What it’s like to lose an employee to drug overdose.

Kyle applied to work with us in 2019 but someone that was a better fit got the position. He still came in almost everyday to load up on a vegan lunch. He was running half marathons almost daily and needed as much fuel as possible. Then in 2021, that spot became available and we asked him if he was still looking. He was so excited, so enthusiastic, and eager, and started immediately.

Kitchens, restaurants - these are intimate spaces to work. Especially for those of us who are full time. We have to work in harmony together, to dance and weave in the small, tight space, multi-tasking and being as flexible as possible. It’s almost like an ER, where you constantly have to triage. Who’s that by the door? Are they waiting for an online order? Did anyone acknowledge them yet? Ugh, a delivery just arrived. Make space to let them push their dolly through and deposit a huge stack of cases of beverages that we’ll need to stow away mid-helping customers, answering the phone, stopping the timer, and grabbing that slice out of the oven.

It’s not for everyone.

Kyle had some OCD, which was both a hindrance and a superpower, as all conditions are. But he also had an insatiable need to be helpful. He had the heart I want to have, that type of person that actually has the best intentions and wants the best for people. I want to want to have that, but I often am too cynical and skeptical to be so. It’s possible he wanted to please everyone too much. He also struggled with addiction.

Like all addicts, he sometimes slipped. The last time he slipped was well over a year ago. This one came out of nowhere. He was finally on the path he wanted to be on. He got his EMT certificate on Tuesday, was found dead on Friday.

I can tell you what Friday felt like. He was due here at 7:45am. At 8:15am I called him three times and left a text. At 8:20am I knew something was dreadfully wrong. He was never late, was always dependable. I called his mom. The first thing she said was, “Oh no.” His co-worker at his other job, his mom, and I, all searched for him, all keeping in touch throughout the day. We filed a missing persons report. His mom called her brother, a San Francisco firefighter who initiated a grid by grid search in SF. His car was found in a hotel parking lot at 6pm. His body was found inside the hotel room he had rented, at 6:15pm. His mother texted me at 6:30pm.

I can tell you how I feel today, Monday, Memorial Day. I’m in Lunchette, in the window seat, watching people walk by, wondering if we are open. Some even open the door to see it’s dark in here. Some ask, will you be opening? Some stop and look at the pictures I just hung of Kyle, and us, his crew. I’m mostly sad for his mom, as I’m a mom, and I’ve been his “mom” for almost four years. But I’m also scared about the community putting their hurt onto me and the remaining crew, as we reopen tomorrow and get back to the business of the living.

I know there is a better way to say all this, but today, I don’t have the words, or the time to arrange the words so they’re pretty and articulate. Today, I can only blink through the tears at the keyboard so that I can get this vigil setup, be with my crew as we erase Kyle’s name from the calendar, and find the grace and compassion that Kyle had to go forth and love hugely.