The Carmen and Cindy Effect.

Just this morning, before I left for work, I spent time writing about how society isn’t built for grievers. The world just keeps on moving, with or without you.

My coworker and I drove to Lexington to interview a client who is utilizing our housing services. When we entered her apartment, admittedly, I thought Rosa was the career coach, not the client.

“She certainly doesn’t look like one of our clients,” I thought. Shame on me.

She had a framed news article of herself displayed. It was a business profile. I read it as quickly as I could without being obvious.

“She clearly has a lot of professional history. Even higher education. What happened between then and now?” I wondered.

Addiction, I guessed.

I was wrong.

It was grief.

I started the interview by asking, “Can you share what lead you to seeking assistance from Goodwill?”

She took a breath. “It started when my mother died.” She began tearing up. “Sorry,” she said.

“I’m going to pause you for a second. I know you have a bunch of strangers in your home, asking you really vulnerable questions. My mom died unexpectedly on May 4. I can’t pretend to comprehend your specific pain, but there is no one who understands the darkness and the loneliness of grief more than I do. I’m living in it.”

From there, the dynamic of the conversation shifted. She was comfortable. She explained that her twin teenagers fell into a depression after her mother – the matriarch of the family – died unexpectedly, in the same manner in which my mom died.

From there, the world kept moving on, and she couldn’t keep up. She lost her job.

I explained that if I didn’t have such a flexible employer, I’d probably lose my job, too. I go to my car or the bathroom multiple times per day to cry.

After getting through the “formal” interview, we talked about our mothers. She kept describing her mother as “bright and colorful” – always the life of the party, never meeting a stranger.

“Mine too!” I said, giddily.

She said her mom’s rule was to never leave the house without lipstick. While her mom was in the ambulance, which is ultimately where she would die, they grabbed her makeup bag for her.

My mom’s biggest fear was dying with dingy underwear on.

She told me about how her mother was avid on Facebook, almost to the point of embarrassing her. I assured her I could relate. I told her there were multiple strangers who told me they never met my mom, but they were “best friends” online.

She showed me the last picture she took of her mom, drinking a margarita on a rare night out they had together.

“What’s your mom’s name?” I asked.

“Carmen.”

“Carmen and Cindy are probably having margaritas somewhere, laughing at us meeting.”

“And posting about it to Heaven Facebook!”

On the way to the interview, Cory asked how long I expected to be there. “Ten minutes or so. Half hour max.”

I checked the time when we were leaving. It was an hour and a half. Today, I got paid to grieve with a stranger, to swap stories and memories, to feel seen and understood.

#TheCindyEffect #TheCarmenEffect