Cruel Summer

I am unjobbed.

Jobless. Terminal PTO. Out to pasture.

This is one of the most terrifying periods of my life. I feel useless, unimportant, stupid and robbed of my general enthusiasm for my talents.

I feel sorry for myself. Or I should say, I felt sorry for myself, until I visited my sister yesterday.

Mary (my oldest sister) suffered a stroke 16 years ago. She was only 53, Unlike some people who can come back from a stroke, Mary couldn’t. She was paralyzed on her left side and forced to use a wheelchair.

Her beloved husband Jack has been by her side since. Mary was cared for by a wonderful woman and their golden retriever, Ursie, When Jack retired from his tree business almost 10 years ago, he took over Mary’s care. They also moved from the Bay Area up to the Chico area, for financial reasons and to be closer to our mom and other sister.

Five years ago, after the fire, they were able to buy a home in Paradise.

They lived there simply and happily, watching every good cable show that dropped, and Jack even took up his harmonica again and played in a blues band. Ursie eventually went to dog heaven, and they somehow managed to buy another Golden Retriever, Lizzie.

Then this July, their slice of paradise was shattered when Mary had another stroke, this one so severe doctors recommended hospice care for her. She was paralyzed from the neck down and couldn’t speak. We were all devastated, but Jack said no way. After a week or so in the hospital, the medical staff moved Mary to a long-term rehab facility in Chico. Jack was prepared to get rid of his little house in Paradise and live in his car if that’s what it took to nurse Mary back to health. 

Since moving to the rehab facility Mary has improved in small increments that thrill us. She can move her right arm enough to be worried about whether she has food on her face. She can speak, even though she is more cognitively impaired. And Jack comes down every day, wasting precious pennies on gasoline. But they had a financial miracle -– they found out they were eligible for Medicaid and along with Medicare, Mary can stay at her rehab center till she can stand on her own. It may be a long ride.

I wish I had money to give Jack for gas. I wish I could afford to visit more myself. But until I get employed, I am hampered by time and money. I do as much freelance work as I can, and I can’t even keep the lights on at home. But I don’t have the hardships Mary and Jack are suffering. I can wipe my face and other things, do yoga, or take a walk, and still carry on conversations. In fact, I can carry on very good conversations in an interview if anyone were to ask.

Marketing communications and editorial jobs are tough to come by, especially in the Bay Area which is saturated by laid-off talent. I’ve applied for over 200 jobs and have had two interviews. And I’m an experienced content marketer and writer. Is it my newly redone resume? Is it my LinkedIn profile? Is it my age? Is too much experience a red flag for Boomer Alert?

I could ruminate about this all night and have more nights than I will admit. I am out of money, but can lean on my husband, who I get to sleep next to every night. This brings me back to Jack and Mary, and their situation.

I’m lucky. I may be unjobbed, but something will come up. And I can still do my beloved freelancing, my own form of harmonica. We don’t know how long Mary will be in the rehab facility. And Jack’s life has been cracked open, and he still has a great attitude about “his Mary.”

My life has been cracked, and it’s scary. But if Jack and Mary can smile through their summer of pain, then maybe I can find my own version of a blues band.