Sad news
A woman that I worked with when I was first promoted to supervisor left us several months ago after she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Every time I spoke to her she remained upbeat, and always said that she was eager to come back as soon as her doctor said she could. Last Friday, one of my fellow supervisors told me that he'd spoken to her and she'd had bad news: she'd been given three months. She had a second opinion scheduled for this week.
Then he told me this morning that she'd passed away yesterday afternoon.
Her name was Merrily. What a great name, eh? And she lived up to it. When I first met her, I thought she was about my mom's age. Eventually she told me that she was actually ten years older, almost seventy years old. You'd never have known it by her big blonde hair and hearty approach to everything pleasurable in life. She liked to visit, so she'd lure the supervisors to stay at her post longer by brewing individual cups of coffee. When I told her that I tried to avoid caffeine, the very next night she showed up with a selection of herbal teas. I used to joke with her that she ought to put out a tip jar like they have at Starbucks. She had an infectious laugh, which she deployed regularly. She would call home so her dogs could hear her voice on the answering machine. Her last name was Hawaiian, even though she was not, because she'd been married to an ethnic Hawaiian. She told me stories about life on the islands, and told me I ought to go there someday, there are no nicer people anywhere. If she was an example, then I'm sure this is true. She was a bright, sunny spot in the dark of the graveyard shift.
I've missed you, Merrily, and I'm sure I will for a long while to come.
Then he told me this morning that she'd passed away yesterday afternoon.
Her name was Merrily. What a great name, eh? And she lived up to it. When I first met her, I thought she was about my mom's age. Eventually she told me that she was actually ten years older, almost seventy years old. You'd never have known it by her big blonde hair and hearty approach to everything pleasurable in life. She liked to visit, so she'd lure the supervisors to stay at her post longer by brewing individual cups of coffee. When I told her that I tried to avoid caffeine, the very next night she showed up with a selection of herbal teas. I used to joke with her that she ought to put out a tip jar like they have at Starbucks. She had an infectious laugh, which she deployed regularly. She would call home so her dogs could hear her voice on the answering machine. Her last name was Hawaiian, even though she was not, because she'd been married to an ethnic Hawaiian. She told me stories about life on the islands, and told me I ought to go there someday, there are no nicer people anywhere. If she was an example, then I'm sure this is true. She was a bright, sunny spot in the dark of the graveyard shift.
I've missed you, Merrily, and I'm sure I will for a long while to come.