I want to tell you a story about someone I love very much. Someone who is quite sick now. I don't want to talk about the illness or eventuality, because my powers tend towards being a muse and not omniscience. To tell you about him, I have to give you a little bit more about me.
Like many, my childhood left a lot to be desired. My father's alcoholism, constant beating, belittling and tormenting of our mother kept us all on eggshells and hiding the truth from those around us. When I was 11, I reached a point where I decided it was all too much to take and I was done. I went to the upstairs bathroom and decided to mix together several things from the medicine cabinet. Looking back, I don't think ear wax remover, children's Tylenol and toothpaste would have killed me, but that was my intent. I sat there thinking about my mother and how upset she would be, how I would be leaving her behind with him, what my little brother and sister would do. Something told me to stop. I knew that something was God. That was my epiphany ... not on the road to Damascus, but on the edge of the tub in Cincinnati, Ohio.
From that moment on, I knew I was here for a reason. My mother had always told me that anyway; she wasn't supposed to survive childbirth, and yet, three of us showed up. We had a purpose. There was some more moving around after this, and then thankfully, my parent's divorce was finalized when I was 15. Life was more free but still challenging, as we were quite poor. Mom struggled all the time to provide, and we went without a lot. Hunger was a constant. But I had my faith, which I wore on my sleeve. In fact, I was probably a little too vocal which made high school a challenge at times. I had my best friend, who I could always count on, and a handful of dear friends who I was sure thought I was a gigantic dork. The church we went to was filled with lovely people, but it was extremely conservative. I did speak up, because I was a member, but I never really felt my opinions were actively considered since I was a woman. Once during a serious talk with my pastor about going into the ministry, he told me I'd be able to help set a church up in a distant land, minister and lead ... until the church was established. Then I'd have to make way for a man to truly lead the flock. And when the day might come that I would have children of my own, if I had a son, by the time he was 11 or 12, I'd have to turn his religious instruction over to my husband. I could continue to work with my daughters but not my sons.
Needless to say, I was a spiritual mess. When I went off to college, it didn't get any better at first. The church I was given an entree to attend turned out to be even more conservative then the one back home. At dinner in the home of the pastor and his wife, I was reminded to wear a skirt to church and not the pants I had chosen that morning. During the questioning about my major, which was initially journalism, he decided that it would be best after graduation for me to go work for a christian newspaper until I got married. While he pontificated, his poor wife hustled the meal and her children. She looked a lot older than she was. After I left their house, I never went back to that church.
A short while later, I met another guy, someone who listened to my ideas and liked my reasoning about life. I knew within a short time that he was the one for me, and then he introduced me to his father. And this is where the story gets good.
I met a strong, hard working man with a quick smile and an even quicker laugh. We joked, we teased, we laughed, we clicked. This man got me. And more than that we talked about everything under the sun. He asked me my opinion and why. He didn't let me get ever away without explaining my rationale thoroughly. Every time I went to visit, we'd end up sitting around the kitchen table until all hours of the night ... husband, wife, son and me. We talked about philosophy. We talked about religion. We talked about feminism and women's rights which really meant family's rights. He never laughed at my ideas. We didn't always agree, but we never stopped talking. Then he started involving the family pastor, and that made it even more fun. I had to stay sharp, stay focused. I didn't want to let him down. I learned so much during these talks; it honed my thought process, helped me see the error of some of my previous ideas and strengthened my resolve on others. He treated me like my thoughts on God and life mattered. Even now, almost 25 years later, he still treats me that way. And I am blessed for it. He called me daughter when he introduced me to people, long before it was settled, because in his mind it was already a done deal.
I love you. And a thousand years from now, I will still love you. Long after we are both dust, forgotten afterthoughts on the genealogy chart, I will still love you. And we will forever be able to talk long into the night.
Monday, September 7, 2015
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Rant N' Roll
It's one of those nights ... the kind of night where I'm reading the news and Facebook declarations and becoming more and more disillusioned with the bulk of humanity. Now maybe the fact that my back pain is pretty intense is making it worse, or as I tell my husband, maybe it's just making it harder for me to hold it in. Remember a couple of posts ago when I mentioned the backlash against intelligence, and dare I say, commonsense that was running rampant. I feel like I'm wading through it tonight.
Let's start with that county clerk in Kentucky who is continuing to refuse to issue marriage certificates to anyone in her county so she doesn't have to give them to gay couples, even though the Supreme Court has ruled to allow gay marriage and every other appeal she's made has either been over ruled or denied. I don't care that she has bad hair (you're welcome to question my own choices). I don't care that she's been married four times. I don't even care that she took over the position from her mother who had it for 37 years and that she also has her son working for her. She's an elected official who swore an oath to uphold the duties of her post. She doesn't get to use her religious convictions to determine how to do her job. I'm 100% sure that's not in the job description. She can use her moral compass when interacting with those around her. She can be a beacon of her faith, so that others might be helped by it. But she can't fucking use it to decide the operational principles and practices of her position. If her job has changed, and she no longer feels comfortable doing it, either due to her faith or the requirements, then leave. It happens all the time in every other job on the fucking planet. If your job was breaking the law, you have avenues you can pursue, but if your job is telling you the rules have changed, you change or you leave. All those people standing outside the courthouse supporting her and egging her on would be singing a different tune if she said her religious convictions told her she shouldn't issue licenses to Gentiles ... or to renters ... or to poor people. If she was a business owner in Kentucky, there are no laws on the books against discriminating against sexual orientation. She could decide to not serve them and face no recrimination, but as an elected official she's not covered by the same rules. She has to do her job. Can we all recall the concept of separation of church and state alluded to in the first fucking Amendment of the Constitution which Article VI specifies that "no religious test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States."
Secondly, if I see one more human state that all people on welfare need to be drug tested, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. This is a useless and expensive proposition that is undertaken to make poor people who need help feel like criminals, and it lines the pockets of the companies that supply the drug tests Here's some info on how it worked out in Arizona:
http://mic.com/articles/122607/arizona-drug-tested-welfare-recipients-here-are-the-shocking-results
And Maine:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/maines-welfare-drug-tests_55ce1b56e4b0ab468d9d266f
And a bunch of other states:
http://thinkprogress.org/economy/2015/02/26/3624447/tanf-drug-testing-states/
Yes, we all work hard. Yes, we want to make sure that the monies we hand over in taxes are spent correctly. But why are you more pissed off about whether or not the poor person who uses their slim SNAP benefits might possibly have used an illegal substance (which we've just learned that for the most part they aren't), but you're less concerned that the military industrial complex is rolling around naked in the bulk of your money. This is all done to tear us apart, to argue about petty crap instead of work towards honest change in our country. The Republicans use it to froth the part of their base they want riled up into a frenzy, and the Democrats point to the frothing as a way to rile their base, too. This way both sides get us slashing at each other's throats instead of asking our elected officials to do their jobs (see above).
Let's start with that county clerk in Kentucky who is continuing to refuse to issue marriage certificates to anyone in her county so she doesn't have to give them to gay couples, even though the Supreme Court has ruled to allow gay marriage and every other appeal she's made has either been over ruled or denied. I don't care that she has bad hair (you're welcome to question my own choices). I don't care that she's been married four times. I don't even care that she took over the position from her mother who had it for 37 years and that she also has her son working for her. She's an elected official who swore an oath to uphold the duties of her post. She doesn't get to use her religious convictions to determine how to do her job. I'm 100% sure that's not in the job description. She can use her moral compass when interacting with those around her. She can be a beacon of her faith, so that others might be helped by it. But she can't fucking use it to decide the operational principles and practices of her position. If her job has changed, and she no longer feels comfortable doing it, either due to her faith or the requirements, then leave. It happens all the time in every other job on the fucking planet. If your job was breaking the law, you have avenues you can pursue, but if your job is telling you the rules have changed, you change or you leave. All those people standing outside the courthouse supporting her and egging her on would be singing a different tune if she said her religious convictions told her she shouldn't issue licenses to Gentiles ... or to renters ... or to poor people. If she was a business owner in Kentucky, there are no laws on the books against discriminating against sexual orientation. She could decide to not serve them and face no recrimination, but as an elected official she's not covered by the same rules. She has to do her job. Can we all recall the concept of separation of church and state alluded to in the first fucking Amendment of the Constitution which Article VI specifies that "no religious test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States."
Secondly, if I see one more human state that all people on welfare need to be drug tested, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. This is a useless and expensive proposition that is undertaken to make poor people who need help feel like criminals, and it lines the pockets of the companies that supply the drug tests Here's some info on how it worked out in Arizona:
http://mic.com/articles/122607/arizona-drug-tested-welfare-recipients-here-are-the-shocking-results
And Maine:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/maines-welfare-drug-tests_55ce1b56e4b0ab468d9d266f
And a bunch of other states:
http://thinkprogress.org/economy/2015/02/26/3624447/tanf-drug-testing-states/
Yes, we all work hard. Yes, we want to make sure that the monies we hand over in taxes are spent correctly. But why are you more pissed off about whether or not the poor person who uses their slim SNAP benefits might possibly have used an illegal substance (which we've just learned that for the most part they aren't), but you're less concerned that the military industrial complex is rolling around naked in the bulk of your money. This is all done to tear us apart, to argue about petty crap instead of work towards honest change in our country. The Republicans use it to froth the part of their base they want riled up into a frenzy, and the Democrats point to the frothing as a way to rile their base, too. This way both sides get us slashing at each other's throats instead of asking our elected officials to do their jobs (see above).
Monday, August 24, 2015
25 Years
I went to my 25th High School reunion this weekend. When I was invited a couple months ago, it didn't really seem possible. I mean, I'm still like 29 right ... so how could that math work. I was a bit nervous for a variety of reasons, but chief among them was that I didn't grow up to become an entertainer, as was the goal at the time. I was worried that they might be disappointed. Isn't that silly. To potentially deny yourself communion with some wonderful people because they might possibly be surprised in the path my life took. After a bit of thought, I decided that there were probably a lot of us not doing what we wanted to do when we were 18, so I should get over myself. And I'm so glad I did.
There were so many beautiful and wonderful people there. I graduated from a large high school, so I knew there would be people I didn't really know or couldn't remember, but there were a bunch whose faces came back to me quickly. I've worked with thousands of people over the years and helped probably 10X that many more after 20 years in customer service, so names sometimes escape me. Thankfully, I got help with some names and others just told me theirs outright, so it made it easier. There were a lot of people that I wished would have come, so I could hug them and listen to their stories, but distance played a factor for many people I think. My biggest wish was to see my best friend again, a woman who I have thankfully been recently reunited with. I knew she'd never be able to come the great distance with her very hectic work schedule, but a girl can still wish.
While I watched them chatting and catching up, it was like the years melted away. I could close my eyes and remember them just as they were, really the way I still see them all. There was the group of beautiful women in the corner - fashionable and chic, with easy laughter and warm smiles. The strong, resilient ones who went from group to group, mingling and coaxing out updates on children and spouses. The gregarious and persistent ones, gathering us for photos and jokes. There were people who I respected immensely 25 years ago for their spirit and reminded me in only a moment why it was still true. And there were boys, now men, I adored ... for their smile, their talent, their charm, their convictions. It was good to see them happy, with wives, with children, with joy.
There were so many kind words said to me, so many hugs and smiles. It was a wonderful experience which I highly recommend. As my father-in-law says, why wouldn't you go out on a limb, after all that's where the fruit is.
There were so many beautiful and wonderful people there. I graduated from a large high school, so I knew there would be people I didn't really know or couldn't remember, but there were a bunch whose faces came back to me quickly. I've worked with thousands of people over the years and helped probably 10X that many more after 20 years in customer service, so names sometimes escape me. Thankfully, I got help with some names and others just told me theirs outright, so it made it easier. There were a lot of people that I wished would have come, so I could hug them and listen to their stories, but distance played a factor for many people I think. My biggest wish was to see my best friend again, a woman who I have thankfully been recently reunited with. I knew she'd never be able to come the great distance with her very hectic work schedule, but a girl can still wish.
While I watched them chatting and catching up, it was like the years melted away. I could close my eyes and remember them just as they were, really the way I still see them all. There was the group of beautiful women in the corner - fashionable and chic, with easy laughter and warm smiles. The strong, resilient ones who went from group to group, mingling and coaxing out updates on children and spouses. The gregarious and persistent ones, gathering us for photos and jokes. There were people who I respected immensely 25 years ago for their spirit and reminded me in only a moment why it was still true. And there were boys, now men, I adored ... for their smile, their talent, their charm, their convictions. It was good to see them happy, with wives, with children, with joy.
There were so many kind words said to me, so many hugs and smiles. It was a wonderful experience which I highly recommend. As my father-in-law says, why wouldn't you go out on a limb, after all that's where the fruit is.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Nope
The customer is not always right. In fact, they're probably not even right half the time. I'd like to find the moron that invented that phrase and punch them in the throat. The customer deserves to be treated courteously and fairly. They should get all the goods and services that they paid for in the time frame that was stated at some point during the transaction. If they ask for help, they should get it efficiently and without any lip. Save that for the break room.
The problem is that a huge chunk of them think that they're right all the time to the detriment of common sense, and sometimes, common decency. Don't worry my loves, this isn't where I draw some line in the sand to defend Comcast. Au contraire, it's actually those idiots that keep this myth alive. You hear a recording of one of them give the textbook example of how to do everything wrong, and the backlash result is that every customer from Poughkeepsie to Albuquerque decides to get their dander up before they walk in the front door. There's also plenty of poorly trained customer service reps out there that make it worse for the rest of us, too.
Recently, I've had customers open my office door and walk in while I was on the phone (my office sits near the lobby and has windows - so they can see me). Yesterday, an old crotchety woman not only opened my door but yelled at me to "get out and take care of the line" ... while I was working with another client in that very same office. When I grabbed one of my tellers for help a little early off her lunch break (don't worry, I made it right by her), the first person she helped said, "oh, were you on your break?" When she said yes, and that she had come back early, the customer said, "good! I'm glad you missed your break. Maybe that'll make them hire more people." Today, I told a guy he wasn't welcome back after he swore at me and a co-worker. The swearing came after he said he'd come back next week to "break my balls" and when I said "pardon me?" He said,"oh, I meant break your rug." Hilarity ensued from that point.
I'll be honest with you. I'm tired of this shit. The wonderful and appreciative customers are few and far between anymore. I enjoy helping other people to my core, but the focus has shifted from asking for help to demanding servitude which is a far cry from service. I can't help but wonder if the disconnection between words and deeds that social media helps to perpetuate has increased this decline in civility, as well. If you call some "faceless" person on the internet a bitch (or much worse) in a comments section ... maybe that makes it easier to do it to her face when she tells you there's a fee to cash your check.
The problem is that a huge chunk of them think that they're right all the time to the detriment of common sense, and sometimes, common decency. Don't worry my loves, this isn't where I draw some line in the sand to defend Comcast. Au contraire, it's actually those idiots that keep this myth alive. You hear a recording of one of them give the textbook example of how to do everything wrong, and the backlash result is that every customer from Poughkeepsie to Albuquerque decides to get their dander up before they walk in the front door. There's also plenty of poorly trained customer service reps out there that make it worse for the rest of us, too.
Recently, I've had customers open my office door and walk in while I was on the phone (my office sits near the lobby and has windows - so they can see me). Yesterday, an old crotchety woman not only opened my door but yelled at me to "get out and take care of the line" ... while I was working with another client in that very same office. When I grabbed one of my tellers for help a little early off her lunch break (don't worry, I made it right by her), the first person she helped said, "oh, were you on your break?" When she said yes, and that she had come back early, the customer said, "good! I'm glad you missed your break. Maybe that'll make them hire more people." Today, I told a guy he wasn't welcome back after he swore at me and a co-worker. The swearing came after he said he'd come back next week to "break my balls" and when I said "pardon me?" He said,"oh, I meant break your rug." Hilarity ensued from that point.
I'll be honest with you. I'm tired of this shit. The wonderful and appreciative customers are few and far between anymore. I enjoy helping other people to my core, but the focus has shifted from asking for help to demanding servitude which is a far cry from service. I can't help but wonder if the disconnection between words and deeds that social media helps to perpetuate has increased this decline in civility, as well. If you call some "faceless" person on the internet a bitch (or much worse) in a comments section ... maybe that makes it easier to do it to her face when she tells you there's a fee to cash your check.
Thursday, July 30, 2015
F- the Heat
Back in January and February, when every week brought another snowstorm not of inches but feet, many New Englanders daydreamed of warm summer days minus the back breaking labor of shoveling. We threatened to punch the first person who complained about the heat in the throat. The delirium of opening heating bills where the numbers rivaled our student loan payments had driven us a wee bit crazy. But the truth of the matter is that we were thinking about a specific kind of warm - maybe upper 70's, low 80's, no humidity ... nice enough to not need a jacket. None of us were thinking about what late July and August are really like here, days of upper 80's, low 90's heat combined with 70% humidity. Nobody was thinking about sweating while they were on the toilet.
I know that many of my dear friends in other parts of the country/world who are reading this right now are laughing their asses off. Heat and humidity they are saying, you don't know heat until you've been in Atlanta in August. True, and having lived in Texas for a time, I know that it's much worse almost everywhere else. But we are not a heat & humidity people here, sure there's always a couple among the bunch that revel in it, are almost giddy in fact, but the vast majority of us are really, really cranky right now. We can't sleep well, everything's pissing us off, and to top it off, if you start bitching about it one of your friends is going to remind you about 25 feet of snow and your throat punching comments. It's a no win situation, because complaining is something New Englanders do very well. It's a skill passed down through sporting team bumper stickers and extra large cups of Dunkin Donuts coffee. If we can't complain, we are incomplete as a people.
I like to tell people the snow may have been horrible, but I can always put more clothes on. Meanwhile, I can only get just so naked in polite company. As it is, I have to announce my nakedness in my own home so I don't frighten the teenagers. "NAKED MAMA COMING THROUGH," I yell, so no one comes out of their room to be greeted by nightmare fodder. Not because I'm scary naked, (trust me, I'm not ... no seriously), but seeing your mother sans clothes stays with you for a long time. Of course, it would give them something to complain about.
I know that many of my dear friends in other parts of the country/world who are reading this right now are laughing their asses off. Heat and humidity they are saying, you don't know heat until you've been in Atlanta in August. True, and having lived in Texas for a time, I know that it's much worse almost everywhere else. But we are not a heat & humidity people here, sure there's always a couple among the bunch that revel in it, are almost giddy in fact, but the vast majority of us are really, really cranky right now. We can't sleep well, everything's pissing us off, and to top it off, if you start bitching about it one of your friends is going to remind you about 25 feet of snow and your throat punching comments. It's a no win situation, because complaining is something New Englanders do very well. It's a skill passed down through sporting team bumper stickers and extra large cups of Dunkin Donuts coffee. If we can't complain, we are incomplete as a people.
I like to tell people the snow may have been horrible, but I can always put more clothes on. Meanwhile, I can only get just so naked in polite company. As it is, I have to announce my nakedness in my own home so I don't frighten the teenagers. "NAKED MAMA COMING THROUGH," I yell, so no one comes out of their room to be greeted by nightmare fodder. Not because I'm scary naked, (trust me, I'm not ... no seriously), but seeing your mother sans clothes stays with you for a long time. Of course, it would give them something to complain about.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
True Story
A quick true story:
This older couple, we'll say late 60's, came in today to discuss a few things, and as they were leaving, we stood in the lobby passing the time while they regaled me with stories of what the town used to be like. We were going back and forth with the questions and answers when this happened -
Male: I've always liked this branch. It's so close to our home. The last manager was a nice gal. Now what was her name again?
Heather: Do you mean Becky? (There have been a couple, so I was checking.)
M: Yes! And her last name was ... I forget.
H: It was Ocas ... Ocass - Ocasio. I think I may be mispronouncing it.
Wife: Was she colored?
I turned fully towards her and said, "no, ma'am," and then turned my back to her.
As I said, this was out in the open in the lobby and in front of customers, and as it just so happens, in front of my Haitian-American employee. He chuckled and shook his head. It reminded me of an apropos Dave Chappelle skit. This is the last scene. If you're a fan, you'll know what I mean.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFuF8Y1H06
This older couple, we'll say late 60's, came in today to discuss a few things, and as they were leaving, we stood in the lobby passing the time while they regaled me with stories of what the town used to be like. We were going back and forth with the questions and answers when this happened -
Male: I've always liked this branch. It's so close to our home. The last manager was a nice gal. Now what was her name again?
Heather: Do you mean Becky? (There have been a couple, so I was checking.)
M: Yes! And her last name was ... I forget.
H: It was Ocas ... Ocass - Ocasio. I think I may be mispronouncing it.
Wife: Was she colored?
I turned fully towards her and said, "no, ma'am," and then turned my back to her.
As I said, this was out in the open in the lobby and in front of customers, and as it just so happens, in front of my Haitian-American employee. He chuckled and shook his head. It reminded me of an apropos Dave Chappelle skit. This is the last scene. If you're a fan, you'll know what I mean.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFuF8Y1H06
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Miriam
The last couple of weeks have been busy, filled with our youngest turning seven and the flu descending upon the household. We took her to the Legoland Discovery center in Boston which was a blast, but unbeknownst to us, we brought home contagion. The kids are almost better, still occasionally hacking up a lung, but my husband and I are still feeling like crap. Obviously I'm still going to work, because someone has to make the cheese, but I'm dragging.
We've been slow at work, as the local neighborhood flows with vacation time and celebrating the holiday. Today I worked with a woman we'll call Miriam, and it brings me back to a theme I've discussed previously - working with the elderly in your life, to discuss their finances and how they need help. Miriam shuffled into the store clutching two three ring binders to her chest. She needed help right away, as her pension hadn't been deposited to her account in another bank and it was our responsibility to fix it. I sat down with her and tried to gather enough information to understand what was going on. Within just a few minutes, it was clear that she was very confused. As I asked questions, she couldn't remember why we had helped her a month ago. She kept mixing up her numbers, couldn't find things in her purse ... only to ask me again what she was looking for. She started to cry, to beg me to help her.
Miriam is in her mid-eighties, which certainly doesn't mean she's incapable of handling her money, but it is a factor in a stressful situation. Her husband had died in the last couple of years, and it is clearly still a fresh wound - as she mentioned him throughout our time together. As many of you know, I have difficulty in separating my emotions concerning my mother whenever I'm working with an older woman, and it made it harder to bear, as Miriam grew more despondent. She told me she had been a bookkeeper, but it was getting to hard to keep track of the paperwork. She told me maybe it would be better if she would just die. She said this again and again.
I asked if I could call one of her children to come sit with us; she couldn't remember any of their numbers, didn't have her phone with her. I practically begged her to trust me that everything would be ok, that her money was safe, that the daughter who had come with her a month ago should call me right away. Miriam left ... and came back ... and left ... and came back and finally returned with her son. As is often the case, he was initially concerned that we had perhaps not done everything to help her. After I cleared that up, he was all set to go. I asked Miriam if I could speak to her son privately for a moment, and she agreed. Behind closed doors, I gave him a quick synopsis of the afternoon. He told me that he and his siblings were working on consolidating her finances. I told him that was great, and asking for his forgiveness if I was overstepping my bounds, I told him that needed to pick up the pace. I told him about the tears, the frustration, that she pulled at her hair with both hands, that she said she should just die. I told him that I was really worried, that this is a difficult situation for everyone, but Miriam really needed help. He thanked me, and we returned to his mother. We said our goodbyes, and then I went into the bathroom and cried.
We've been slow at work, as the local neighborhood flows with vacation time and celebrating the holiday. Today I worked with a woman we'll call Miriam, and it brings me back to a theme I've discussed previously - working with the elderly in your life, to discuss their finances and how they need help. Miriam shuffled into the store clutching two three ring binders to her chest. She needed help right away, as her pension hadn't been deposited to her account in another bank and it was our responsibility to fix it. I sat down with her and tried to gather enough information to understand what was going on. Within just a few minutes, it was clear that she was very confused. As I asked questions, she couldn't remember why we had helped her a month ago. She kept mixing up her numbers, couldn't find things in her purse ... only to ask me again what she was looking for. She started to cry, to beg me to help her.
Miriam is in her mid-eighties, which certainly doesn't mean she's incapable of handling her money, but it is a factor in a stressful situation. Her husband had died in the last couple of years, and it is clearly still a fresh wound - as she mentioned him throughout our time together. As many of you know, I have difficulty in separating my emotions concerning my mother whenever I'm working with an older woman, and it made it harder to bear, as Miriam grew more despondent. She told me she had been a bookkeeper, but it was getting to hard to keep track of the paperwork. She told me maybe it would be better if she would just die. She said this again and again.
I asked if I could call one of her children to come sit with us; she couldn't remember any of their numbers, didn't have her phone with her. I practically begged her to trust me that everything would be ok, that her money was safe, that the daughter who had come with her a month ago should call me right away. Miriam left ... and came back ... and left ... and came back and finally returned with her son. As is often the case, he was initially concerned that we had perhaps not done everything to help her. After I cleared that up, he was all set to go. I asked Miriam if I could speak to her son privately for a moment, and she agreed. Behind closed doors, I gave him a quick synopsis of the afternoon. He told me that he and his siblings were working on consolidating her finances. I told him that was great, and asking for his forgiveness if I was overstepping my bounds, I told him that needed to pick up the pace. I told him about the tears, the frustration, that she pulled at her hair with both hands, that she said she should just die. I told him that I was really worried, that this is a difficult situation for everyone, but Miriam really needed help. He thanked me, and we returned to his mother. We said our goodbyes, and then I went into the bathroom and cried.
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