Going Back To Work

 

Since I was twelve years of age, I always tried to earn a dollar, regardless it was washing windows, cleaning houses, or helping to babysit. I remember my grandmother giving me five dollars for polishing her furniture; five dollars to me was a lot. So I grew up to like working to earn my own money.

As I grew up, I had the compassion to help other people; sometimes, I could see a senior grabbing dishwashing liquid in the supermarket. I would approach them and show them another dishwashing soap and tell them how good and less expensive than the one they had in their cart. They would smile and change the dishwashing soap to the one I recommended. If I saw someone who didn't understand English, I would translate it to Spanish even though I walked out of the store. And that is how I was at work; I enjoyed helping others, regardless it was my co-workers or the clients, it was a sense of satisfaction to know I helped someone.

I was blessed the day I moved to New York. I arrived in New York on May 17, 2001; I started working on June 27, 2001; by December the same year, I already had my place, Thanks to the Lord.

I have been twenty-one years at my job; the City hired me as a Temp worker, then the City hired me. I received two promotions at my job. It was my ideal job. I was helping others, and as a supervisor, I was able to help the team I oversaw. When someone from my team was going thru rough times, I was there to try to lift them. I recall this young lady named Felicia; she was a lovely young lady. I can't say we interacted a lot, but the day she left the agency, she gave out certificates of recognition to the team at her farewell get-together. Every certificate she handed out, she would recognize the person's strength which I thought was thoughtful. Although I was the last person to receive my certificate, I still have my certificate, and I still remember her words when she gave me my certificate "Darlene, the Momma Bear of the team."

Now present, the joy to go to work is non-existent. The loss of my son Johnnie has changed my whole life, I am lost, and I feel like I will never find the way back to happiness. My baby left this earth on August 7, 2021. Three months later, I went back to work. I thought the drive to work would take me to another state of mind where I would not be hurting, but unfortunately, it didn't. As I drive thru the FDR, memories of my son sitting next to me in the car taking him to work, memories of when I had surgery he got a cab, helped me get in, in the cab he would wrap his arms around me, for I could sleep on his arm. I hear a song play on the radio, and it's one of his favorites. When I reach my desk there, he is smiling on my mouse pad. When I leave my job, I see him outside the building waiting for me. Twenty-one years at my job and now I can't focus, I can't retain or comprehend sometimes.   

The other day one of the team members was having difficulty with a client on the phone. They transferred the call to me to assist the client. The client on the phone was upset; I tried to calm them down. I tried to explain to the person because of COVID; we were short on staff which was the cause of the delays in the unit. Like a slap across my face, she responded, "You guys need to get over COVID; it's been almost two years, lady. Life goes on". As she said those words, I pressed my eyes shut, trying not to cry. I tried to take a deep breath, but I still felt like I couldn't breathe. Between struggling with the knot in my throat, I took down the client's information for further research; I promised her I would get back to her the following day, which I did.

My heart aches for my baby; I miss him so much. Not too long ago, a dear person told me to "Move On Johnnie is not coming back by crying you won't bring him back!". I know my tears won't bring my baby back. But how else can I take this pain out of my chest?

Sometimes I wonder why this happened to me, I prayed for those who asked for prayers, and they were healed, but when I prayed for my baby, the Lord did not hear my prayers.