Reinventing the Will

Reinventing the Will

I am at the age where I am older than everyone I work with. It's not that they are very young, it's just that I am at the age when most people retire. No big deal, excerpt when I chat with my co-workers. I will talk about when I drove truck for Pepsi or was radio announcer in New Mexico or managed a book store in Dallas. Eventually they look at me like I am making things up. I am amazed at how many different fields in which I have worked and how many different locations. I like to tell people I have had three careers, one for fun (radio), one for money (retail, even though it paid worse than radio) and one for wanting to make a little difference (mental health work).

But even that's not accurate. I have to stop and think of how many different jobs I have had. I forget a lot of them until something reminds me. I was baker in high school in a privately owned grocery store. I worked as a stock car announcer one summer. I hauled hay in California. I managed a bookstore. I was a route salesman and truck driver for Pepsi in Salt Lake City in the winter (I hate driving in snow). I was a disc jockey in Montana. I worked twice for the V.A. I bunched radishes and picked peas. I was a radio program director in Idaho. I was a merchandise manager in one of the big discount chain stores. I have been a mental health liaison to the jails. I was a substitute paperboy (I was terrible. Sorry Joel). I washed pots and pans. I worked as a behavior health tech at an involuntary mental health facility. I worked in the deli at a grocery store. I was a disc jockey and radio ad salesman in Wyoming. I announced Blue Lights Specials for Kmart. I mowed lawns. I was an assistant manger and acting store manager for a national clothing chain. I recorded music tapes with commercials for a ski resort. I worked at an AM/FM station in Seattle as a weekend announcer. I was a dry goods manager for a small chain of grocery stores. I did voice over work for TV ads. Now I am a Court Liaison/Mental Health Professional at an involuntary mental health facility.

I did some of these jobs for a long time, some of these jobs for a very short time. Some of these jobs I was good at, others I was lousy at. I will let you guess which ones are which. But each job was a little different. It gave me a different persona. I have always been me but my job titles have been all over the place. People treated me different in each job.

It surprises me to think of all these jobs and all the people I have worked with, and for. Its been a long ride and it isn't over yet. Who knows where I will be and who I will be next. I don't feel like retiring. I don't feel old. I just feel experienced.

Karma?

Sometimes it seems Karma does work. It takes a long time, but it seems to happen.

At my place of employment there is an example. When we opened a year and a half ago there were four “teams”, or shifts. Each shift had a shift coordinator/Mental Health Professional. We are legally the only ones who could do certain assessments, intake paperwork, daily psych notes, and so on. The system is used at almost every inpatient mental health facility in the state. A short time after opening one of the MHPs left. She was replaced by another MHP. Then another MHP left and was replaced. That replacement left and was not replaced. Another MHP shifted to a different job description but was not replaced. So there were only two teams with an MHP. Anything that had to be done during the other two shifts was supposed to be done by the MHP who had changed job titles. This did not work well. Finally another MHP was hired. But they were not assigned to a team. They worked the same hours as the reassigned MHP to lighten their load. So there were still two teams without an MHP. On weekends when those shifts without an MHP worked one of the non-shift MHPs was supposed to be on call. All documentation required every 24 hours was done by the shift MHPs. Then one of those MHPs left. It was decided that that position again would not be filled. So only one team would have an MHP. That was me. The two non-shift MHPs would have to be on call anytime I was not working. They also had to do the daily documentation for those days I was not scheduled.

This system did not work well, as often intake paperwork was delayed and daily documentation was done from home by them. There was still no change. Then a few weeks ago I requested a couple of days off to take a vacation. I have been working at my home facility and our sister facility to help cover shifts (they still insist on having an MHP present on each shift) and I needed some “down time”. Then last week one of the non-assigned MHPs was hurt on the job and will be out for an unknown period of time. So for the next week the one non-shift MHP left standing will be on call 24/7. This did not make that person happy. The fact is this person was the one that convinced the facility administrator that we did not need MHPs for the shifts. 

Karma working? Well, probably not. It seems to me that every time I think that Karma has come back to get the person that caused the problem it jumps from them to me. I have no doubt that I will have them trying to get me to cut short my vacation. If I don't I will be blamed for the problem. Though I have insisted that we needed to have an MHP assigned to each shift. I will be seen as a troublemaker or a discontent. 

Maybe I will see Karma work out the way it is supposed to. It never has anywhere I have worked. But there is always a first time.

Driving Mrs. Hansen

A small comment: I don’t remember my Mom ever driving a car or truck. She passed away when I was 11 but she was feeling well enough to work for some of the years before that. She was very sick towards the end of her life as she fought cancer. But it seems odd that I have no memory of my Mom driving. I checked with my older sister and she had the same memory. I remember my Dad driving, my older brothers and sisters driving, even uncles and aunts driving. But not my Mom. The speculation from my family is that before she became housebound with her cancer that she just didn’t necessarily like to drive.

But that confuses me, as my Dad worked swing shift for many years. My Mom would have had errands to run. She had small children who would need to go to doctor’s appointment, clothes shopping, and other “Mom stuff”. Even driving to her jobs. There was no bus service at that time in Bountiful so she couldn’t have used public transportation.

So I am left with the question of why I don’t remember my Mom driving. It is a little thing, but it is something that I can’t explain. I remember her making Divinity, homemade donuts, painting while in her wheelchair, going to church, playing the piano and much more.

Maybe it was something so unimportant that my mind decided that it didn’t need to store it in my long-term memory files (which get more crowded every day). But I had room for memories of cub scout meetings, playing mumbly peg with pocket knives (explain that to today’s safety conscious parents) and other very disposable memories. But not that memory.

So I shouldn’t obsess about it. It just feels like a small missing piece of my “Mom Memory” jigsaw puzzle. And I wonder what my kids will remember from their childhood. I know that they will remember the big things, but what about the minor memories?

I guess that at my age I worry about missing memories, no matter how small and how long ago. I guess that I will need to keep organizing my memories files in the big file cabinet of my mind. And just take note of what is missing.

Over My Shoulder

Over My Shoulder


It's dark and cold.
The wind is blowing hard against my face as
I struggle to  move forward.
But over my shoulder
I hear many footsteps.
These are all the people who stood behind me
No matter what
So I go forward.

The wind blows harder
And the cold is now making my eyes tear up.
I want to just give up.
But over my shoulder
Are the voices, so strong,
Of the people who encouraged me to persevere
Despite the odds
So I go forward.

The gusts are now so strong
It feels like hands pushing me to my knees
As the cold cuts my skin.
But over my shoulder
I look back and see the faces
Of all those who inspired me, helped me, consoled me
When I felt alone.
So I go forward.

Now I stand up straight
And I curse the wind and cold and defy them
As I walk without pause.
And over my shoulder
I sense the love and faith
That so many have given me and continue to give me.
And I go forward.

The eyes

I looked into his eyes
As he stood in line at the Food Bank.
There was so much to see
His story was there to read, if you looked.

He never spoke to anyone
And no one in the building spoke to him.
It was obviously what he wanted.
He just stands silently; alone in the crowd.

He is neatly dressed
Though his jeans are a little ragged.
His cares don't include his jeans
Many, too many, other things occupy his mind.

No one there knows how
He lost job last year just before Christmas.
No explanation, no justification
Just another person blocking someone else's path.

The job hunt began immediately
Little response and few interviews resulted
But no one ever give a reason
But, in his eyes, you could see what he felt.

Maybe his references were bad
Or it might be his age worked against him
He had passed sixty years
And a lifetime of experience now meant nothing.

The money is getting tight
His unemployment checks have stopped
So he started to use his savings.
That didn't last long and he started to panic.

Several people depend on him
He can't let them down or let them worry
He borrowed from family
But that was humbling and wouldn't last.

He still applies for jobs
Sending the same resumes to the same people.
His hope is fading away
His faith is strong, but doesn't pay the bills.

Some people care about him
And worry that he is giving in or giving up.
But the one who should care
Is annoyed by his concerns and tunes him out.

He feels she blames him
For the plight he is in and the problems he faces
This adds to his loneliness
He keeps more of his hurt and fear to himself.

So now he stands in line
For free food to feed himself and his family.
He never thought this was his fate
And he doesn't know what tomorrow will bring.

So waits his turn, silent
Avoiding any interaction with others.
He doesn't feel he is above them
He instead feels lost and alone, and confused.

He doesn't know how he got here
Or if things will get better or just get worse.
But he doesn't want you to judge him
For he spends all his time, judging himself.

His eyes show it all.
If you only look.

Thoughts While Falling

Thoughts While Falling


You find that its 'into the abyss” as they say
Whoever “they” are.
I am certain that they are not
The ones who fell into the abyss.

They are not the ones
Who went over the precipice
And now have time to think
About anything and everything.

“They” also say that time slows down
At moments like this.
Though, again, how would “they” know
As no one sends back a report from the abyss.

The mind would probably panic first,
Though that is a totally useless action.
There is no need to make a plan
The ending of the fall is already a certainty.

Then will thoughts turn to loved ones?
Those who will miss you
And who you would miss, but won't.
Because, again, the outcome precludes sentiments.

Would you think about your actions
Leading up to the fall?
You can't change anything you did.
And a warning to others is not possible.

Perhaps you would look back over your life
Reliving the joys and sorrows.
But reveling in one's personal history
Seems more likely in the afterlife.

Maybe your thoughts would turn to
What you left undone.
Did you tell anyone know where you put the
Life insurance policy? That would be helpful.

But then you remember that you are falling
So its not really your concern.
Neither is whether the bills are all paid
And if anyone will remember that trash day is tomorrow.

You could think about the fact no one was there
To see you fall into the precipice.
How long will it take for someone to realize
That you were no longer present?

And will they think that it was intentional
Or just poor footing on a rock.
Whatever they decide will definitely impact
The eulogy at your funeral.

Or would you just eventually relax
And “go with the flow”.
The outcome is set in stone, so to speak
So you might as well enjoy the show.

Happy Enough

Happy Enough


Have you ever been asked
“Are you happy?”
Can you give an instant reply?
No hesitation?
Unequivocal ?
“Yes, I'm happy.”

I am envious of your certainty.
“Am I happy?”
Time and life's circumstances
Make me hesitate
Equivocate.
“I'm happy enough.”

There were times in my life I could have said
“Yes, I'm happy.”
My marriage.
The birth of my children.
Their college graduation.
“Yes, I was happy.”


But experiences and loss can change that.
“Are you still happy?”
Dreams die, unaccomplished..
Goals are out of reach.
Relationships change.
“What is happy?”

The future still holds promise in some ways.
“Can you be happy?”
Yes, when my children marry.
When they have children of their own.
When they reach their dreams.
“I will be happy.”

But today, at this moment, it's complicated.
“Are you happy?”
I see more endings.
And fewer beginnings.
I have to consider all of my life to this point. So...
“I'm happy enough.”


Will Hansen, 2014.