My husband David was waiting at the door when our daughter Laura and I pulled in the driveway. It wasn't like him to be home so early. The disbelief on his face told me that something was up.

    "Do you still have a job?"

    "No. Redundant," he answered, looking away from me.

    "OK. We'll figure it out," I replied calmly.

    I actually had no idea how we were going to figure it out. I immediately started to think of how we'd cut costs and who we should start to get in touch with. That night, after David had fallen asleep, I cried myself to sleep, and frequently sobbed in the shower in the days that followed.

    I knew the loss of David's income would have great effect on us. He had worked for the same insurance company for twenty-one years and was our main income. I work at home caring for Laura, and my freelance(自由职业者的)income is uncertain. We have debts, and job hunting takes time.

    Still, I was more concerned about my husband's emotional state than our financial situation. David's sense of identity was tied to his job. He called his parents to tell them about losing his job, but didn't say a word to anyone else for weeks. He told me that he felt like "a failure".

It was tough for me to watch David struggle with unemployment. One night a couple of weeks after he lost his job, David woke me just before midnight, sweating, pacing the bedroom floor and saying he felt funny. We spent the night in the emergency room waiting to see if he had a heart attack. Thankfully, it was just a serious anxiety attack. It was then that I knew I needed to do more to understand what my husband was going through. Here is what I learned from my own experience—and from talking to experts—on how to support your spouse through a job loss.

    Jordan wakes at 6 a.m. She helps her disabled mother, who is recovering from surgery for breast cancer, into the bath. Jordan has it all timed. She has a quick breakfast as her mother bathes, and returns to help her out of the bathtub and into her room. Before going to school, the 14-year-old has to walk the dog. In the evening, Jordan takes care of the family's animals and helps her mother into bed. Then she had a chance to eat dinner, do homework and wind down before going to sleep. Bedtime can be past midnight for the Florida nine-grader.

    “You have to have a certain level of maturity (成熟) to do it,” She says. As a determined student, Jordan is already planning a career in medicine.

About 1.4 million children between ages 8 and 18 are caregivers nationwide, according to American Association of Caregiving Youth (AACY). Evenly divided between girls and boys, about a third are between 8 and 11, and nearly 40% are between 12 and 15. For the young caretakers, most common are chores like shopping, fixing meals and household tasks, or keeping the family member company. Hands-on care includes helping loved ones with day-to-day activities such as bathing, dressing and toileting, getting in and out of bed and chairs, and feeding.

    AACY is a nonprofit organization supporting caregiving kids in various ways, including financial assistance, caregiving education and camps to connect young caregivers to peers. Through AACY's Care Giving Youth Project, Jordan is not alone and she is able to develop friendships with teens like her. “I felt much more relieved and less embarrassed because I wasn't the only one.” She says. “I met one of my best friends and I'm still friends with her today.”

    There is light at the end of the tunnel for Jordan. “Seeing the people I'm taking care of become better gives me a relief that things will get better,” she says. She believes that AACY will continue to help her mother when it's time for her to go to college.

    I graduated in 1941 and of course got caught in the war. In 1945 I was out, twenty-one years old, a soldier through 35 bombing missions, and at the University of Washington taking creative writing courses, something I'd looked forward to all through the Air Force.

    I'd started writing when I was nine and writing seemed to be the only thing I'd ever be able or want to do. My teacher was a new man named Grant Redford, a very good short story writing teacher and a sad man. He was from Montana and had been connected with the old Rocky Mountain Review. I think it became the Western Review but I'm not sure and I don't bother to look it up. I'm afraid I was never much of a student for Redford. My stories were hopelessly self-indulgent(任性的); on and on about my personal problems, without form, without development, and without even any good writing.

    However, I did write humor in those days and had no trouble getting it published in the campus magazine, though I'd hate to see it now. Mostly my writing was used to get myself attention, to satisfy a terrible personal interest in self-admiration, and it wasn't until I concentrated all my efforts on poems that I was to realize the only real reward of writing, that special way you feel just when you've done something you like. That's far more satisfying than seeing your name in print, good reviews, praise or applause after a reading. And more lasting.

    Desiree was only four when she lost her Dad. Instead of gradually adjusting to his death, Desiree refused to accept it and even wanted to die so as to be with her father. Concerned about her daughter, Rhonda turned to her mother, Trish Moore, for help.

    November 8 of 1993 would have been Ken's 29th birthday. So Trish advised Desiree to send her father a card. Desiree's eyes lit up as she dictated a letter, "Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you and miss you. I hope you get this and can write to me on my birthday." Trish wrote the message and their address on a small piece of paper and tied it to the end of the string on a balloon with a drawing of the Little Mermaid (美人鱼). Finally, Desiree released the balloon.

    On November 12 in eastern Canada, Wade MacKinnon was duck-hunting. Suddenly something in the bushes caught his eye. Curious, he approached to find a silver balloon. The letter finished with a mailing address in Live Oak, California. The balloon traveled 3,000 miles. What a coincidence! A Little Mermaid balloon landed at Mermaid Lake. To help Desiree, the MacKinnons wrote her a letter with a birthday card and an adaptation of The Little mermaid.

    The MacKinnons' package arrived later on Desiree's birthday. The letter read, "Happy birthday from your daddy. You must be wondering who we are. Well, it all started... There are no stores in heaven, so your daddy picked us to do the shopping. We know your daddy loves you very much and wants you to be happy and not sad. Lots of love, the MacKinnons."

    Tears in eyes, Desiree said, "I knew Daddy would find a way not to forget me." Next, Trish began to read the Little Mermaid to her, in which the mermaid was finally carried away by angels. "The mermaid goes to heaven just like Daddy!" Desiree said with delight. She understood then her father was with her always.

    I never saw my father home from work late or ill, nor did I ever see my father take a "night out with the boys". He had no hobbies but just took care of his family.

    For 22 years, since I left home for college, my father called me every Sunday at 9:00 am. He was always interested in my life—how my family was doing. The calls even came when he and my mother were in Australia, England or Florida.

    Nine years ago when I bought me first house, my father, 67 years old, spent eight hours a day for three days, painting my house. He would not allow me to pay someone to have it done. All he asked was a glass of iced tea, and that I hold a paintbrush for him and talk to him. But I was too busy, for I had a law practice to run, and I could not take the time to hold the paintbrush, or talk to my father.

    Five years ago, my 71-year-old father spent five hours putting together a swing set (秋千) for my daughter. Again, all he asked was that I get him a glass of iced tea, and talk to him. But again, I had laundry to do, and the house to clean.

    The morning on Sunday, January 16, 1995, my father telephoned me as usual, this time he had seemed to have forgotten some things we had discussed the week before. I had to get to church, and I cut the conversation short.

    The call came at 4:40 am. That day my father was sent to hospital in Florida. I got on a plane immediately, and I vowed (发誓) that when I arrived, I would make up for the lost time, and have a nice long talk with him and really get to know him.

    I arrived in Florida at 1:00 am, but my father had passed away at 9:12 pm. This time it was he who did not have time to talk, or time to wait for me.

    In the years since his death I have learnt much about my father, and even more about every single day.