After several years of watching my husband ride the unemployment carousel, you'd think I would be used to it by now. I don't remember what year it started--2007? 2009? And I have lost track of how many jobs he's had. Between the effect of the economy on the shipping industry, a few unfortunate mistakes, and the reality of approaching the age of 50, it has been hard for my husband to find a job and keep a job.
Chronic unemployment leaves scars, even on spouses. When my husband lost yet another job early this week, it occurred to me that I might never recover. He had been at this last job for three months, and I had just started to feel hopeful about our future for the first time in years. I was daydreaming again, thinking about doing some household projects that cost a little money, and generally feeling fairly content. But it hadn't been enough time to build up my reserves. When I saw his number on my phone at a time he would've been at work, I found myself hoping someone had died because I just couldn't bear it again. It was the most despair I'd felt in some time; not only did my husband lose a job, but I had experienced the anguish of finally feeling hopeful again, only to have that hope demolished. Each time, it gets harder to learn to hope again.
He has already had a couple interviews and has a follow-up interview next week. But I don't have it in me to be a supportive wife. I don't want to know the name of the company, and I don't really want to talk about it--even though it is what he needs to do. It feels like putting myself in the line of fire and volunteering to have any glimmer of hope attacked. I just can't do it.
I'm sighing again, trying to resign myself to difficulties and emotional transition. Again and again and again.
