Missing Barbara

Barbara was a force to be reckoned with in the office. With her perfectly coifed white hair and sturdy build, her walk was more of a determined march. Feisty and fearless, she began her conversations with an emphatic “WELL”, throwing out her open palms as if she was presenting a gift to you that was wrapped her in opinion.

Like it or not, you knew where you stood with Barbara. She was too seasoned to deal with what she considered ‘foolishness’ and had no qualms telling me what she would do differently if she were the manager, which was pretty much everything. Age did not slow Barbara down, as the stories of her weekend escapades alone would wear me out. She loved her family, her friends and her life. 

Nothing could stop Barbara. Except Cancer.

She told me about her diagnosis the same way she talked about everything, “WELL... they say I only have a few months to live”, then she moved on to more mundane office issues as I struggled to comprehend the immensity of what she had just told me.

Barbara had Cancer, and she was pissed.

She had family to love and trips to take, and Cancer was not going to mess with her. So she tried to ignore it, which lasted about a week, as she lost weight and became noticeably jaundiced and fatigued.

The last time I saw Barbara was the day she realized that as much as she wanted to ignore Cancer, it wasn’t going away. I was on the phone, and glanced up in time to see her walk by with a look I’ve never seen in her eyes before: fear. As she hesitantly waved to me, I knew she wouldn’t be coming back.

Not long after, we received an email from her daughter that ‘our Barbara’, feisty and full of life, was resting comfortably in a hospice and not receiving visitors.

I was instantly reminded of a phrase I’ve heard before: In those times when there is nothing you can do, do something anyhow.

So we did. We made a goodbye movie.

The idea struck fear into the heart of our HR Department, as well the staff who weren’t sure if a goodbye movie was the best idea ever, or the worst idea ever. But with the blessing of Barbara’s daughter and her mother who ‘couldn’t wait for the premiere’, production began. 

In the three days it took us to make our video homage, we learned more about Barbara than we had for the seven years we worked with her. We learned that it was easier to make a list of things that annoyed her than things she liked. We learned that she had a strong opinion about everything, and a comical story for everyone. And we learned that at the end of the day, we are family. And when one of us is missing, we all feel the loss.

I would outline our step-by-step movie making process, but in the end it speaks for itself.

It speaks of friendship.

It speaks of love.

But most importantly, it speaks of life.

If making the movie kept Barbara alive, wrapping it up was heartbreaking. We sent it off in an email link to her family with a prayer that it would make it in time, and after two agonizingly silent days we got word that Barbara had not only watched it, but gave it two big thumbs up.

Just a few months after her diagnosis, and a week after we delivered our movie, Barbara died.

I still have a hard time writing those words, because when I watch our movie it feels like she is still here, so much so I can almost hear her telling me how everything I do is wrong.

Except for making our goodbye movie, the one thing I’m certain she would agree I did right.

http://youtu.be/F2Lrzz1MXwY.

My Week with the Rich and Famous

Co-workers were practically tripping over themselves to be the first to tell someone the news: a movie was being filmed in our building.

Working in Boston, it’s not unusual to see movie set signs (large yellow signs with block lettering giving location instructions to the crew), and sightings of stars are no rarity. I even heard one Southie resident sold her toilet seat cover on E-Bay after Ben Affleck knocked on her door during a movie shoot and kindly asked if he could use her bathroom.

But this was different. The stars weren’t in the area, around the block or down the street. They were IN THE BUILDING, and we were going to find them. Because they were not small stars- they were Oscar winner Jennifer Lawrence, Oscar nominee Bradley Cooper as well as Christian Bale, Amy Adams and Jeremy Renner (OK, so I had to goggle a few to see who they were, but I was assured they were BIG).

And they were on the 8^th floor.

The 8^th floor suddenly became something akin to Area 51 in Roswell, full of mystery and secrecy. The button everyone dared someone else to push, the floor where the “beautiful people” were.

 
While I did not personally have a direct brush with fame in the elevator, it was painfully apparent who was going to push the magic ‘8’, and who was going to grind out another long, stressful day at the office on one of the floors the regular folk worked on.

One rainy morning, I blew through the parking lot with my hood up, wet hair plastered across my face, dragging along my ratty pink briefcase on wheels in one hand and a two-wheeler loaded with breakfast food in the other only to see ‘him’, who I swear was Stanley Tucci or at least very Stanley Tucci-ish. And it was immediately and painfully obvious how different our lives are.

His shoes were Italian leather, a color and texture “pleather” will never capture. His jeans were way too cool with the perfect amount of intentional aging not available from any retail chain. His white shirt was crisply starched and bright, not slightly grey and wrinkled from being tossed in with the rest of the laundry. I speculated that I could retire comfortably on the value of his jewelry alone, and I swear I saw his white teeth twinkle like an Orbit gum commercial.

Then he pushed ‘8’.

I contemplated pressing ‘9’ just to stare a little longer and get a peak at the holy grail on the 8^th floor, as I imagined a glowing light would beam through the elevator door crack just before it opened and angels would sing. But I was suddenly and painfully aware that I bought my boots on sale for $20 at DSW, I’m wearing a plastic hair appliance from CVS and I have hangnails, so I got off where I deserved to get off, the lowly 5^th floor.

My 2^nd brush with the almost famous or certainly rich came as I rushed to catch the elevator to the gym mid- afternoon. I tossed my duffle bag into the closing doors and barged my way in to find myself almost certainly with someone who is quite possibly somebody affiliated with something big. He did not appear to be stressed enough to have a regular job, and he was holding something that looked a lot like a script. “Quite an entrance” he commented with a smile, “You’ve earned a big checkmark” after which he drew a checkmark on his notepad. And I, for some reason, thought this was awesome.

The Hollywood week continued, with people making statements such as “I told Amy Adams she was beautiful!” “Jeremy Renner wished me good luck with my scratch tickets!” and “I saw Christian Bale smoking a cigarette!”

In those moments when lifestyles collide, we imagine everyone is more fortunate than us. I’m sure that Bradley Cooper’s car is not full of dents from grocery carts being rammed into the doors, Jennifer Lawrence doesn’t journey obsessively to the basement to check her heating oil level, and none of them have to worry about making it to the next bi-weekly payroll period.

But there’s a reason why envy is one of the seven deadly sins. Nothing good can come from it, and most of the glory we imagine everyone else but us is enjoying is just that – our imagination. And besides, there are a lot more glorious things in this world than being rich and famous.

 
Like family, good friends, and finding a pair of awesome leather boots on sale for $20 at DSW- Score!