I’m at the end of an era.
Eleven years ago, I asked friends of mine to pray for me as I looked to find a suitable location amidst odd circumstances for my counselling office. I only wanted a part time practice at the time for one person. A good friend of mine answered my prayer before it was prayed…sometimes the power of prayer takes interesting turns that surprises. He had an empty office at his business. It was perfect.
Wow! What a set up!
I have loved working there, and G and his business partners have been great to work with over the years. My practice grew from part time to full time, then with added therapists and administrative staff. Our business arrangement developed with the changes. And our friendship evolved too. Eleven years of the usual, “So how was your weekend?” on Monday morning and sometimes, “Doing anything special tonight?” closer to the end of the day.
Eleven years of life as we pass by the office of the other, and hear of the little sillinesses of what happened in our families that was funny the day before, celebrating the love we each have with our own families, or sustained periods of heaviness when there was health challenges or family tragedy in one or the other of our lives. There were years when the office gathered together for a common lunch once a week, or all went out for dinner at Christmas. The quality of the butter sauce for the Christmas cake at the Faculty Club at the University of Manitoba for our Christmas lunch was a source of animated discussion annually. There was always work to be done, but with the sort of friendship I have with G. and his wife, we often took a few minutes to “be there” for each other. Though we didn’t work for the same company, we were co-workers, and we were also friends.
And now he has retired.
He’s not gone completely, as he has a post modern version of retired…he’ll still be around one day a week for months yet, but the day to day checking to see if there is something he has in his lunch that’s yummy, or seeing if someone has bought the coffee, or hearing (whether I want to or not) what the latest Apple/Mac innovation is, is over.
Judith Viorst in her book, Necessary Losses, writes about how each experience of moving forward in life has an inevitable “good bye” to it, and so even exciting new ventures in life can have an undercurrent of melancholy as other ways of living end, and goodbyes to ways of life, or friendships, or ways of thinking are left behind. Those goodbyes can be painful even as they open up space to allow for new opportunities and ways of being. The goodbyes can be an important part of growing, to say goodbye to things whose time is done, to make way for what could be.
Our culture does funerals well…casseroles, cards, services, burials, hugs, obituaries, eulogies and all sort of ritual that acknowledges the loss, and helps the living acknowledge who is no longer living. And while deeply sad, sometimes heartbreaking, these rituals are…which can then make them excruciatingly difficult, they are healing in some way. They are ways in which support is given and received, the pain of loss is validated. These rituals put a sort of punctuation onto the loss, which is a way to turn a corner on the process, a reference point to look back on, and a way that makes public the significance of the loss. Ritual makes the loss important in a public way.
So, the night before G’s last regular day of work, as I was contemplating the not-insignificant loss of having a buddy become a much less significant part of my life, I reflected back on the years . One of the things I remembered was the fondness we each have for junk food, but the underlying desire we eave have to live relatively healthy lives.
Let’s face it, McDonald’s may not be good for you, but it is pretty yummy. And sometimes, not very often, it would happen that we both had a bit of a gap over lunch to actually have time to eat (I rarely take a lunch break), and neither of us would have packed anything (I have a stash of fiber bars that I can use for most days when I haven’t brought anything, but, well, I can be convinced), and one of us would say, “Hey, would you want half a burger?” Even if something only happens 3 or 4 times a year, but it happens over 11 years, there’s a silent understanding of the routine.
Burger cut in half (Quarter Pounder or Big Mac, or we’d get adventurous and try “the new burger” at the time. He would get the pickles.), 2 plates that
each get half the fries, and half of the Diet Coke would go from the paper cup into a glass one (he’d get the glass, because I like drinking from a straw). Half a Big Mac is practicing moderation, and so it was a delightful treat, and I got a MickyD’s “fix” without all the guilt. Usually he would go pick it up, and I would forget to give him my half of the cost for a couple of days, but then I’d remember. It was familiar, and it was comfortable…a ritual occasionally shared by two colleagues that was comfortable.
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So, on Friday morning, when G arrived at work, I asked him if I could go get us lunch one last time. He laughed and agreed (he may have brought a lunch and just didn’t say anything). I went and got it, and, for the last time, cut the burger in half, distributed the fries, and we ate together.
It was the usual fun—a little break in a busy day, but also a little sad, a sort of funeral for how this won’t happen anymore.I suspect that there will be a more proper retirement function for him and I hope to be part of that. Half of a deluxe Quarter Pounder” is hardly a respectable retirement send off. I get that. But it was kinda nice, kinda bittersweet to share one last burger with G, like we had done over the years, one last half-burger to remember, because it will never happen again. |
I’ll remember that half-burger because of all the “half burgers”, “good morning’s”, “good night’s”, “have a good weekend’s”, “how are your kids”, chuckles, giggles, “come look at this crazy thing on youtube”, “is there any cream?”, “what’s your opinion on…” it represents.
Thanx, G, for your presence across the hall all these years. It won’t be the same without you. Enjoy the time this frees up for your family, your interests, and new adventures. But, when you go to McDonald’s and eat a whole Big Mac all by yourself, feel a little guilty, k?
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