no subject
Tue, Jul. 24th, 2012 10:09 pm
Friday at work was the most devastating event I've ever witnessed. Early in the day, two cops came to the front desk looking very handsome and in-uniform, so I smiled and did the standard welcome routine, because SAPol are one of our clients and it's not unusual for them to rock up to the store in uniform to ask to have certificates or business cards or whatever printed. These two, though, had not come to us for printing. They asked to speak to one of our staff, a casual finisher, and asked if there was somewhere private where they could 'break some very bad news' to her. I'm sure my face said 'oh shit' as clearly as my brain was saying it.
So they took her into former-boss-man's office, closed the door, and within seconds she was wailing. It is the single most terrifying sound I've ever heard in my life. I've never heard real grief in my life, not like that. For a full hour we could hear her in the office, wailing and sobbing, then maybe calming down a little, then half a thought or memory would trigger in her mind and she'd start wailing again. For that whole hour--and the rest of the day, really--I just wanted to hug my family. I'm still getting stinging eyes writing it out now. I don't think I'll ever forget that.
It didn't take a lot to connect the dots. The kind of news that two coppers are going to bring you at your workplace? It can only be a direct family member. It was her nineteen-year-old daughter. The cops stayed with her for the full hour until her husband arrived and they took them both to identify the body.
I can not even imagine what that's like. Your parents, you expect to die well before you. Maybe not until you're late on in middle age, and I know at least three people closely who've lost parents already, and I am in no way cheapening those losses, but there's still something there that means you're prepared for them to die well before you. Your siblings and your significant other, 50/50 chance. Still life shattering, but you still know there's half a chance they'll die before you.
But your child? There's nothing to prepare you for that.
One of my workmates who has a 12-year-old daughter and a 20-year-old son said afterwards how he probably wouldn't be able to cope if that had been him in that office, and his voice was kind of shaky as he said it. I wasn't surprised to find he'd taken a day of bereavement leave today.
Hug your family, guys. And don't you dare die before them.
So they took her into former-boss-man's office, closed the door, and within seconds she was wailing. It is the single most terrifying sound I've ever heard in my life. I've never heard real grief in my life, not like that. For a full hour we could hear her in the office, wailing and sobbing, then maybe calming down a little, then half a thought or memory would trigger in her mind and she'd start wailing again. For that whole hour--and the rest of the day, really--I just wanted to hug my family. I'm still getting stinging eyes writing it out now. I don't think I'll ever forget that.
It didn't take a lot to connect the dots. The kind of news that two coppers are going to bring you at your workplace? It can only be a direct family member. It was her nineteen-year-old daughter. The cops stayed with her for the full hour until her husband arrived and they took them both to identify the body.
I can not even imagine what that's like. Your parents, you expect to die well before you. Maybe not until you're late on in middle age, and I know at least three people closely who've lost parents already, and I am in no way cheapening those losses, but there's still something there that means you're prepared for them to die well before you. Your siblings and your significant other, 50/50 chance. Still life shattering, but you still know there's half a chance they'll die before you.
But your child? There's nothing to prepare you for that.
One of my workmates who has a 12-year-old daughter and a 20-year-old son said afterwards how he probably wouldn't be able to cope if that had been him in that office, and his voice was kind of shaky as he said it. I wasn't surprised to find he'd taken a day of bereavement leave today.
Hug your family, guys. And don't you dare die before them.