Wretched week

Monday morning I learned that a co-worker and his wife were in a terrible car accident on Sunday evening. She didn't survive. I use the word co-worker lightly. At my place of business, we often work into the wee hours of the morning. We huddle around a table in the center of the production room and swap crazy stories, sing karaoke, or quote British movies at one another. We order Chinese and eat off of each other's plates. We ask about each other's dogs, weekend plans, and most recent adventures. We are friends.

To hear of Steve's loss tore me apart. I sat in T's office, disbelieving what she just told me. "Layla didn't make it..." Those words lingered in the air. Pain stabbed at my chest. I only met her once, but the way she affected Steve's life and the way he talked about her were enough for me to feel like I had known her for years. Although I have only known Steve for a year, a few midnight madness projects have made it seem more like decades.

My heart ached for him. I covered my face and cried. The longer the week wore on, the more I hurt. Not just my heart, my whole existence. We went to the viewing together. I was strong for Steve for a few moments. He told us this:

My sister said that the only way I could have survived would have been if Layla had become an angel at the moment she died. She must have protected me and kept me safe.

I couldnt breathe. Im a spiritual person and a hopeless romantic. That was too much -- too heartfelt. I was able -- by the grace of God -- able to control myself in that moment. Later, once we were outside, I fell apart. I cried and my voice cracked. I still hurt for Steve.

Thursday, the office closed down early and we all went to the memorial service together. I lost it over and over again. Laylas friends spoke of her, of Steve, of all of their cherished moments together. Her brother told stories, made us laugh, and made us cry. The priest tried to offer peace, understanding, and perhaps a bit of religion. A young tenor performed the most glorious Ave Maria I have ever heard. I cried again.

I couldnt figure out why this affected me so. As I said, I only met Layla once. But to see the compassion that her friends had for her, to know how much she was loved, and to know that she was gone forever was just overwhelming. To know that her husband was robbed of his bride. . . To know that this bride could be robbed of her husband in the blink of an eye. . .

I hope that we all move on soon. I hope that Steve can pick up the pieces. I hope that Sheridan will be alright. My heart aches for her as much as it does for Steve. Friends like Layla only come once in a life time. Its such a shame her life ended so suddenly and so early in life.

Most of all, I hope I remember. I hope that I keep in my heart the way this tragedy has made me feel. I hope that I remember that saving $4 and staying in for the evening is not always the best option. I hope that I remember that putting your dishes in the dishwasher in the proper order is, in the end, irrelevant. I hope I remember to leave my laptop at home and save work for tomorrow. Life is what's now. Love is what's now. I hope Layla taught me that, even if in death.