You think it won’t happen to you.
Then, in the middle of the morning, when he should be at work, your husband shows up at the park and you know.
He’s lost his job.
At 10:05 a.m. I was still blissfully unaware.
By 10:33 I was sobbing like a child, hiding behind a tree, so that my children wouldn’t see the seven stages of grief before lunchtime.
I have refrained from grabbing my keys and driving down to his ex-employer and screaming at them. “Don’t you KNOW we have kids? And hospital bills? And that I work at a private school??!”
But I have chosen to be civilized and even offered my pain and fear to God.
But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have your prayers in our corner either.
I guess now I don’t have much choice but to write that best-selling memoir.
You just have to promise to buy it.
And don’t expect a discount.