I feel sad.
I didn’t actually know the coworker who died, but I remember passing him in the halls and every time I’d muse that he so strikingly resembles my dad, when he was a young man. He was a slight Asian man, eyes averted, encased in his reclusive bubble of personal space. An eternal student, like my dad. Only my dad is a linguist, with 14 languages under his belt and a doctorate. My coworker collected engineering degrees, and studied music.
I feel sad for the lonely life I imagine he lived. I don’t think he had a partner. He had no children. The picture on the leaflet from his memorial service was taken at work. A shy face, a rumpled shirt, a badge lanyard around his neck. I find this sad as well, that there would be no pictures of a social or loving nature, from family or friends.
I’m not sure why this shakes me so, other than it stirs thoughts that stir more thoughts. My dad just turned 83, and he’s amicable to me now. I try not to be wistful, and try to let go the wish that my parents had been more nurturing. Even so, some wistfulness bubbles to the top once in a while. It helps remind me to be more deliberate in nurturing my own dear ones.
And then there’s Mary. Her world is shaken now, and I have a little notion of what she may be going through, and I tremble. I squeeze my eyes shut and wish for her with all my might — strength and courage and peace and grace. I send these thoughts to her.
Maybe also it’s the remnants of the recent bushfire horrors, that stir these fraught emotions within me.
So I feel sad.
MsCellania Says:
