Love & Care

When I was laid off, I assumed I’d find another job. Little did I know what that job would be

- Maryanne Curran

AT 7 A.M., MY SISTER GAIL CAME waltzing into the kitchen in shorts and a sleeveless top—“Look at my outfit!”—even though it was a New England fall day in 2005. At 40, eight years younger than me, Gail was developmentally disabled and functioned at about the level of a six-year-old. “Let’s get you into something warmer,” I told her, and together we picked out jeans and a sweater. Gail launched into her usual morning complaint: “It’s not a good day to go to my program. I need to stay home to help you and Mom and Dad.”

“Your bus will be here in 20 minutes,” I said. Gail stormed out of the kitchen. Soon I heard the familiar slamming of doors all over the house. This habit used to drive me crazy, but now I just gritted my teeth and let her do it until she got tired of it. Sometimes I gave in and let her stay home.

After I’d gotten laid off from my job, more than two years earlier, I’d taken on the responsibility of caring for Gail and my parents. I shared a house with them, after all. My three other siblings helped out when they could, but they all had families and homes of their own. I thought I could handle being a full-time family caregiver, but I was completely drained. How was I going to make it through another day?

“Maryanne!” Mom called weakly from the family room. “You’ve got to get Gail out the door!”

I thought fast. “You can wear your pink scarf today,” I yelled out to Gail, who, temporarily mollified, ran to her room to get it. One small crisis averted. I fixed her hair and checked to make sure that she’d brushed her teeth. The bus driver honked outside, and Gail kissed Mom goodbye. One down and two to go!