Remembering Karen

It was hard not to notice Karen. She was over six feet tall, probably weighed nearly 200 pounds, which for her height didn't look like all that much. She had long, grey hair that fell past her shoulders and which she didn't comb after the first time in the morning.
It was who she was that you really noticed. She worked in inventory control in the back room of a Walmart. She could be seen walking up and down the aisles of the store looking for this or that item of merchandise which would show up on the records as an electronic what-the-heck-is-that, and which the ICS associates would have to go investigate. It was her job.
She came into my department frequently and handed me her Telzon, the device we use to control our inventory, so that I could go search, identify and count the item. Our interactions were friendly, with an occasional joke about the name of a shoe, usually a person's name, and then she would go on her way.
I am short of stature, so when such a large woman comes walking up to you, it's a small event. I'd see her in the back room scanning merchandise into bins or preparing carts to be stocked for the salesfloor. We'd trade jibes and I'd pretend to be someone to fear if she got in my way, which was, on the face of it, ridiculous.
In the break room at lunchtime, she would have people laughing with her direct, no nonsense opinions. She called things as they were. We all liked her.
I would occasionally see her coughing, though. Sometimes her face would turn red. She had asthma and would use an inhaler. During the recent remodel of our store she was troubled by the dust and chemicals and about a month ago she quit her job to go home and take care herself. Yesterday, one of my coworkers met me upon my arrival at work. She told me Karen died. "Her son found her," she said.
There were few details throughout the day, while awaiting my ride home I learned that Karen had multiple health problems and was on medications for different conditions. Her last moments were came from a phone call to a manager. Karen apparently told her son she was tired and was going to bed, and when he went to check on her later in the night, she had passed away.
I cannot imagine what it's like for a son to find his mother dead. I can only guess it must have been excruciating and my compassion is with him.
We have all suffered a loss. The management of my store awaits information on the funeral, and there is talk they'll allow us to go if we wish. Out of respect, I plan to be there.
It's not that I need closure. I'll still see her, walking up and down the aisles or looking over the shoulder of one of her co-workers making sure they do it right. She would still come in to the store even though she wasn't working anymore. So I guess she'll visit us. And she'll be welcome.

Tired today

Tonight I go to bed early. I'll get up at five a.m., drive to work for 7 a.m., leave at 2 p.m., go to visit my old mum and have dinner, then go back to work at 5 p.m. and stay until midnight. Then I drive home for an hour, sleep a few hours and then go back to work for 6:30 a.m. through 3:30 p.m. It's inventory time.

March Comes in

I an engaged in a war with squirrels. They've decided that knocking down the bird feeders is the best way to get at the sunflower seeds they crave. Today the weather was warm for February, above freezing. The patches of ground beneath the feeders where the black seed hulls were carelessly dropped by the bird and squirrels caught the sun's warmth and melted the snow. There the earth shows through, but not for long. It's still winter and snow is coming tonight and through tomorrow.
I can see the damage on the branches of the apple trees where the feeders hang. The squirrels are trying to chew through them. This means I'll have to buy feeder posts.
I think of the squirrels as pests and would rather not feed them, but my mother-in-law thinks they have as much a right to the seed as the birds do. She is amused by them and thinks they are clever. I don't agree, but I might find some sort of cheap corn to keep them busy while doing what I can to discourage them from too much of my seed.
I admit they are amusing to watch. One little bugger responded to my throwing bread crumbs over the snow by burrowing across the surface with his front paws, propelling himself with his back legs. When he'd find a tasty crouton, he stopped to eat it.
I'm feeding the birds because my mother feeds them, and in doing so I feel closer to her. My Dad passed away last year, and his passing makes it clearer that she may only be here for several more years. Women in my family live into their 90s and I hope she will too. There's is so much more I want to say, things I hope I told my Dad.
In his failing years He lived back in World War II in the surgical hospital where he did his work in 1943. When I saw him I just let him talk. Now I wear a 1943 steel penny around my neck in remembrance of him. Time is passing. The birds are hungry again. I think I'll pop around the old homestead to see my Mum.