I was at my son’s Parent-Teacher-Meeting (PTM) last Friday and had just finished speaking with his teacher when my husband called. 8 am. Why was he calling so early? There was an uncomfortable pause. I sensed something wrong. A horrible feeling that something had happened to my father-in-law, who had been ill for months came over me. “…what happened?,” I asked finally. “My services are getting terminated,” was what I thought I heard. Did I hear correct? Wasn’t this something that only happened to others, or in nightmares? I quickly told him to come back (he works in Mumbai, a different city from where we live in Delhi), cut the call in shock and then proceeded to try and act normal, meet with other teachers, my head in a whirl and my heart thumping. That very moment my dad was at his cardiac checkup, and my mother sent me a message that his ECG was being done. But here I was, unable to share this with anyone. Not yet.
As the day wore on, the shock and pain remained raw. My husband has worked for the same bank these past 13 years, and had joined it just before we got married in 2006. For the past nearly eight years he had been shuttling between the two cities, back only on weekends, and travelling on late night and early morning trains and red eye flights. My mind went back to all those years, all the times he had traveled to and fro, and how although it had not been easy, I had always taken over seamlessly, hoping that the children would never feel his absence. Now this was seemingly his last visit back, home. That night I couldn’t sleep. I waited to receive him.
In the days that followed, there was mostly sadness and despair that followed the initial shock, and what I perceived as extra responsibility on my shoulders as the only “earning” member of the family. The first weekend after the job loss was perhaps the most painful. While we usually always suffered from “Sunday evening blues” thinking about the working week ahead, suddenly, there was no job to go to. Unusual, because I don’t remember my husband taking many days off in the years he has worked, even if he were ill.
I nevertheless saw silver linings. The friends, my “network” although I do not like to call them that, with whom in the rapid pace of life I had not bothered to really spend time with, rushed to help with just a call for help. My family pitched in quietly with help when most needed. Everyone came forward to offer whatever best was in their hands. Some offered counselling, support, and sharing their own painful experience and what they had learnt. I will tend never to forget these people and the feeling of comfort and support I got.
A few things I learnt through the ordeal:
1. If someone reaches out for your help, then do anything, but help them. Yours may be just the line of hope that can make all the difference to them.
2. Cherish your friends that stood by you in times of need. Make sure you are there for them when they need you.
3. Be grateful for your job, your family, and everything else that you have. We tend to realize the value of things most when they are taken away from us.
I am not sure how long this will go on or how it will end. But I see value in taking one day at a time and following my father’s dictum that “something good will come out of this also.” Keeping that in mind, and keeping the faith, I move on, but will hopefully not forget the lessons hidden in there. I also hope this experience teaches me to be more sensitive if I ever find a friend or co-worker in a similar situation. As an old friend who had gone through a similar experience said with the benefit of hindsight and on a lighter note, “it’s an amazing experience, actually!…you will never forget it your entire life.”
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