Both Lois and I have been left behind by loved ones. It's an experience that never gets easier with age and experience. There is a grieving process and this lasts longer in some people than in others. I grieved for my parents in-law. I still refer to them as Mom and Dad (Lois uses 'Daddy'.)
I didn't grieve for my Mom until years later after Dad died. He survived Mom by two rough years. I was twenty and green as grass, trying to hold it all together. When Dad died I was crushed with grief. I felt so alone with no siblings, so apprehensive at what life would throw at me.
But I did heal and I learned how to live alone, yet there were lonely moments, usually at any holiday. When working at the mine I didn't mind working on Christmas Day or Eve. Work can be a great tranquilizer.
There are other kinds of deaths and one of them is the passing of one's workplace. Each instance is unique, each (personal) experience varies as some take this life event in stride and some don't. The mine died and I didn't think I could survive. Another job came and when it went, I decided to take computer programming classes at the local community college .
I became employed at Sprague Electric Co. in Grafton, Wisconsin as an applications programmer. The job lasted exactly one year. The manager called me into the office. I became alarmed when he told me to close the door. I thought that someone in my shrinking family had died. Instead I was relieved that I was being terminated for non-disciplinary reasons and I was eligible for unemployment benefits.
Grief over my loss of employment settled in after the unemployment benefits were exhausted. I had lived with the hope that the company would rally and I would be asked to return to work. The company closed for good. I grieved for that career position more than any previous employment. Several attempts to secure employment ended in failure. I felt that God had let me down and eventually I became despondent. That story is not the purpose of this missive.
My beloved has been employed at the Ironwood K-Mart for almost thirty-five years and its closing is weeks away. I went into the store weeks ago and the outer perimeter was bare. Fixtures are being sold, leaving ghastly bare walls.
This store was an encore for the first K-Mart store in Ironwood and I recall how busy it was, both at the registers and at the pharmacy. Everything was so new and shining. K-Mart even had auto service and they sold tires and the store had the aroma of newness. and excitement. There was a little cafeteria where I enjoyed coffee while waiting for Lois. Sometimes we ate together when she had the afternoon shift.
Lois loved her job. I knew this from the start. At home she talked about the store and what transpired that day, good or bad. She related details of her job that I didn't understand because you had to do those things to understand their intricacies.
She made friends at work, both fellow employees and customers. She met every imaginable sort of person, some personable, colorful, even those who were fun-loving. She dealt with those on the other end of the personality spectrum and she often told me about how difficult it was.
She still carries keys with which she opens the store early in the morning and closes it at night. When we had occasion to be customers, Lois showed her pride in her work, straightening merchandise that had been moved on the shelves since her shift had ended. She showed me the area she had worked on so hard that day. The merchandise was in military precision, ranks and files absolutely perfect. The shelves would muster a white glove inspection.
When we checked our purchases, an employee would ask Lois for help, whether on the registers or something in the store. Lois always helped with zeal and a tender patience that I admire so much. (She has to have vast patience to live with me!)
Her fellow long-term employees will grieve, no doubt. It takes a team to make a business work and K-Mart has had a mighty good team.
I never thought I'd feel this way, as though a dear friend or family member was wheezing and shriveling more with each passing day, welcoming the inevitable.
