'You have a minute?'

‘You have a minute?’

I never thought that I would be present for my own funeral. But it happened. April 29, 2009, in the middle of The Baltimore Sun newsroom.

It was in the air. None of us could concentrate, not with death lurking. The rumored hour of 2:00, the one we had been anxiously awaiting, was finally upon us.

I look to my left. Two of my colleagues are walking down the aisle, led by their department head to his office, his face drained of all color. ‘‘Dead man walking’’ would be the best way to describe it. ‘‘Lump in throat’’ would be another. I suddenly feel his presence and turn my head to face him. ‘‘You have a minute?’’ It is my department head, Bob Hamilton, asking me to follow him to his office. Next comes the most prolonged walk through the newsroom of my life as I am being led past all of my colleagues, all of my friends. Dead man walking.

Living with the weight of knowing you may be laid off soon is kind of like being diagnosed with a terminal illness, one that you can live with fairly easily at first. And even though you have all of this time to prepare for the last day, it’s still a shock to everyone when it does, including yourself. It’s like you didn’t see it coming, like you might as well have been hit by a bus on the most unsuspecting of days. Oh, I was hit by a bus, all right, and all my co-workers were there to witness it.

I tried to keep my composure while my friend, not my boss, told me I no longer worked for The Baltimore Sun, that today would be the last day that I was welcome into my home away from home. I kept it together for him because I knew that this was the last thing that he would want to be doing. I left his office, and I lost my composure. This had been my family for the past eleven and a half years and ‘dad’ had just told me that I was no longer welcome.

Opening the office door, I encountered Monica Lopossay, frozen in her tracks. Our eyes met. Her face was scanning mine with fear, wonder, hope and sadness the way I imagine a deer might appear in the final seconds before it is picked off by a hunter. I could no longer hold it in. She knew my fate. She knew she was next.

‘‘You have a minute?’’

I pulled it together and tried to prepare myself for the long walk back to my desk in the newsroom, past all of my colleagues, all of my friends — but not alone. My photo family, who looked as broken up as I felt, would not let me go alone. We walked in, side by side, arm in arm. ☀

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