Fiddling with the seating chart and setting up her station, a knock on the locked front door startled her. She glanced up to see a very handsome, uniformed young man, smiling back at her from the other side of the glass. The sparkle in his eyes lit up the entire lobby and instantaneously stole her heart. As she walked toward the door, she heard a voice she barely recognized say with conviction, “This is the man I’m going to marry!”
And the rest is history, as they say.
For that young woman is now in her mid-forties, married nearly 20 years to that more-handsome-now-than-ever young man. And for the last 22 years, that restaurant has been an intimate and integral part of our story. More than a back-drop for special occasions, it was a catalyst for many life lessons and milestones. It became part of our family.
Before we had even dreamed of starting “our family”, we had our work family. Anyone familiar with the restaurant business knows it takes a special breed! Lots of late nights, weekends, and holidays create a bond as strong as blood. Laughter, tears, frustration, and chaos lend themselves to a unique environment not shared or easily understood by outsiders. We have been blessed by life-long friendships forged within those walls.
We met there. We worked every single day for six straight months there. We held our bridal shower there. We celebrated many birthdays, anniversaries, homecomings, christenings, and first communions there. And we looked forward to celebrating so much more.
But last week, the restaurant closed. Permanently. And with it, a chapter of “us” has closed; an abrupt ending to a story not yet finished.
It’s taken me all week to sort through my feelings and try to put them into words that both do the story justice and are true to myself. Numb. Sad. Mournful. Emotional. Panic-stricken. Reminiscent. Gut-wrenching. Heartbroken. Angry. Bitter. Resentful. Yep…I’ve pretty much run the gamut.
It started with a brave front; tough love and no tears when my shocked and distraught husband first shared the news. Seeing him so vulnerable, so fragile, I didn’t have any choice but to assure him all will be okay. An inner strength and resolve I didn’t know I was capable of, immediately took over. Empathetic and sincere, but stern and relentless, my gaze and my words were thick with temerity. This isn’t your fault. You couldn’t/shouldn’t/wouldn’t have done anything differently. It’s only a job. Now you have the chance to find what makes you happy. We will figure this out together and we’ll all be better for it.
While I truly believed all that was pouring from my mouth (and I still do), it was a defense mechanism as my own heart broke and my mind shattered. I didn’t collapse into a heap of tears, with my chest heaving from loud sobs, as I fully expected myself to, when faced with such a revelation. I saved that for later when the rest of the house was deep in sleep. And in the shower as I tried to wash away all the doubtfulness and faithlessness. And in the car on my way into work.
Memories flash by and play in a continuous loop; our very first meeting, friendly banter and tossed noodles across the expo counter, rolling silverware, the smell of fresh bread baking and garlic roasting, gathering for shift meals, crisp white shirts and starched ties, countless celebrations with friends and family, our young boys watching and learning how to prep and cook and as older young men, going into the “family business.”
All of it is gone now. The buildings stand empty; void of the laughter, excitement and camaraderie once radiating from its doors. Bricks and mortar. Wood and steel. Fabric and glass. The air is now stale and heavy. The sign still hangs, but there is no welcome.
It’s where our story began, but it’s not where it will end. There are new and exciting opportunities on the horizon; a chance to change our trajectory and re-align our lives to the people we have become. Life is always about the journey. Being open to receive all it has to offer, sometimes means saying good-bye to the familiar, comfortable, secure, and hello to the unknown, mysterious, and potentially remarkable. There are no guarantees, but embracing the pain and discomfort of change and uncertainty affords us the opportunity for our greatest growth.
I’m far from over what has happened. And I’d be naive to think there are not dark days ahead. But I will allow myself to feel the feelings, cry the tears, hug my people, encourage the vision, and see the process through. We WILL be better and stronger. We WILL begin writing a new chapter. We WILL look back fondly and celebrate the path that brought us to the crossroads of today.
The last 22 years have lead us here, now it’s up to us to decide what comes next!