The End of the World
The end is nigh. It may seem silly to say that the world ends at the point of each individual's death, but I believe it does. For when you die, your world certainly ends.
I'm heartbroken, right now, and disappointed in myself. A former coworker of mine passed away last Sunday and today is the funeral. I missed the calling hours. I'm missing the funeral now. I can't bring myself to go.
Joe Maher was a really nice guy. He almost always had a smile on his face and told jokes quite often. He had a real cynical sense of humor at times and delivered his sarcasm with an ironic laugh. Joe often joined myself and a handful of others for group lunch outings and was always part of the group for outside-of-work activities.
Joe wasn't cut out for the work that we do. I'm not cut out for it either; I don't think anyone really is. Joe drank to attempt to wash away that emotional burden that we bear.
Joe was a big fan of "Pumped up Kicks" by Foster the People and "That's Not My Name" by the Ting Tings. You could often hear those songs blasting from his head phones three cubicles away. He whistled the whistle part of "Pumped up Kicks" quite frequently while at his desk or walking through the office.
We talked about music and bands quite a bit, Joe and I. I gave him a CD of demos. He listened to every song and gave me some feedback. He wasn't afraid to say that it wasn't his style of music and I respected him for that. Mostly, I respected him because he asked me every Friday, "how'd the gig go last night?" (meaning Caffe Lena's open mic). He didn't attend any non-open mic gigs, but he knew whenever I had one and asked me about it. Very few other people in my life have taken that much of an interest in my music... and he didn't even like it.
Joe left the job a few months ago. He talked about how a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He talked about his plans and how he felt he was free to seek out fulfillment in other ways. I was really happy for him.
I lost touch with Joe, despite promises of lunch meet ups and whatnot. His facebook presence came and went. I was quite caught up in my own life (recording, writing, playing in a band, other things) and Joe slowly crept out of my mind.
While on break at work this past Tuesday, I checked my facebook and saw a post from a friend at work who said she will miss Joe. I clicked on his page and saw more tributes to him from coworkers. I looked up from my iPhone at the table of coworkers on break and whispered in a cracked voice, "Joe died?"
Since then, I have been holding back tears. There was work to be done at work. There was recording and open mics with my band. There were other commitments that I need to attend to. There was talk around the office that a small group had been talking about Joe when a supervisor told them to go back to their desks. The supervisor had allegedly said, "Talking about it won't change anything." I haven't talked about it.
I woke up this morning later than I had intended. Perhaps, my subconscious prevented me from setting my alarm. I'm not ready to say "goodbye" to Joe. I haven't had time to deal with my feelings.
I'm disappointed that I'm not going to the funeral. Joe deserves my attendance and I failed him in that way.
For the past few days, "Pumped up Kicks" has been running through my head. I have been whistling the whistle part at work. I hope that this is enough of a tribute to Joe and makes up for my inability to attend the funeral.
I'm heartbroken, right now, and disappointed in myself. A former coworker of mine passed away last Sunday and today is the funeral. I missed the calling hours. I'm missing the funeral now. I can't bring myself to go.
Joe Maher was a really nice guy. He almost always had a smile on his face and told jokes quite often. He had a real cynical sense of humor at times and delivered his sarcasm with an ironic laugh. Joe often joined myself and a handful of others for group lunch outings and was always part of the group for outside-of-work activities.
Joe wasn't cut out for the work that we do. I'm not cut out for it either; I don't think anyone really is. Joe drank to attempt to wash away that emotional burden that we bear.
Joe was a big fan of "Pumped up Kicks" by Foster the People and "That's Not My Name" by the Ting Tings. You could often hear those songs blasting from his head phones three cubicles away. He whistled the whistle part of "Pumped up Kicks" quite frequently while at his desk or walking through the office.
We talked about music and bands quite a bit, Joe and I. I gave him a CD of demos. He listened to every song and gave me some feedback. He wasn't afraid to say that it wasn't his style of music and I respected him for that. Mostly, I respected him because he asked me every Friday, "how'd the gig go last night?" (meaning Caffe Lena's open mic). He didn't attend any non-open mic gigs, but he knew whenever I had one and asked me about it. Very few other people in my life have taken that much of an interest in my music... and he didn't even like it.
Joe left the job a few months ago. He talked about how a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He talked about his plans and how he felt he was free to seek out fulfillment in other ways. I was really happy for him.
I lost touch with Joe, despite promises of lunch meet ups and whatnot. His facebook presence came and went. I was quite caught up in my own life (recording, writing, playing in a band, other things) and Joe slowly crept out of my mind.
While on break at work this past Tuesday, I checked my facebook and saw a post from a friend at work who said she will miss Joe. I clicked on his page and saw more tributes to him from coworkers. I looked up from my iPhone at the table of coworkers on break and whispered in a cracked voice, "Joe died?"
Since then, I have been holding back tears. There was work to be done at work. There was recording and open mics with my band. There were other commitments that I need to attend to. There was talk around the office that a small group had been talking about Joe when a supervisor told them to go back to their desks. The supervisor had allegedly said, "Talking about it won't change anything." I haven't talked about it.
I woke up this morning later than I had intended. Perhaps, my subconscious prevented me from setting my alarm. I'm not ready to say "goodbye" to Joe. I haven't had time to deal with my feelings.
I'm disappointed that I'm not going to the funeral. Joe deserves my attendance and I failed him in that way.
For the past few days, "Pumped up Kicks" has been running through my head. I have been whistling the whistle part at work. I hope that this is enough of a tribute to Joe and makes up for my inability to attend the funeral.