Candy Sticks for the Lemons
A week and a half ago I received the unwelcome news that my job comes to an end on June 30. My position is to be combined with another; she gets to stay and I get to leave. This sad news was complicated by my close friendship with the lucky lady. Neither of us would have wanted this to happen; neither would want to be let go and neither would want to stay at the cost of the other. Some things are not our choice.
I believed I shouldn't go public with my news until the school community knew of it, and that happened yesterday afternoon. I had shared with my family, of course, and with some close friends and colleagues. Now that the school community knows, it seems okay to share it more widely.
We don't know yet what this will mean for us. At the very least, it will mean not laughing every day at a job that I have come to love; not doing informal pastoral care at the work place; no longer being in a wonderful Quaker environment or at a school where milestone celebrations come around each year. It will mean no more visits from the tiny people and no more rewarding adults for turning things in by giving them stickers (you'd be amazed how many grown-ups are sticker-deprived).
It will certainly mean financial loss, and we have a meeting in the coming week to learn how much devastation that will cause. I may have to seek another full-time position, I may need to find a part-time job, I may look into the world of temping, or [perhaps] I may be able to be a retired person with all kinds of opportunities.
I haven't found the lemonade recipe yet, and that is understandable. But yesterday, after the announcement of my loss -- and I am far from the only one -- my Facebook page began to blossom with messages of love and encouragement, and it seemed as though I had some received some candy sticks to help me suck up that lemon juice.