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.
