A Good Job

When I was in my mid-twenties, I worked at General Electric in what my father proudly called a “good job”.  Hired into the Cleveland region as the first female consumer sales representative during the Jack Welch days, to have GE on your resume was quite impressive.  With numerous stock options and awards, I was deemed a “hi-po” (a high potential employee) and my young career was on a successful trajectory.

After a couple of years in sales, I transitioned into human resources where I developed and conducted national sales training and traveled the country recruiting sales reps.

In my sturdy black “9 to 5” pumps and Sheer Energy pantyhose, I felt unstoppable.  As this was a time of pre-internet, my position required much travel. I remember one trip when I was 7 months pregnant and flew home in an ice storm from Louisville.  Chunks of ice hit the propeller and smashed into my window.  The guy seated next to me helplessly watched as I grabbed the arm of my seat with one hand and my belly with the other as the plane bobbed and dodged in the storm. He leaned over and shouted, “Are you going to deliver this baby on the plane?”

On what would ultimately become my final business trip, my husband and 2-year-old son walked me to the gate at the airport.  Looking over at my son’s sweet face and his little hands clutching the red ribbon to a silver Happy Mother’s Day balloon, I made the decision that I didn’t want to do this anymore. At the age of 33, I made a conscious decision to “stay home” full time.  I distinctly recall my last day at the office, many of my colleagues said “There’s no way you will last at home. See you back here in 6 months.”

My joke became that I had to stay home long enough to get pregnant again and eventually was blessed with 2 more sons.  From blouses and briefcases to the mom of 3 boys under the age of 6, I never looked back on my past, professional life. Our days were filled with Thomas the Tank engine, trips to the zoo, the library, and Grandma’s house.

Time passed swiftly.  After nearly fifteen years of marriage, my sons’ father and I decided to divorce. With no job, no real credit of my own, I was faced with finding both employment and a place to live for my sons and I and our 2 dogs after being home as a full-time mom for twelve years.

Since we had a desktop computer and I managed the family’s finances on a spreadsheet, I naively thought my skillset was current.  I soon discovered, however, that securing a position in the workplace would be quite a challenge as the economy was slow and I was now competing with a much younger workforce.  In a twist of bittersweet irony, I was up against my former self.

Like the chicken and the egg dilemma, finding a home while looking for a job was both mentally and emotionally draining.  A nice realtor named Angie was very patient and supportive as she took my parents and I on many house tours.  Now in their eighties, my mom and dad were very concerned about the future wellbeing of both me and their grandsons.  Finally, we found a cozy white colonial on a cul-de-sac.

As I was still unemployed, my parents, who had been retired for many years, offered to co-sign a loan using their pension as collateral, a unique proposal. I diligently contacted several banks in our area and received the same response, “Sorry, we would love to help you, but we can’t”.  With a growing sense of defeat, I reached out to one more financial institution, a local community bank, and spoke with a woman named Angela.  To my complete shock, she responded “Let me see what we can do.”  Within a few days, she called me back and said, “Laura, we can make this work.”  Tears streamed from my eyes as I was now filled with hope for our future.

Two women, both named Angela, served as “angels” in our most difficult days.

My sons and I, along with our dogs, moved into our new home on my forty-seventh birthday.  Shortly thereafter, I reconnected with a guy I knew from high school. With his strong referral and support, his firm took a chance on me and created a business development position selling accounting services. Now in my late forties, my salary was $30,000 less than I earned fourteen years prior. However, I was more motivated being on my own, in my first new home with 4 mouths to feed.

March 4^th, my first day of work.  I was both nervous and excited.  For the first time in a really long time, I blew dry my hair and wrapped it in hot rollers. Just as I was about to pour my coffee, my older brother called and said “Mom’s been taken to the ER.  We need to get there.”.  I ripped the rollers out of my hair, slipped on sweatpants, and left the house.

On my way to the hospital, I called my new place of employment and sobbed in a message to the Human Resources Director, “I’m so sorry, but I will be late today”.

As I entered my mom’s room, she pulled off her oxygen mask and waved me over.  I leaned down and she feebly whispered, “Does work know you will be late today?”

A few hours later, she passed. In peace knowing that my sons and I had a home. And once again, I had a good job.