The Wisdom of Elders
Reflections on the words that changed my life
I sat beside Carol, our office receptionist, as she trained me to operate the corporate-office switchboard. Although I’d been promoted from my administrative role, I agreed to cover for Carol as the need arose - never forget where you came from, right? I pressed the smooth telephone buttons with my lacquered fingertips as she looked on with approval.
The phones went silent for a time and Carol, a grandmother thrice over, smiled at me. “So, how are the kids?”
A simple enough question, but my scrambled-egg brain seemed to short-circuit (pardon the mixed metaphor but, considering my state of mind at the time, it actually kind of works) and I began to spout half-formed thoughts I hadn’t yet allowed myself to acknowledge.
“Oh, they’re great. My son (3) is such a good helper and my daughter (6 months) sleeps so well. Most nights. Some nights, anyway. And my parents and in-laws take turns watching them and they all love it. Really. When I pick the kids up they don’t even want to leave. Yeah, and I drive them another 40 minutes home and then we have dinner together. Mostly carry out. So we can have quality time, you know. Yep, then we do bath and jammies and they’re in bed by 8:00 p.m.”
Carol, with her gentle eyes and infinite wisdom, watched me slowly admit to myself what she already knew. “Two hours. I see my children for two hours a day. I feel like they barely know me.” Tears began to blur my vision and I blinked in horror at my lapse of professionalism. “I’m so sorry.” I dabbed at the corners of my mascara-smudged eyes. “I don’t know where that all came from. I just…”
Carol put her hand on mine, her voice quiet. “Anne, nobody will ever love your children as much as you do. There is no substitute for a mother’s love.” She watched me struggle to compose myself. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
Over the next several days, the magnitude of her words shook me from my ignorance. For three years, I’d been telling myself I was fine, the kids were fine, everything was fine. Of course it was fine; this was modern American life and everyone lives this way. Certainly all my peers did, and they were fine.
Nothing was fine.
About a year later, after much planning and sacrifice and trepidation, I turned in my resignation. My boss and my coworkers, perplexed, watched me pack up my desk and walk away from almost two decades in Corporate America. They shook their heads, certain I’d lost it - especially the other working moms. But as I hefted my moving boxes past the reception desk for the last time, I felt lighter than I had in years. Carol looked up at me from her switchboard and smiled knowingly.
That was 14 years ago, and I’ve never looked back.
Love this. God bless you.