(Names and details changed)

My generation, for the most part, had a very strong work ethic. It came, perhaps, because many of us grew up as children of immigrants and we inherited it from our parents. Working hard, being a loyal employee was the way to get ahead, get out of poverty and create a better life for our families. Many of us went into the “helping professions”, teachers, social workers and often loyalty to our jobs was first in our lives. And so when chronic illness struck some of us, the work ethic persisted for many who were able to continue working. Going on disability was something to avoid and many chronically ill of my age group hung onto their jobs as long as they could, working harder then thought possible to continue doing a good job. The reward they got for doing this was mixed.

Moshe had been a professor at the university for 31 years. For 26 of them he had fought his MS, pushing himself hard to continue to give to his students and his colleagues. As the diseased progressed, he just worked harder to meet the needs of those around him at his job. Instead of going on disability when he needed a cane and then crutches to help him walk and finally a wheelchair when he could no longer walk or even stand, Moshe just got up earlier and earlier to meet his personal needs, get into work on time and continue his routine. His days became longer as it took him more time to do all he had before for his students and his peers. No matter what it took out of him or what sacrifices he had to make, Moshe never allowed himself to compromise on the quality of his work.

Finally, after 31 years of teaching, he was hospitalized. He went on sick leave. He heard from no one. Not one of the people he had worked so hard with bothered to call or even send a card. The office sent no flowers. It was as if he never existed. After the sick leave expired, Moshe went on short-term disability, still hoping to return to his job. After a year, he began to accept that he would never return to his life as a professor. Sadly, he asked his children to go in to his office and pack up his books and personal belongings. When he called his department to arrange it, he was told that they had needed the office space a long time ago. All his things had been packed up and put in storage without a word to him or his family. He never had a chance to have someone take his personal things from his desk or sort through what was important and valuable. It was as if he never existed at the university.

Richard was a social worker. He too struggled valiantly to try and stay in the work force. But, Richards’s disease progressed too quickly and affected him mentally as well as physically. He was forced to stop working. Still, Richard’s colleagues kept in touch and made sure to include him in a staff lunch every so often. Today, Richard no longer speaks, it is doubtful that he even recognizes his former peers, yet Richard is still included in a social lunch at least once a year. His colleagues insist that he join them. They feel it is the least they can do for Richard as a person and a peer who gave so much to them and the workplace.

They say that when someone leaves a job the impression that is left is the same as if you took your hand out of a pail of water. Nothing. As if you’ve never been there at all. After all, everyone is replaceable. But how your leaving is treated by your peers and employers can make all the difference in how you face the next step in this adventure we call life. If Moshe had received a call explaining that the university needed his office space while he was sick, if they had asked him if he’d like to have someone come in and take his personal things, perhaps go through his desk before they packed up, he would have understood and felt that he was still valuable. That would have helped him cope, to whatever small degree, with this next phase of his life like it did for Richard. Instead, they treated him as if he had never existed or contributed to his work place and that is how he felt. His ability to deal with his disability was made more difficult by this blow to his self-image. A five-minute phone call would have made all the difference.

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