I had not planned to work at home the next day, Monday. However, there were factors in the morning that made it seem best for me to start the day at home and then go into work later. Then I realized that I might not want to be around work on this day, when people might still be reeling from Sandy's death. I had made my peace with it.

Ironically, I had a very rewarding work day. I accomplished something that made me very happy, and I wanted to crow about it, but today would not have been a good day to do that at work. So I was glad that I could be happy about it in the privacy of my own home, and share it later when the time was more appropriate.

I learned from my friend Martha, who was on instant messaging, that at least one member of Sandy's ex-team was "falling apart". I heard nothing else about how people were taking it. I was waffling about whether or not to go to her memorial service, but figured that I would if people I could go with were also going.

On Wednesday, the day of the service, I was able to go. I rode there with John and Will, and our mood was anything but somber. We were not yet immersed in the context of a memorial service, so we were joking around like we would always do.

I had figured that the memorial would be packed, but I had not visualized the space in which the memorial would take place. The last time I'd been to a funeral, the venue had been medium-sized, so I was envisioning a medium-sized place being packed with people I would recognize from work.

The actual memorial service was at a very large Presbyterian church, and was certainly packed with people, but the mourners did not consist entirely of work people. There were many others from other parts of Sandy's life. I realized I'd been silly to forget that Sandy would have a whole life outside of work, just like anyone else. The people who presented eulogies were moved to tears, having been extremely close to Sandy. Not one single person from work addressed the congregation. I was surprised, given how major a figure she had been.

Her friends sketched a more complete picture for me and, I'm sure, many others who had only known her from work. She was well-loved by her friends, and clearly had a close network of people who probably stood in for the family she lacked in Ann Arbor, with her extended family living elsewhere, and having been divorced. Her children turned out to be a thirteen-year-old girl and a 17- or 18-year-old girl just about to go away to college.

John and Will had to leave early, so I was getting a ride back from Martha. I had a chance to witness people leaving the service and congregating outside on the sidewalk. I saw plenty of people from work, but I also saw plenty of people from other parts of her life. I also saw two girls who must have been her daughters. The younger one wore on her face a fierce expression. I wondered how it felt to her to be completely bereft of parents, and to have her only sibling about to leave home for college. Where did that leave her?

Sandy's friends had made it clear in their eulogies that these girls would not want for parenting. But nothing could make up for the loss of the mothering that Sandy had given to her girls. No matter how adversarial a teenager might feel towards his or her parents, I don't think that any teen is literally ready to live without any parents. I also saw that many of these girls' friends were at the memorial - girls who looked very young and vulnerable, themselves.

Those of us from work were looking around, perhaps to see who else from work had showed up. Obviously, the people who had worked very closely with her were there. But I had no view into the impact this was having on their lives. Later, I heard more analysis of how people were taking this, but most of that is too personal to be a part of this narrative. One perspective I did hear, however, was a more universal one. Apparently, a number of the middle managers in our division are around Sandy's age. The "natural causes" death of a person this age had shaken up some same-aged people considerably.

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Table of Contents: The Death and Mourning of Sandy Colombo