For several years now, around the holidays, the ad agency where I work has had a little afternoon Christmas party for people's kids, including a visit from Santa (a.k.a one of our graphic designers, who has naturally Santa-like attributes, and actually does the Santa gig professionally this time of year).
We've sort of introduced the character of Santa Claus to the girls, through books and things. I was hoping that when we brought them in for the party yesterday, maybe they'd make the connection between the guy in the red suit they'd seen pictures of and the guy in the red suit sitting there in the conference room. Barring that, I thought maybe they'd agree to sit on his lap, seeing as both of their grandfathers have beards, and the idea of being held by a big, hairy guy wouldn't be too scary to them. But no.
They were, not surprisingly, rather spooked by the whole thing. (I should have some pictures to share in a few days.) But they loo-o-o-o-ved the Christmas music, the cookies, and the juice boxes -- which they are gradually becoming more proficient at drinking from. Not easy to master, the juice box. Hold it just a little too tightly and you've got yourself a real situation. And that bendy straw can be tricky...Several times I had to help the girls when they were attempting to suck on the bend of it, instead of the end of it.
It was a nice little gathering, but also bittersweet, which is the real thing I wanted to write about today. I had trouble keeping the tears back, and I don't think I was alone. There was someone who would have and should have been there with her 1-1/2 year old baby boy (I'm pretty sure they would have come in spite of being Jewish) but wasn't. Her name was Melanie, and she'd been one of our traffic managers (sort of like a project manager for those who don't speak ad agency lingo). She died this past Thursday. She was only 33 years old.
Her death was strange and unexpected. She had a virus called CMV that's very common and usually benign, but can be deadly in people with a compromised immune system. Because Mel took immunosuppressants for Crohn's disease, her body wasn't strong enough to fight it. She stayed home sick for a couple of weeks starting in late October, then went into the hospital when the virus started to attack her respiratory system. We all knew she was seriously ill, but we just assumed she would eventually get better and come back to work. Of course she would! She was our Mel! So young and energetic -- an enthusiastic mom and wife; a constant, cheerful presence in the office. She was part of the fabric of the place.
But she didn't come back, and she never will, and I can't quite get my head around it.
Mel and I weren't friends outside of work, but when you work with someone day in and day out for years, especially at a small-ish company, they end up feeling almost like family. You bond over crazy clients and ridiculous deadlines. You get annoyed at each other and then forgive each other. You have shared jokes and memories.
Melanie's and my pregnancies overlapped, and as the only two new moms in the office at the time, we talked a lot about the ups and downs of being pregnant and taking care of newborns. I gave her my old maternity clothes and my body pillow. She always asked me about Elsa and Clio, and was an occasional reader of this blog, too.
I guess this is all a little bit off-topic. But I just needed to share this news, and honor Mel somehow. My heart goes out to her husband and son and the rest of her family. And to her, wherever she is.
Melanie and her son, Tyler -- taken by a friend of hers last spring.
