Death in the Office
Life's most tragic outcome, right across the room
My coworker died last week.
Mike Haines was his name. He was diagnosed with Stage 4 esophageal cancer in early summer. It progressed fast enough for him to stop working roughly six months after the diagnosis.
It was pretty devastating news. I heard it first, from his wife over the phone. It wasn’t shocking, considering that other complications had popped up in the prior months, but it’s hard to wrap your head around the idea that someone can deteriorate that quickly.
The funeral was Saturday. Sorry, “celebration of life.” It was a celebration, of sorts, but it’s hard to smile about someone’s life while crying at the same time.
It was a unique experience for me, as I had known Mike for just 10 months. I started working at HMC in April, sharing an office space with Mike. I couldn’t see him, as we have privacy walls up in the office. But I could look straight forward and know he was back there.
We both loved music and, as the person controlling the music, I tried to play something I knew Mike would like. He wasn’t super picky; as long as it was classic rock or something close, I knew he’d be fine with it. I knew the bands he hated, too, and tried to stay away from those.
I’d hear him hum to songs he loved and tap on his desk to the beat of the drums. He’d laugh at the dumb radio station commercials in between.
As the disease progressed, he wasn’t in the office as much. He’d come in late, go home early, and miss certain days if he had treatment. Eventually, he couldn’t come in at all anymore.
The last day I saw him, he came in to say goodbye to everybody. He shook my hand and said, “I just can’t worry about PMS colors anymore.”
Now, I stare forward at the privacy walls around his desk and know he’ll never sit back there again. I’ll never hear him hum, I’ll never hear him complain about the customers we were both annoyed by, I’ll never see him get startled again when I turn the corner a little too quiet.
I’ll never again hear him say, “Do you give a shit if I head out early?”
He headed out a little earlier than anyone hoped he would. Mike just turned 55. It’s a good, long life in many ways. But it’s short of almost anyone’s goal.
But, he was suffering. Out of nowhere, seemingly, Mike was strapped with his horrific curse. A tumor in his throat, so bad he couldn’t even swallow. Then, everything that came along with that. You hate to see someone go so soon, but under the circumstances, it’s good that his spirit can find a much more suitable home.
In the past year, I’ve been confronted with death a lot more than I’m comfortable with. It’s a natural part of life, and I’ve always understood that. But seeing it so often now has been a wake-up call in a lot of ways.
The switch can flip in an instant, and your plans aren’t important enough to stop that.
Make your days count and prioritize love wherever you can.
Rest in peace, Mike.