I just finished a huge freelance project, beginning with a logo design and culminating in business cards, labels, brochures and beautiful, glossy, full color promotional cards, plus (2) 8-foot-by-3-foot trade-show banners, for a very generous, enjoyable and personable (freelance!) client.
I texted him last night to let him know that I had received the printed products and that they looked amazing. When could I deliver them?
He texted me to say he might be out of touch for a bit while he “collects himself” after the sudden passing of his 18-year-old son.
Needless to say, I was shocked! He’s never talked much about his family, but he is always happy and busy and sociable. Frequently our business meetings become like therapy sessions for me; he seems to be, often, protective of me and truly concerned about my life, my future. At his beckoning, I might add.
Then, this afternoon (after my boss told me I need to take tomorrow off and work extra hours on Thursday so that he can be with his daughter-in-law when they induce labor), an emotional mother and daughter came into the shop, needing a memorial card done for their suddenly deceased father and husband. I created a beautiful piece of art for them in under an hour and my boss charged them only our cost.
Even later, near closing time, the front office clerk at the local newspaper came in needing an obituary postcard done for the sudden passing of her mother-in-law. She needed the memorial cards, now, while she waited. Again, we rose to the occasion and charged her next-to-nothing.
While Kathy waited, I commented on the fact that she was the third person in two days that I had talked to who were dealing with people who had suddenly passed. She then told me about two more local families who had, in the last several days, experienced similar situations, both involving suicide. They involved a 12-year-old boy and, in another family, a 30-something wife-and-mother. She also told me that she had heard that John’s son had committed suicide. Every one of the suicides was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.
The population in my town is under 5,000. (What is 4,763 divided by 5?)
I said to Kathy, “This is crazy.”
Kathy said, “It’s the devil.”
I think it’s time to leave. And God willing, I will be leaving the devil behind, yes I will.