the dreadful phases of farewell.

They are irrefutable. No amount of hiding from the phases, the stages of feelings that go hand-in-hand with break-ups, passive lay-offs, intentional or sudden good-byes, death, departure, can remove one from all the feelings. The roller coaster of feelings. The feelings, that if all sitting together in a straight line, would look nothing like the next, would agree with not one thing the feeling sitting next to that one said, meant, spoke of.

First there's shock. With shock comes a particular brand of humour that only the most sarcastic can appreciate. It is true darkness. Flat faced humour. Not a lot of belly timber laughing, but these are the jokes everyone gets. Except the innocent.

Next comes exhilaration. "I didn't need that fucker anyways! Good riddance!"

Then. remorse. "I will miss getting beaten up." "I will miss my ineffective manager." "But I never got to scream one last time." "My team will never know how much I appreciated them." "I wish I had told her I loved her once more." "I wish I had fired that bastard..."

Of course there's always anxiety. This one permeates. It stinks you no matter how many times you shower. It crawls all over your skin like meth bugs, and yet no one can see them but you. Anxiety bugs burrow. "What did I do to cause this?" Your skin crawls with invisible crawlers. Even in sleep they find their way into your eyes, nose, ears. "What will I do?!" You wail at no one in particular.

You hope it won't come, the next one. You hope you're older, more mature. You hope you're power to reason will take over. You liked the second phase, when you could see how this door shutting could make another window, bigger, clearer, better; open wide to let in sun and fresh air and whimsical winds rush through you.

But the next one does come. Although you might not notice it if all you do is act out. It's a powerful force.

R A G E.  fury. Blind Anger shoots this way and that like a video game with no rules. It's contagious. Bitterness seeps out into dreams, muscles, all interactions. There is one, completely unanswerable word fueling it, behind it all. It's a short word, but a persistent one:

                                            Why?

And ours is not to question why.
For there is no answer. Only thin gasoline soaked through our clothes. Nervous fumes darting this way and that, burning nose hairs and making our minds sick with answerless questions, dizzy with madness, voices, ghosts,

                    we replay the scene over and over
                                                                                            and over and over and over
            and still it never makes sense.

I'm at that phase where I'm so angry and full of rage I might set someone on fire just by looking at them.

                and then it starts all over again. Although in a given minute, hour, week, day, month, it can morph into any configuration of all or some of the above. There could be a day of remorse and fury, followed by a sleepless night of anxiety and shock.

You dream that day, and the days before, over and over. Nightmares both real and imagined repeat like a printing press. Every night the layout is different but the headline is the same.

LOSS

is what it says.

I'm not saying it will never go away, subside, be subdued.

But I am saying that I know I need to get into my walking shoes because I have traversed this desert before, that it's a long trail. Made only longer with avoidance, with stick-my-head- in-the-sand mentality. Unlike some of the people in my family, I never had the option to hide from the responsibility that was me.

/If you want to help cool me down, meet me here this weekend for mint chocolate chip ice cream...

Comments

[David]

Well, if the restaurant is going down, you're better off. Soon paychecks will start bouncing and your much-beloved vendors will have to stop deliveries due to past-due bills.

Consider yourself lucky you got out in time.
Trust me...

[devon]

I once watched a show where a woman set up a "station" (for lack of a better word) against the back wall of her backyard at which she'd hurl pottery and ceramics. After, she'd collect the broken pieces and make the most mesmerizing mosaics....

Who knows? Maybe mint chocolate chip and a few rounds of throwin' yo' dishes will perk you up.

Above all, Shuna, I hope you're proud of yourself. We watched as you put your heart and soul on the table for Sens, and we respect the hell out of ya for doing so.

Rock on.

[Jennifer Jeffrey]

I know this roller coaster ride oh-so-well. There's a seat on it with the imprints of my ass in its cushions. My name is engraved on a shiny bronze plaque behind the headrest.

Hang on, Shuna... every now and then, the lunatics who operate the ride take a break, and you can sneak off and catch your breath. xox

[Aaron]

I hope you find strength and peace knowing that these are normal feelings and that everyone on both sides of a breakup experiences them.

[cookiecrumb]

Shuna, I'm sending you a warm hug. (Take a sniff: I'm wearing the perfume you like.)
Moving forward, eh?

[Lauren]

i wish i could meet you there. mint chocolate chip is my favorite. and, of course, i wish i had some magic turn of phrase that would lessen, if only a bit, the pain you're going through.

[hungrygirl]

Hi Shuna,

I just heard the sad news. Bizarre. Your dessert was the absolutely the best thing about Sens. It's like they're removing the art so they can have more room for bad reproductions. Dang. I was so looking forward to tasting your spring menu... But you are a writer and an artist too, and this gives you options and strength. I often think of Joni Mitchell's great phrase, "crop rotation".... Seems like everything came together for you at Sens but sometimes those artistic highs are temporary and then you have to breathe, take a pause and rotate the crops once again. best wishes. -Marusya

[miriam]

as someone recently sacked from a job for reasons not having to do with the quality of my work, I feel your pain. thanks for your words, they help. this is a crazy biz we choose to be in.

best of luck!

[deborah]

Shuna: I am sorry for your loss; it is clear that you are actively grieving; anger is empowering but best not to get stuck in this stage; I admire you both as a teacher and as a star pastry chef. Your desserts are awesome. I look forward to finding out where you go next so I can come and sample some more.

[Jennifer]

Shuna,

I was so sorry to read about what happened.

I don't agree with everything Anne Lamott has to say, but she has a few really good ones. One of my favorites (and I can't quote it exactly) is about how we sometimes have all of this awful stuff raining down and crushing us, but it's preparation for something beautiful that is waiting to be born.

Take care.

[Lori S.]

I hope the ice cream helped.

[Tommy]

I was very sorry to hear this news. Although I've never eaten your creations (save for a very tasty slice of pie at the end of your pie class), if your descriptions and other people's comments are any indication, Sens clearly did not appreciate what they had. Their loss!

Portland can always use another good pastry chef...

[Evan Elliot]

I'm sorry to hear of your departure from Sens. My wife and I ordered three of your desserts when we ate at Sens a few months ago, and they were our favorite foods by far. We won't go back to Sens, but if you should land at a new restaurant anywhere in the San Francisco area, we WILL go there to show our support and appreciation for you and your creations.

[Evan Elliot]

I'm sorry to hear of your departure from Sens. My wife and I ordered three of your desserts when we ate at Sens a few months ago, and they were our favorite foods by far. We won't go back to Sens, but if you should land at a new restaurant anywhere in the San Francisco area, we WILL go there to show our support and appreciation for you and your creations.