I only cried once

View from my office window at sunset, winter 2009-10.

Today I received my layoff notification, effective July 1. I've been dreading this for several months, which is why I've been the writing equivalent of tongue-tied here... strung out, anxious, distracted. Too much to say for a blog; too little energy left for benign topics.

When I left the meeting this morning, at first I was simply relieved to be out from under the dark cloud of unknowing. I went out to lunch with dear friends (one of whom was similarly laid off last year) and returned to my office to do some work.

After I posted a "pink slip" visual pun on my Facebook page, friends began posting and emailing me to express shock, support, and sadness. Even anger on my behalf, in a few cases, which I admit made me feel loved: fierce friends say what we can't, at times.

I've worked at Brown for 34 years, with a three-year break when I worked for two other colleges. My office is, literally, my personal "room of one's own," complete with plants, Star Wars memorabilia, framed family photos, lamps, and my collection of University directories and Commencement programs going back to 1974. My friends are my colleagues. The campus remains one of the prettiest places I've been; each day has offered foliage and brickwork and details that refresh my eyes.

Across the street from my building: the College Green.

This evening after I'd arrived home, I sat Kevin down in the living room for a tough talk about his slacking off (again) in school, and the possible consequences, such as no college next year. I am weary of it. But parenting must be done regardless of mood or circumstance, and I'm the only adult at home to do it.

I served him supper, and then stood by the kitchen sink as he ate, muddled and mute. After an action-packed day, I was at a standstill: What now? How am I feeling? (Answer: About 100 years old.) I saw myself suddenly as an old, tired woman. I'd been sloughed off, deemed useless, passé. My face sliding down into jowls and grooves. My hair a mess of colors: brown, dark blonde, gray, and blonde highlights – pathetic! Bags under my eyes. Shoulders slumped. Dumpy. Defeated: stopped in my tracks after a lifetime of charging forward, coping, learning, branching out, adapting, having fun, moving past tragedies, immersed in work and play and family.

As if my posture had telegraphed my thoughts, Kevin rose from his meal and took four steps to my side. He reached his arms around me and pulled me close and patted my back: pat... pat... pat... pat... "It will be okay," he said calmly. We stood that way for a minute, and it was not awkward in the least to be embraced by my 17-year-old son.

What bolt struck his heart and moved him to comfort me? Here was my contrary teen, smart and sarcastic and skeptical. Here he was, tall and wise now, holding his old, tired, fired mother and telling me everything will be all right.

That's when I cried.