New years isn’t the only time to reflect. March 7, 2011. A year ago today…
I had just gotten back from the Dominican Republic visiting and traveling with some amazing women who will be life long friends who are doing amazing things.
My job was pretty busy, but also pretty good, and I got along with most of my coworkers, and was interested in what I was doing.
I was dating someone who made me giddy and happy and cared about me in whatever way he knew how.
I was comfortable in my own skin and feeling extremely self aware in an awesome way.
I called my brother to wish him a belated happy birthday.
It was really beautiful outside for a March day.
I watched NBC Thursday night tv in pjs around noon because it was Sunday.
I fell to the floor of my East Village apartment and cried, because my Pop Pop passed away.
I told my dad when he called to tell me that Pop was sick, and then dropped my phone.
I emailed myself the metro north train schedule.
I screamed at a cab driver and for the first and only time ever, jumped out and ran away without paying, and was lost in my own neighborhood.
I sent some simple text messages just to write something I couldn’t quite grasp.
I went into work delirious and robotically, but deliberately, cleared out my inbox, and put up a personally sobering but otherwise unassuming out of office message.
I took a cab to Level 1 Improv Comedy class #6 at Magnet Theater, and laughed once or twice. Once was at a death joke, and I immediately felt sick.
I collapsed with exhaustion going home.
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Honestly, March 7, 2010 was just one sad day cloaked in a lot of things that were okay. But, it’s funny how you never forget the pain and anguish of losing something or someone so important, and what your world was like. It’s healthy to reflect either with or without a motive, but it’s equally as healthy to keep going. I don’t feel like it’s been a year, but things are different now, so I guess time has passed without me seeing it, which is good, because it means I’ve been living fully and moving forward.
Even in the days following March 7, 2010, we kept going. We cracked jokes in the limo going to the funeral, we discussed the benefits of the iPad with 70+ year old women, we relished in human contact and knowing smiles, we sincerely valued empathy (except in the form of edible arrangements), we ate (a lot). We didn’t wear all black, because that’s distasteful and sad, and we incorporated Pop’s wishes into our upcoming events and travels. Piercing grief didn’t really come until weeks and months later.
In rereading my part of his eulogy, which I wrote on the train to CT in one brain dump the following day, and my brother’s, mom’s, and uncle’s as well, I felt angry for a few minutes about how contrived it seemed – really, isn’t it just giving a book report when you employ false wit, grammatically sound narrative, and clearly delineated sections of thought? But then it hit me: it was just plain that real. Sometimes the total truth and rawness of words leads one to assume that it’s total bull, but if you can bear the truth (like, really hear it), it becomes entirely beautiful and meaningful. And the words suddenly leave the page and stay with you.
Always remember- do the right thing. Do the honest, upright, and moral thing, and you’ll never go wrong.
– Pop, to my brother, to all who listened.
Jen Bokoff 