Coulda. Shoulda. Woulda.

What do people do with guilt?

Let it eat at them?

Carry it along in the repressed places of their minds?

Let it go?

Friday was the first day that I felt guilt again. It slowly seeped in, occupying space. Dominating my thoughts. I'm feeling it's weight on my throat...

A lady I used to work with had been on my mind a lot lately. When I first came to my good ole government job she was one of the Sistagirls I lunched with who schooled me on the ways of the organization folks. She was from Baltimore and commuted all the way to DC everyday for her temporary assignment (not that Baltimore is that far-30 miles-but it’s still far to come just to work). These assignments allow people from different offices to make more money and learn about a different position. Most beg to go on these assignments under the guise of personal skill enrichment but it’s mostly about the money…mo money, mo money, mo money!

At any rate we become good work friends during her stay. She was my lunch buddy. My “I hate this job” soapbox audience. My source of office gossip. My off da hook-all meat-no-bread crabcake provider. My bootleg CD supplier. My knowing partner in the trenches of the job. A very supportive presence after the death of my grandfather in ‘05. An example of a strong black woman working. Trying to make it for herself, her children and their children.

It was a sad day for me when her assignment wasn’t extended and back home to Baltimore she went amid our promises to keep in touch and hang out one weekend. But ya’ll know how it is when life gets going. You forget and neglect stuff. We kept in touch less often. But after more time than usual passed, I emailed her to quote-unquote check in this past September. She replied that things weren’t going too well on her end, but that she would have to tell me about it later. I don’t know if these things were personal or job related (because the job had been crazy for a minute). I was concerned and eagerly awaited her tale. After all you never expect someone to tell you things aren’t good when you check in with them, we just want to hear their happy readers digest update on life.

But she never got back to me. And when I really realized this about a month ago I told myself that I had to call her. But it slipped my mind. When I did call her cell about two weeks ago, an automated voice told me that she was no longer a subscriber. When my friend found her house number through Google, it rang busy. When I tried to email, her address was gone from our network. Yet when I found out on Friday that she died from a massive heart attack about a month ago, I was still surprised.

Now guilt is causing me to think about this. A lot. I Coulda done a better job of keeping in touch. I Shoulda visited her like I said I was going to. I Woulda warned her this was going to happen to her…had I known. I know that’s crazy right? But this is where my mind goes. Because I’m talking about someone who was in her fifties (like my parents). Not old like my great-grandmother who was 101 when she died. Not sick, like my grandmother who slowly died from Colon cancer. Not living in the face of death like the soldiers in the Middle-East.

And though we didn’t talk everyday, weren't BFFs, it sucks to know that I don’t even have the option to say “Heeeeey, girl” and hear her say the same. That maybe she didn't know that I cared despite my delayed follow up. That the “one day…” I planned on will never take place.

I'm not an overtly affectionate person, but I wonder if my family and friends know just how much I do love them? Even when I don't say it first or daily, and my actions may lead them to assume that I don't. Guilt keeps pressing, saying I could have done better when I had the chance.

Damn. You will be missed MVJ.

See You in Seven



PS. Heart disease is a leading cause of death for women. Black women in particular.