Today I went to my boss’s funeral. Hm, such a bizarre thing to say — “my boss’s funeral.” I googled that exact term and the first hit was a joke:
Going to my boss’s funeral tomorrow morning. Gonna wear a black tie. If there’s a cold snap I’m gonna wear trousers too.
The rest of the hits were a mess of teases, taunts, and tributes.
It was a beautiful Sunday, the type of day that, had we not been attending my boss’s funeral, would warrant a trip to New Hampshire to bag another 4000-footer. If my boss had been the type of nightmare boss who infringed on my personal happiness, I would grumble “Stupid dead boss, always making me work.” But my boss was a kind man who never begrudged anyone of a fulfilling work/life balance.
My relationship with my boss was actually rather distant. He was my manager for only 16 months, ever since I returned to the company after leaving for a brief and inauspicious dalliance with a start-up. We got along well, but our relationship was nonsymbiotic: I didn’t need him in order to do my job, and he didn’t need me in order to do his. Entire days would go by where we wouldn’t have a need to talk professionally. And he was so focused on his work that the opportunity for personal discussion arose infrequently. We talked about sports, mostly: skiing, jogging, his Tae Kwon Do achievements. But I liked him, as everyone did, and he liked me, as he did everyone.
Since my boss was the President of his temple, the funeral was well-attended. The eulogies were touching tributes to a man who was respected for his quiet intelligence and gentle leadership, as well as his devotion to his family. 46 years old, in excellent health, with such a full life… how it is possible? It is difficult for anyone to comprehend. I wish I could end this post on a comforting note, but the whole situation is bewildering. Today I went to my boss’s funeral, and it was a beautiful day, and tomorrow I will return to the office.
