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Day 49

Updated: Apr 19

I have hesitated to go into great detail about my work because a gal’s got to eat but I need to share this. The company is in a period of transition and my prompt return was critical. While it is nice to be distracted from Constance’s death, a dinosaur couldn’t distract me at this point.

Since my return to work, my duties have involved contacting hundreds of people’s heirs. To do that, I first have to find and read their obituaries then I have to find and read the obituaries of their spouses and children. I provide this data and references to our attorney along with the cross-referenced public records addresses of those heirs. Then I prepare and send the heirs personalized letters, information about the company, and photos of their grandmother or grandfather I’ve pulled from our archives. The photos are usually of them looking dashing at our formal events or volunteering in the community in dapper business attire.

The intense attention to detail that I have to pay hundreds, seemingly thousands, of obituaries is a special kind of torture, terrible torment. It is easier to stop myself from bawling my eyes out in public spaces, so I work from restaurants primarily. Still, I need frequent breaks. My personal return on investment in this job is completely inverted; I’ll spend $100 eating and drinking just to get through my workday. Of course, I would rather not do this project but there is no one else that can do it and so I push myself day after day. It's terrible. It's traumatic.

All the people I am researching are the lucky ones that lived long, successful lives. They had siblings, children, and grandchildren. They had colleagues that wrote long admiring quotes of affection. Their partners were described as their “lifelong soulmates” and so on. I can’t stop asking why Constance didn’t get these things that others got—things like adulthood, a career, a family of her own.

Constance won’t go on a sleepover or tell secrets to her friends. She won’t graduate high school or go to prom. She will never have a crush or be someone else’s. She won’t move into an apartment that she thinks is great but I would prefer had a doorman. She won’t learn to drive or take the L to a random neighborhood for a leisurely lunch. She won’t win ‘employee of the month’ or feel the joy of quitting a bad job. She will never experience a French kiss or romantic love. Constance was robbed of her future. I am broken-hearted and I am furious at the inconceivable injustice.


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