After school drop-off, after a mellow stroll at the park with the dogs, I flopped in my favorite chair, holding the arm rests as if I might slide to the floor.
I felt gutted, empty, numb.
Somewhere in the wee waking hours, my goal of practicing yoga that morning had withered; the pounding in my head causing fear that I might conk over in the first inversion.
I noticed my weary body pulsating with every beat of my heart. It might have been the three cups of coffee I inhaled to keep my eyes open.
The day before I received the call I’d been expecting–dreading–for months. The second data recovery company to examine my wiped hard drive confirmed: my files are beyond resurrection. All gone. Buh bye.
I thought I’d moved beyond tears, but still they flowed. Grief comes in waves.
Forget Halloween, this October has become my Hollow-ing.
Those who misunderstand the situation have said: “You didn’t back up? Most people learn that before their 20’s.”
Or, worse: “You must have clicked on something…” Which, to my ears, sounds akin to blaming the victim: She got attacked because her skirt was too short. Or: The IT company wiped your files without telling you because you are stupid.
Yes, I know you’re supposed to back up files. I thought they were backing up on the company server. I trusted the IT company to do their job well. They didn’t.
So. Nine years of work, research, life, gone. Hence, the Hollow-ing.
I’m sad and not sleeping. Again this week I recalled yet another document I’d like to have but don’t. I’m frustrated, hurt, struggling to trust. I don’t understand what happened, how, or why. From a human perspective, it all seems a colossal mistake, a breach of protocol that resulted in no damage to anyone but me.
But now that we’re here, now that hope has died a slow and painful death, I have to move on. I have to trust, as I have throughout my life, that God has a plan. Not that God did this or caused this, but that God has something in this for me. Not that God wanted those projects to poof! disappear, or that He doesn’t want me to ever attempt to recreate some of them, but that He might be redirecting my focus. At least for now.
So what’s next? The only response I have echoes in the hollow: I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.