Like many people around the world, my wife, Caryn, is working mostly from home these days because of the COVID-19 pandemic. Her job is at a residential facility for adults with intellectual disabilities, and although she’s now going on campus once or twice per week, most of her work is being done remotely.
She is quite particularly good at her work and is sought after for her professional acumen.
Having her carry on her job from the dining room table, where she’s temporarily put out her shingle, has made me keenly aware of a couple of things: that my wife is a smart woman who knows her profession well, and the various ways in which I have lost the elements of employability.
MS Is an Accumulation of Losses
We all mourn, move through, and often re-mourn losses or have to cope with a cascade of one thing and then the next being taken by multiple sclerosis (MS). I know that, I’ve written about that, I’ve come to accept it as part of my life. What I don’t think I’d given much time is the accumulation of all that stack of those losses — particularly in the professional vein.
I have often seen postings or heard of positions for which I was once qualified. I have seen jobs for which I would love to apply, interview, and be chosen.
I miss the challenges, the collaborations, the relationships, the successes, and even the failures for the lessons learned. I have also come to accept that those things — at least done that way — are forever in my past.
But having Caryn exercising her prowess, while making me proud, has made me a bit envious.
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The ‘Kettle Boilers’ of Generations Past Would Understand
As if on cue, I recently listened to an extended radio interview with Brian Cox, a seasoned actor of Irish ancestry who was, I learned, raised in Dundee, Scotland.
Of his grandparent’s generation, “imported,” if you will, from Ireland, it was mostly women who worked in the thriving jute mills of the time. The men were mostly displaced farmers and chronically unemployed. Generations before Mr. Mom and cooperative parenting, they were known, colloquially, as “kettle boilers.”
Some days it feels like that’s about all I can do for Caryn is to boil a kettle for her afternoon cuppa. Perhaps I’ll rest in the afternoon so I can make the dinner, try to get some writing done, or brush one of the wheatens. Compared with her important work with people who are in crisis, it feels like I’m letting down my side.
I know that’s not the case, but in the glare of her outstanding work, I am once again reminded of the shadow which MS has cast over that once-important part of my life. I know I have plenty to offer in other regards, but sometimes it can feel like I have drifted into the zone of kettle boiler.
Wishing you and your family the best of health.
Cheers,
Trevis
