Welcome Home(Tom Di Roma) Welcome Home

When I saw the email that told me where I was to go for my interview, I felt a lump form in my throat, and my eyes get all watery.
Having been retired for the last two years, I tried everything to keep myself from going crazy: traveling to various tourist locations, visiting with my grandkids a lot, going to movies, as well as visiting museums, playing golf, bowling, exercising, even going to concerts, but nothing seemed to fill the hole in my soul. I missed being with co-workers. You work for nearly forty years, whether in the same area of expertise or not, and it becomes your very existence. That’s why I found myself often glancing at help wanted ads more and more.
But then I saw it—a flyer tacked to a bulletin board outside the grocery store where I shopped. A new apparel company was looking for seniors to be interns for the summer, with the possibility of more time to follow. The flyer requested both a video and written resume. It had just an email address where to send them.
Since I was only moderately computer literate, I got my ten-year-old grandson, Bobby, to help me prepare. Then we sent off my resumes. But when I didn’t hear anything for a couple of weeks, I thought I had missed out, until I got the email that started the waters flowing. That’s because the location I was to go to for my interview was the same address where I had worked for nearly forty years. I couldn’t believe it; was I really going home?
Of course, it wasn’t my actual home, but after working in the same building for almost forty years, it was the only place in which I felt totally at ease, even more so than the brownstone my late wife and I had occupied.

Standing in front of the building, I kept staring at my old office window, while all kinds of images flew through my head. Some were images of me working there. Others were about problems and/or solutions with which I had been involved. Other images were of numerous birthday and holiday celebrations. But the one image that was the most vivid was the day of my retirement. That one caused a tear to drip onto my cheek.
Using my hand to wipe away the moisture, I heaved a huge sigh, then headed through the doors to the receptionist’s desk. After she heard why I was there, she told me where to go to wait for my interview. Ironically, it was two rooms away from my old office.
There were several other “elderly” members of society waiting for their interviews. We smiled at each other, then went back to whatever we had been doing—crossword puzzles, reading books and/or magazines, or watching videos on phones. When it was my turn, I followed a young woman into an office and answered all her questions with no hesitation.
Once the interview was over, she told me I had the internship. Then she told me what my job would be—assistant to the company’s founder, Julie Syfer. Before leaving, I stopped in front of my old office. While standing there, I stared intently through the open doorway. Whoever occupied the office now, wasn’t home, but my brain conjured up numerous images of myself in this office.
I must have been standing there for a long time, because suddenly, I heard a female voice next to me ask, “Can someone help you? You look lost.”
Turning, I saw a twenty-something Julie Syfer smiling at me. I had seen her photo on the wall when I was being interviewed.
“Oh, sorry,” I told her. “I was just reminiscing.”
“About what?”
Indicating the room, I said, “This used to be my office.”
Her eyes got big and she asked, “You used to work here?”
I nodded mumbling. “Yes, for nearly forty years.”
“Forty years!” she exclaimed, sounding absolutely stunned. But then after calming down, replied, “Well, welcome home.”

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