Jill

Jill taught me something important about taking care of others. 

She was my boss at a job that I loved. We spent an entire summer working side-by-side when Covid shut down the world, but we'd already known each other for more than a year by then. I remember when she looked at me during my interview and said, "With all the education and experience you have, why do you want to do this?" and then she realized that what I was really looking for in the world was for someone to give me a chance. So she gave me that chance. And then... 

And then, she just kept giving me opportunities. I had only been there a couple of weeks when she gave me one of the coveted spots in the summer program. I had been there less than a year when she made me part of the Covid crew. At every turn, when I asked, I received. 

Then I got Covid. Bad. 

Jill was there the day I tried to come back to work. It was day 10 after diagnosis, the day when my employer said it was okay to come back, so I did. I still felt like junk (we didn't know how badly my lungs had been compromised at that point), but I wanted to be back at work. I made it less than a half hour before they sent me home. 

The next thing I knew, Jill had filed all of the paperwork to give me an intermittent leave of absence. Told me she wanted to make sure that when I finally beat this thing ("when"), I had my job to come back to. Told me she cared about me and wanted to make sure I was okay above all things. 

Not long after that, a coworker was scouting my social media and saw that I was due for a Covid re-test, a formality that my doctor's office required in 2020 when we knew so little about Covid and everyone was so scared. I had already made the required contacts with my employer - Jill, of course, and HR - and they had both said I was still clear to fly. But my coworker went around "tattling" (or thinking she was tattling), trying to paint it as me being deceptive, as me being a danger to the rest of the staff, as me not following policy or whatever because why was I retesting? 

I told her it was none of her business and that I'd already done the things I was supposed to do. And I unfriended her on social media. 

Jill assured me not to worry about the noise. Not to worry about the stares, about the persons around me who were scared because, at that time, I was the only one on my crew who had gotten Covid and I had it so bad, it was scary for everyone else to watch. They were nervous about themselves, Jill told me. But she wasn't worried at all about me posing a risk. All she wanted was for me to take care of myself. 

Jill took care of me at a time when I didn't know what to do. She put the pieces in place for me to be cared for, and then she pushed aside the noise. 

And that's exactly the kind of person I want to be. I think it's a great way to care for others. 

To take care of them, to put everything in place for their needs, and then to push aside the noise and be a buffer against those who don't know but are trying to push their way in anyway. 

Jill retired the next year, and my ongoing battle with the ravages of Covid took me away from it, as I could no longer physically do the work, but that was a great season for me, in no small part because Jill did such a good job of caring for me. 

May I, in turn, help to create great seasons for others by caring so well for them. 

Damn the noise.