Honor is living by the virtues, showing great respect for yourself, other people, and the rules you live by. When you are honorable, you keep your word. You do the right thing regardless of what others are doing. Honor is a path of integrity. ~ The Virtues Project
"Rather fail with honor than succeed by fraud." ~ Sophocles
"It is better to deserve honors and not have them than to have them and not deserve them." ~ Mark Twain
In this capitalist nation of ours, true honor is hard to find in a business setting, especially if it involves giving up some of your money. I have been fortunate to work with a handful of business people of integrity. Jeneane Sessum is one of these most honorable people. Jeneane stood up for what is good and right in the world when no one asked her to do so. I am completely humbled by the fact that she did it because of something that happened to me.
Here is the story of 4 weeks that changed my life.
Last November 16th, I was 38 weeks pregnant and had just finished working many hard weeks to launch a fresh new web site for my company. Against all odds, including the departure of my boss to a new company, my taking on of most of his work, and a mysterious breakdown of the content management system, I published that web site on time. I was exhausted but very proud of my work. The previous week, I had been in an accident that technically totaled my car, crumpling the frame, but that left it drivable. I had still been driving it the 40 miles each way to the office. My new, wonderful female boss told me on many occasions that I should work from home the last few weeks of my pregnancy. So that day, November 16th, I took her up on her offer. I logged into my e-mail from home and read rave reviews from a big account exec on how well I had helped one of our biggest clients. The house was quiet as I watched the sun rise from my house's hilltop view. Finally, I felt like I could start winding down from one of the most challenging and messed-up jobs I'd ever worked.
A few hours later, I got a phone call. At first I thought it was a telemarketer and I was prepared to head him off at the pass. Turns out it was the new Chief Marketing Officer (who was also trying to hide the fact that he was running for Senate in Texas. But everyone knew. Damn Republican.) Had he called to congratulate me on the new corporate web site, which I launched on time for a trade show despite all odds? Quite simply, no. He and the legal council had called to let me know that my position and the position of the other web coordinator had been terminated, effectively eliminating our department. Terminated, I said? But I'm giving birth in 2 weeks - how am I supposed to go out and find a job? I won't share the details of the severance package, but it wasn't generous.
Here I was, 9 1/2 months pregnant, I had worked my ass off for this company, and this is the thanks I get? And they must have been planning it for a while - they were fanatical about getting that web site posted by November 15th. But karma is a funny thing. The lead web developer quit without notice in protest to take another job that had been chasing her. One of the other developers left not long afterward - they dumped my work on him and he wasn't an XHTML/CSS guy. Others in the company were stunned and my female friends were fearful of their rights. If they could off someone as hardworking as me at 9 1/2 months pregnant, how were they going to treat the rest of the female employees?
And Jeneane, who was to write a Canadian version of the site, quit the
account in protest, leaving money on the table. They still don't have a Canadian site. Serves
them right.
Alas, Georgia is a "right to work" state, and I had no legal recourse. In the end, the experience was for the best. It forced me to reflect on my journey from one dot-com to the next, all run by rich white men. Not all of these men were "bad". But it was enough to make me want to kiss the dot-com companies good-bye for a while. I had lost my identity in them. I was iXL. I was Kinzan.com. (Both defunct now.) I worked late nights and gave them my 20s. I moved away from my family and friends in search of someone else's fortune. I took care of the clients instead of taking care of my grandma when she got sick and passed away, and instead of taking care of my mom through her 1st and 2nd battles with breast cancer. These women had given me the courage to succeed, and I thought, as I climbed ever higher in a male dominated industry and gritted my teeth through situations that most wise people wouldn't tolerate,... I thought I was succeeding. But I was only pouring my very being, my life, my health, my youth, my relationships, into someone else's dream. And their dream wasn't about saving the children or helping the poor or making this world a better place for everyone. For most, their dream was about saving themselves and having big boats and a corporate jet and a fat bank account. I only worked for one company whose executives ever went without a paycheck so employees could get paid well, considering the size of the company. And I left that company in search of bigger and better, onwards and upwards, and I got rightly smacked down.
In the end, it couldn't have been a more well-timed smack. A week later (and a week ahead of schedule), my water unexpectedly broke as I was headed out the door for some R&R at Barnes & Noble. At the same time, my dad was rushing my mom, in late stage breast cancer, to Nashville for another emergency surgery to clear her cancer-ridden lungs of fluid. The next day, my mom and I were in operating rooms at the same time, hundreds of miles apart. I had an emergency C-section and delivered a healthy baby boy. My mom came through her surgery and went back home.
A week later, my mom was back in Nashville. When my dad called and said they had started her on a morphine drip, I knew she wasn't coming home. Against my dad's wishes, Matt and I packed the car in 2 hours flat and called to let him know that we were driving ourselves and an 8 day-old baby from Atlanta to Nashville, through rush hour traffic, over mountains, and through a freezing rain advisory. We'd be there that night and he couldn't stop us. It was trial by fire for traveling with a baby. I hobbled my c-sectioned self into the lobby of the hospital in Nashville pushing a stroller for the first time and trying fruitlessly to stuff a diaper bag underneath while everything fell out of its pockets when my dad walked up, gave me a great big hug, and said I wish you hadn't driven here tonight, but I'm so glad you're here. My mom had almost died earlier that day because they forgot to reconnect her oxygen to the right line after surgery.
I called my brother and told him to get up there. He was already on the way and would be there in the morning. The week before, when he had almost not come across town to visit me in the hospital because he was busy with work, I gave him a lecture that went something like this: The people at work do not care about you. The thing you're working on right now will not matter in 10 years. The only people who will still care for you then and still be here are your family. The things I did for that big start up company don't matter now, but mom always remembered that I never went with her to chemotherapy. Please learn from my mistakes. I told my mom that night about my talk with Patrick, and she was very glad to hear it.
Fast forward to Nashville. She looked bad. Only her eyes still looked like my mom. The next day, she looked better, and she lit up when she saw Benjamin. She called him the most beautiful baby in the world. She was a little drugged and tried to kiss him through an oxygen mask. She was too weak already to hold him, so her favorite nurses and doctors passed him around as she watched. I pinned her Northside Hospital "I'm a Grandma" pin on her gown.
She fell in and out of lucidity over the next few days and not all of our conversations made sense, but the words that mattered were spoken. I said my goodbyes and my dad told us to get home with that baby. I'll never forget how she hung onto my hand that last time.
We came back a week later so I could keep my dad company and sanity while he waited. She was a shell of her former self, unconscious and barely breathing. When no one was in the room, I told her it was ok, that we would be ok but we would really miss her. She needed to go be with Grandma Freeman. She opened her eyes and seemed to close them in exhaustion. That night, December 19th, I left for dinner. Dad called and said she wasn't doing so well. God put every traffic light and slow elevator in my way, and I made it to the room just seconds after her last breath.
Finally, I had been there for my mom. And finally, I understood how much strength motherhood takes, and how no one ever talks about how hard it really is, and how my mom must have been a saint for her patience with my brother and I. Finally, it all made sense. If nothing else, we are here on this planet to love and be loved by others.
The next few weeks were a blur as I received a melange of sympathy, Christmas and baby cards, some people sending one of each. Many wrote that it was a blessing that my mom saw Benjamin and that I had been given such a great gift in the face of such a great loss. If anything, taking care of him took my mind off of things. I was a lactating, sleep deprived zombie and had little energy for emotion. The breastfeeding nazis try to make you think that ignorance is the reason breastfeeding fails. They don't warn you that the craziness of sleep deprivation is what leads your husband to break out the formula in pity of his poor wife. File that away for another post.
A few months of motherhood and of processing all that happened in those four weeks has lead me to a life change. I'm building my own small business on a foundation of integrity. I work at home. And many times a day, I take a break to play with my son, change diapers, relieve my tired mother-in-law from volunteer nanny-hood, wipe up copious amounts of spit, read baby to sleep with stories from Character is Destiny
, and weave for him tales of those in heaven who love him.
