make us think about our own lifestyles. 🙂


Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.