What this post is about is remembering a coworker who became a dear friend to me and whom I lost several years ago.
Who let me know when she called me at work that she had cancer.
This was shortly after working for the Downtown regional offices for the public school system, I transferred to a grant-funded program for public schools (more on this for another time. I'm not as traumatized as I was back then. I can talk about it).
The first time I met this coworker, before speaking to me, she sent the secretary to ask me how I felt about tats (I guess I come off as 'conservative', but my politics, religious, and spiritual beliefs are far from it,) and so I told the coworker about how I feel as an artist myself.
I explained that I love the artistry, history, and importantly, the cultural and metaphysical aspects of how tats are viewed. I didn't get into all this.
My new colleague didn't want a treatise of my scholarship on body art, she wanted to know if I would be prejudiced. I told the secretary that tattoos are very important, personal, and unique, even when they follow the same patterns and symbolism in cultural and ethnic tattoos. That they tell the person's story.
Afterwards, I found a warm and smiling friend who, when I began taking mental health days off and using my sick days (the job rapidly became toxic), would tell me she missed me because I made it tolerable to be there, sometimes, even fun.
I miss you, Heather Centeno, but I know you are at peace and pain-free. I still pray for your daughters and your family. Rest well, my Lovely Friend.
