Ton of Bricks

I just got hit by that proverbial ton of bricks. I don't even know how to put this into words, so I'm going to just start typing, trying to organize my thoughts the best that I can. I apologize in advance for any rambling, because I'm sure I will.

How can someone seemingly just drop off the face of the earth, and then, three months later, just pick up the phone and call you like nothing ever happened?

As some of you may know, a guy that I worked with tried to kill himself a few months ago. I work in a small office, with only 4-7 people employed here at any given time. In a small place like this, you get to know each other really well. Although we never hung out away from work, I still thought of him as a friend. I talked to him every single day about whatever it is that was happening in our lives. He made me mad sometimes. I'm sure I made him mad sometimes, too. In the end, though, he was still my friend.

We all knew that he had family problems, but out of respect, we didn't ask any questions. We only knew whatever information that he volunteered to us. Because of his family problems, some days he would be quieter than usual and other days were good days, where he would be chatty, and joke around about stuff. He had normal moods just like the rest of us.

On "the day that it happened," he was quiet. Unfortunately, none of us really paid much attention, because as I said, he had days like that. The next day, I came into work, and found out about the whole thing.

I was shocked. I never expected him to do something like this. I was sad that he felt that suicide was his only option. I was afraid that although he survived the attempt itself, the resulting medical issues may get him in the end. I had a lot of conflicting feelings about the whole situation; feelings that I've had months to consider, talk about, analyze, and come to terms with. In the end (or what I thought was the end), I was sad that he felt this was his only option. I was relieved that he survived. I was hopeful that he would get help.

Something else that I had to deal with, were the unanswered questions. You go from seeing someone nearly daily for two years, thinking you know them, to never seeing them again. They disappeared with no explanation, no good bye. When someone dies, you have a funeral. The funeral is not for the person that died. That person is dead. What do they care? The funeral is for the family and friends that survived. It provides them with closure. It gives an opportunity to gather with other people that cared about the deceased, and talk about their effect in their lives. It brings peace of mind.

In this case, there was no peace of mind. I wanted to go and see him in the hospital, but because of his wife, I didn't do that. I wanted to be able to pick up the phone and just let him know that we care about what happens to him. I wasn't able to do that because his wife had his phone.

To make matters worse, his wife created all kinds of problems here, almost causing our boss to lose his job over something that he had nothing to do with. Our boss had no control over whether this person tried to kill himself or not. He had no control over how this person's wife acted. Yet, because of the situation, it looked bad on him, and for a few weeks there, we thought every day was going to be his last day. We were all trying to figure out "back up plans" just in case something, somewhere, that was said sometime, was taken out of context and we lost our job because of it.

So, here I am, three months later and I only think about the whole situation once every couple of days now. His name comes up sometimes, when customers ask about having something done, "Can _______ come out and check my tank?" I have to explain that he no longer works here. Or a customer will call with the same first name as him. I immediately think of him, every time I hear that first name. Little things make me think of him, and I'm caught off guard. I've gotten a lot better, though. Well enough that I wasn't aware that I was even seriously bothered by it. I'd heard he'd survived. I'd heard that he was getting help. I never expected to see or hear from him again.

Then he called.

[Phone rings]
Me: Gas Incorporated, this is Brenda.
Him: Hey, Brenda {my heart started pounding before I realized whose voice it was}, this is ___________. Is Doug around?
Me. No, he's out setting a tank right now. How are you? {feeling sick to my stomach, heart pounding, hands shaking}
Him: I'm doing a lot better. I've been in Florida for the past 45 days, getting help. I'm going through with the divorce. I'm finally getting things straightened out in my life.

I won't bother with the rest of the conversation. The point is that I don't even know what to do with that snippet of conversation, emotionally. I'm freaked out. I want to cry from relief. I want to yell at him for doing this to everyone that cares about him. I want to hug him to know that he has finally gotten the help he needs. I can't even begin the whole range of emotions. I'm in shock.

But it gets worse. He's coming here. He wanted to have lunch with my boss, just to talk, but the corporate office put a block on that. I was told that it was better that they don't see each other. So, here I am, left with some paperwork and a message for him.

I want to see him, to confirm in my own mind, that he is still alive.
I want to see him smile again.
I want to see my old friend and know in person that he will be ok.
The other part of me wants to lock the office door and leave for lunch, and pretend like we'd never even spoken.
I don't want to be the one to tell him that my boss came back, gave me the papers and message, and left again.
I don't know if I can face him. I'm not sure I have the strength to deal with this... not today, not ever.
I thought I wanted to just see him one more time, but now that I'm getting that opportunity, I want to run away screaming.
It's like being haunted.
I feel like he's a ghost.
It's not real.
How do I wrap my mind around that in the next 25 minutes in order to keep myself together when he's here?

I don't know.