Perspective

The day after being fired I was still reeling with shock.  There is so much about it that makes absolutely no sense (I've done my job well by everyone's account.  Business has picked up notably.  There's a long history between my family and that of the bosses so there's a very personal element to all of this which makes it a bit more painful).  I've spoken with my coworkers and none of them see any reason for this either.  I have my theories as to what constituted the "chemistry" problem. If I'm right my former bosses could not possibly admit it unless they wanted to leave themselves wide open to a lawsuit.  Of course, I have no way to actually document it though.  I decided the day after loosing my job would be dedicated to myself.  I didn't have a plan beyond, "I'm not doing anything that doesn't feel good."  I packed up my camera. I went for lunch and left a 100% tip and a note for the waitress thanking her because she did her job well, was a pleasant person, and I know she has a generally thankless job. I spoke with some friends and wandered around.  I eventually wound up at a local cemetery.  Long-time readers may know that I have a fondness for them and have been known to escape to them in times of stress.  As soon as I drove through the rows of trees standing like sentries I began to feel calmer.

Cemeteries are quiet, and usually empty.  If living people are there they aren't interested in interacting so you don't have to worry about managing to come up with small talk or other inanities.  This one has a lot of lovely trees.  The weather was gorgeous.  The shade was inviting.  I discovered this spot that seemed like a nice hiding spot.

Cemeteries can have some amazing craftsmanship too.  This bit of stone-cutting on the corner of a headstone was beautifully done. It made me feel like I was being watched but not in a creepy way, just as if the histories of all the folks there were mingling with my own.  The combined trials and triumphs of generations of people were whispering that they had their lives and I had mine and there are no guarantees but I'm still walking among the living so I need to keep moving forward.

I looked up and saw the "babyland" section of the cemetery.  That's exactly what it sounds like.  This cemetery has a spot dedicated for children and it donates plots to the families needing them.  I know this because I know three babies buried there.  Out of respect for those families, no pictures, but I went to pay my respects and I said a prayers for the parents who know a grief I cannot imagine.  I was reminded there are far worse things to lose than a job.  I remembered how scared I was for the year Calypso was so terribly ill.  I gave thanks that she has been restored and that all three of my children are alive and well.

When I came home flowers had been delivered.  The card read, "We all still think you're a keeper."  It was signed by Mr. Lime and each of the kids.  When he got home he told me each of the children had actually contributed to the cost of the flowers.  I cried.  This time it was because of kindness and love shown to me.