Book- retirement

(Place on page 301, after para. 5 "Always be a social worker..")

I left without much fanfare. No parties, no big celebrations. I wasn't happy to leave. I felt I had much more to give. But "more to give" would not have been the "best I could give." The residents deserved  better. So I retired, quietly.

It was odd because once I got into social work, I really imagined myself doing it forever. I had to be real and admit that, physically, I couldn't do it anymore. And maybe, after close to 30 years,  I finally reached the point I was warned about so long ago by , teachers,  supervisors and co-workers over the years- I simply burned-out.

After many tries over many years, my candle was extinguished with one final puff. No one ever warned me that it would be so hard, as a caregiver, to leave it all behind.

Now I sat home, after making the decision to wheel away, and felt lonely and sad, even though I was neither. I  missed feeling wanted and needed. I didn't have a plan and I soon got bored at home. My body wouldn't let me do what I had done for  so long, but my spirit was still willing to try.    I suppose I did need time, time to reflect and time to think about what was ahead.

I always had the attitude of "Don't think -just do it."  This time, right or wrong- I did stop to think.

While the rest of the world continued on, I  felt guilty of no longer being part of that world. Why? Why, even after all I accomplished, despite my challenges in life, why did I still have this intense burning  in my soul to keep going? That my role in this world was never good enough?

They teach you how to become a social worker, but nobody ever teaches you how to stop.

I had to accept the fact that I did the best I could do.  My dreams almost every night were of work. I tried staying away but couldn't, and found myself needing to visit my residents on weekends. Now I needed them more than they needed me.

 Gradually  I tapered-off and began to let go. Thank God Holly filled the emptiness in my heart.

Retirement doesn't have to signal "the end." of active life.  It can simply be the start of another  chapter of life. Sharing life with Holly, now more  than ever, saved me from days of sleeping til noon, or endless hours of mindless late-night TV, or simply doing nothing. That wasn't me.  I simply needed to turn the page to the next chapter- and continue to make everyday count.

 Wheelchair Willie, Lori, even Dad might  say, " Give yourself credit, Greg. Job well done. Now get your butt in gear and move on to the next great adventure."

Funny, Dad never lived to enjoy retirement. Now here I  was, sad to no longer be a social worker. When I retired I was already older than he was when  he died. Hard to imagine.

In time I finally began to realize that I was still needed and wanted- by  Holly, by my pets, by my family and friends. That's when I found peace in my heart.