The phone rings and I answer. It's a woman from one of the banks which our helpdesk looks after. She's having trouble connecting remotely from her home. This is a common phone call that I get from a variety of customers.
The call starts by me explaining how I'm going to help. I ask for the keyfob serial number, which allows me to look up her details. She says she's been off on long term sick, part of me wants to ask why, but I know it's not my business. She's forgotten her username to log in. I know exactly what the problem is straight away when I look this up, and duly tell her to put in a different username. This allows her to connect fine and she's able to log on.
While she's checking her side to make sure she's connected we start some small talk, which goes a little beyond the basic weather conversation. She explains that she has been retraining for new processes in the company as she has been off. She expands on this to say that the reason she has been off on sick leave for 6 months is to care for her husband, who has cancer. I immediately draw in my breath and the memories that I have of this exact situation with my Mum come flooding back. "...And it's terminal", she continues. "I'm so sorry to hear that", I can only reply. Once it was the opposite way around when people replied to me like that. There is nothing else you can say.
She explains about getting her husband into a care home, a task I remember so vividly with my Mum. I expand on my Sorry by explaining, "I went through the same thing.." I am a complete mess of emotions at this point, part of me wants to cry, part of me wants to hug this woman and say everything's going to be OK and part of me wants to kick that bastard cancer illness into touch once and for all and stop hurting innocent people.
I really felt genuine emotion for this woman who I don't know and have never met. I didn't expand on my Mum's story too much (as that is a novel in itself) but I felt her pain. She knows the outcome it seems. When I tried to be positive; "I hope your husband gets better", she replied quite openly and in a real heartbroken manner, "he won't". I was amazed at her strength to say that. She didn't, or at least I didn't hear her voice break at all.
She did ask rhetorically at one point, "Why am I telling you all this?" I didn't need to answer, I used to talk all my feelings away to complete strangers. I know exactly how she feels, seeing someone you love so dearly taken away from you is a terrible wrench. My Mum was 46 when she died from stomach cancer. I had just turned 22. The person who guided me through childhood is no longer there, I have to guide myself now.
So, this woman, who outpoured all her story down the phone line seems an inspiration. I called her an "angel" at one point for caring so well for her husband. My Dad, who was fantastic throughout my Mum's journey/torture (depending on your optimism) has been there, done it and sold the T shirt.
I left her able to logon to work remotely, she said thanks for talking through helping her connect, and also to listen to her story. She asked for my name at the end of the call, I said "it's Richard". That made me feel quite proud and threw me completely again, no one ever asks for my name unless they think I've done a good job. "Whenever I ring your company, I always find you really helpful". "I'm doing my best" is what I could muster in reply as I said Goodbye.
Our best is all we can do. What a marvellous woman.
I had to go on a break after that call, and I fondly recalled some great moments with my Mum when I was little. To say that phone call didn't move me would be an understatement.
Would love to know how that woman and her husband fare in the future. Sadly, I may never find out. They deserve happiness, I'm sure the place that serves it is where my Mum is now. God bless you, wherever you are. x
Rich.
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