I was drowning under the weight of it all. My modest pension wasn’t nearly enough to support the five of us, so I had no choice but to go back to work. At 71, very few places wanted to hire me, but I finally found a job at a Route 9 restaurant.
She scrubbed tables, washed dishes, and took orders. In the evenings, after the children went to bed, she knitted scarves and hats to sell at the weekend market to earn some extra money.
It wasn’t a glamorous or easy job, but it kept us afloat during those terrible first months.
