Losing More Than a Maid

This is a post I wasn’t particularly looking forward to write. In a couple of posts back, I wrote about my misadventures with our 15-year old maid, Cyril. She left last Monday after I found a couple of things of mine in her possession. This was not the first time but this time, I was bitterly disappointed. We had spoken after the first incident and she seemed remorseful enough but didn’t say a word. The ridiculous thing about it is, I gave her a warning before we cleaned the closets in her room. Even more ridiculous is, she took inconsequential things that I probably would have given her or bought for her - if only she had asked me beforehand. I made it a point to ask her if she needed anything before I did my weekly shopping and even if she didn’t ask, I bought her all her toiletries and over the counter drugs. I had just bought her a fresh supply last week in fact. This is more to me than just losing some material things. When you see something of yours in someone else’s possession, you feel violated, no matter how trivial it all seems later. One thing she took was one of those small hotel soaps I saved from the Avalanche Ranch in Colorado, where Spouse and I celebrated our 5th anniversary. It wasn’t just a piece of soap, it was a souvenir of a very happy time that will never happen again. I already explained to Cyril how it was important that since we lived in the same house, we have to trust one another. This time I had to explain much more. I didn’t rant, I didn’t rave, I was just so sad and disappointed my body became limp. I know I got through to her about the lying. Even if she knew she’d get in trouble that last day, she didn’t lie when I asked her if there was something else of mine she took. When I first asked her about this lying business, she said it was the first thing that came to mind, which I found very worrisome. How can anyone trust a person whose first instinct is to lie? On that last day, she didn’t show any remorse. Initially I saw the fear in her eyes when she was caught. When I took her aside to talk to her, the defiance in her eyes got stronger. After all the little and major boo-boos that happened, she never once apologized. I told her this and asked her if she knew what “sorry” meant. She told me she didn’t, which I didn’t believe of course. Still, I explained to her, “If you step on someone’s toes…what do you usually say?” The defiance didn’t leave her eyes and I sadly said, “It seems you are not going to say it today too.” And that’s when I told her she could leave. Oh, I didn’t fire her. She was the first to say she wanted to leave. We already agreed last week she was going to finish this month and not come back. That’s another story in itself….she was getting lonely at night and didn’t like sleeping alone in her room, not a maid’s room mind you, a regular spare room within our house. She was negotiating with us about the terms of her employment and I was willing to accommodate but my husband wouldn’t hear of it because she just started with us. I really thought we were getting somewhere with our lessons. Our pace going through the exercise book got faster because she could read better too. I still had to explain what the words meant sometimes, whether they were old or new words, but her vocabulary was picking up. I had real hopes for her. I had hopes she’d see there was a broader world that wasn’t always cruel or mean. I had hopes she’d have a better life than what her mother knew. I had hoped she would grow to be an independent woman who was capable of making her own mind and directing her own course in life. I had hopes she could one day be confident enough to open her own bank account, make choices that affect her community and the country and even vote responsibly some day. I still hope that future is hers whether or not I see her again. I hope it will be, perhaps it will. Just before she walked out our gate, she came back sobbing her eyes out and unexpectedly said, “Ma’am, I’m really sorry for what happened.”