Sybase

I deleted her from the system and the system didn't care about her ten years of service, or the other hundred employees I'd terminated that day. I could not tell her that I'd terminated her—it was her last day. It was her last—at a company that she'd raised four young boys at. And at the luncheon yesterday she called them 'monkeys,' as if they had somehow planted themselves in the jungle of her life. As a single mother—as a manager—as an employee—she was stellar. She outperformed expectations that she didn't know she had. But of course, it has to end. Things, people, places move on. No ode—no song—no elegy could do justice to the depth of her caring. New commute in a different direction, she'll be seeing the sun from a different angle. How do you describe love? Is it a face? An idea? A formative connection? A child's laugh? Or is it the look of hurt? Is it the struggle to love someone you cannot?