We’re going to talk about one of my favorite things in the whole wide world.
I love working.
I absolutely love, love, love it. I love creating things. I love collaborating with people. I love talking about what we’re building. I love helping other people see the value in it. I love figuring out how we should tell a story. I love syndicating it and getting it out there. I love figuring out who we should partner with. I love building those relationships. The list goes on and on. I just love it. I absolutely love it.
(Maybe you love your job too with the same passion. It’s just harder to remember because you haven’t had to step away from it like I did.)
Well, it just so happens that there is a market for what I’m good at.
But for the past several years I couldn’t participate in that market.
My father had Alzheimers. My octogenarian mother stood by him every step of the way. She was his care-giver. Year after heartbreaking year.
That disease tore through our family. It took power away from all of us. It left us shattered. It strained everything. Everything. It devastated all of us.
I hate Alzheimers with a burning passion.
But it gave us gifts too.
By watching my parents endure the ravages of Alzheimers, I bore witness to how deeply two people can love each other in this world.
My father’s care was at the epicenter of our lives. For years.
I helped. They needed my help. And I wanted to help. It could not have happened as they wanted without my help.
Even though I was choosing this path, so often — so very, very, very often — I craved the escape of work. I desperately wished for it. I wanted it so badly I could taste it.
But my fate (and my place, an honored place) was to be with my father through the sunset of his life. And to help my mother.
And I wanted this too. I wanted this with equal desperation.
It was a privilege.
But it had its price.
There are two people who understood what these years have cost me: my father and the love of my life.
My father’s funeral was on October 2, 2017.
There are a few things that I know for sure:
- The moment my father’s soul was free from the body that had trapped him, my father started opening doors for me.
- My father knew how much I wanted to work, and he found me a job.
- He worked through Demetris and Katherine and Bill and Kendall and Maili and Tim and Matt and Carolyn and Noelle and Eric and Elisa, but he got me a job.
- Every single day — EVERY DAY — I see signs from my father. (I’ll spare you the details because sharing them would push you from suspecting that I might be a nut job to convincing you so.)
I started on November 1, 2017, less than a month after my father’s funeral.
It all happened so fast.
I am so happy.
In addition to all the reasons I already talked about, there’s one more…
Work heals. Work soothes.
There’s a special kind of hell known only those who desperately want to work, but for whatever reason are not able to.
I get lost in work. I lose the pain we’ve endured. I lose the suffering. I lose the sadness. I lose the heartache. I lose all of that.
And I just get to practice my craft.
It is so awesome.
I am so grateful.
I am so happy.
I just wanted to share.
Thx for indulging.
p.s. It was my first day outfit. I know, right? (wink, wink)