January 13, 2020. Dear Mother. You've been dead for
almost two years and now I can finally get a word in edgewise. It feels strange
not hearing your criticism and sarcasm. I have a reservoir of your greatest
hits to drawn upon though, so I'll continue being hard on myself in your
absence.
You may be pleased to know I've been
hired by a non-profit where I've been volunteering. The non-profit is a community
support service that helps seniors and persons living with disabilities. I have
no kids and have had a good run in the arts, so the lousy pay is not a
deterrent. I have enormous respect for the staff, so if I keep my mouth shut
and do as I'm told, I should be able to hold down this job for a month or two.
A tall order, I am aware. Cautiously yours, Carolyn.
January 31, 2020. Dear Mother: I'm being trained on
a client management computer system. The Meals on Wheels (MOW) Supervisor
instructs me orally, and I write down every word. I compiled all the
information she's given so far and wrote up a procedure manual, which I
presented to her. She sniffed and gave me a curious look. Am I odd to do this? Why
can't I trust my memory? Oh yeah -- all the pot smoking I did as a teenager.
Riighhhtttt.
February 3, 2020.
Dear Mother: I overheard a video coming from the desk of C., the PSW
Supervisor with whom I share an office. One of her PSW's brought the video to
C.'s attention. The video sounded the alarm about the novel coronavirus that's
due to spread globally. "The World Health Organization doesn't have a clue
and isn't equipped to deal with this," insisted a woman's voice.
"This virus is spread through the nose, mouth and eyes. Governments are
doing nothing. They're carrying on like it's business as usual. Millions of
people are going to die." When the
PSW left the office, I went over to C's cubicle and questioned the news source.
A virus transmitted through the eyes? Sounds like science fiction to me.
This job is far more stressful than I
ever imagined. The title of Office Administrator was false and misleading
advertising. It's more like Lackey for Every Department Chronically
Understaffed.
February 11, 2020. Hello Mother: I am home sick with
a cough, headache and fatigue. Just taking the day off, mind you. How were you
a nurse in a hospital oncology ward all those years and never call in sick?
Maybe it's because you lived with six teenagers and a husband in a small house and
work was your escape. Now your devotion makes more sense.
I've been on this job for a month, and
it's killing me. If I'm not scrambling to find enough volunteers to deliver
meals to the community's most vulnerable, I'm desperately trying to update
ancient files for an upcoming accreditation, clearing dishes and mopping floors
at our community dining events, and booking clients for an income tax clinic. I
feel like I'm not doing any one job well. Doing stand-up comedy to a roomful of
drunken and hostile yahoos is a walk in the park compared to this. A walk in
the park -- that would be nice. Yes Mother, stiff upper lip. I hear you.
February 28, 2020. Mother: One of the managers sent
an email to the staff today, informing us that masks and gloves are available. She
asked if I wanted a mask. "Why would I need one, I'm in the office," I said. She
handed it to me. "You might as well take it." I accepted it. She's
just doing her job.
You know who need these masks? The
volunteers. The poor souls that schlep meals out to the community. They need
masks and gloves. No volunteer has asked for one yet, and I have been told not
to offer any.
March 2, 2020: Dear Mother: This place could not
run without volunteers. The ranks are sparse and dwindling. The Meals on Wheels
Supervisor and I deliver meals more often than not because there aren't enough
volunteers to cover our area. The ones we do have are loyal. Some are over 65,
some live with disabilities. Most have been with us for over 10 years. Every
day I tell them how great they are. Why do they volunteer? Why did I volunteer?
To serve others, with no strings attached. It's as simple as that.
March 6, 2020: Mother: The stress is getting to
veterans on staff. I hear C. reprimanding her charges now and then and letting
out a loud "help me Jesus!" when the CEO bustles in unannounced. At
first I chuckled at C.'s cries, but soon realized she wasn't being ironic.
Every now and then I'll hear gospel music or Christian hip hop and rap coming
from her cubicle. I am surrounded by people of faith.
I admire
them for their reliance on a higher power. My higher power these days are the
PM, the Premier and the Mayor.
March 19, 2020. Dear Mother: The community dining
and wellness programs are shut down. Once busy dining areas for seniors are
empty. Volunteers now have disposal gloves to wear when delivering meals. Masks
are still not available. The only programming still going is Meals on Wheels
and Personal Support. Covid-19 is closing in on us. Paradoxically, the job has
never been easier. I am on my own now; the MOW Supervisor is home with her
kids. My little MOW computer procedure manual has come in very handy. Life is
being whittled to the basics.
March 26, 2020. Dear Mother: How did you face
death while on the job? How did you face your own death? I speak with
frightened, lonely seniors on the phone, assuring them that they'll receive
their meals, that our service will not stop. I think about the dear faces who
answer the door when I knock, and how they might be gone in an instant. Now I
leave the meals at their doors, knock, and hear myself say 'have a nice day'
from a hollow distance.
The Christian rap plays at a steady rate
from over the cubicle divide these days. I never thought I'd say this, but help
us Jesus.
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