The cord is cut

I cancelled my subscription to the Daily Messenger newspaper out of nearby Canandaigua a couple weeks ago.
Thus ending a pleasant relationship that goes back well over 15 years.
The Daily Messenger was where I ended up working following my stroke, first as an unpaid intern, then as an actual employee. —I was employed there almost 10 years.
It ended up being the best job I ever had, although I’m always comparing it to Transit, which was terrible.
The Messenger was a happy ship. Management was not Simon Legree. They encouraged you and let you fly.
Management came to your defense. They didn’t treat you as enemies or inferior.
I always appreciated they hired me despite stroke addlement. I’m sure I was still messed up as an unpaid intern, yet they hired me. Moxie!
I became valuable as I recovered.
My attitude contributed.
I was always thankful they hired me, so I tended to be positive.
A manager was fixing to lay me off, but another manager came to my defense.
That manager doubled my wage-rate during a salary-freeze, so I could get off Social-Security Disability. He wanted me to work more hours, which would have exceeded my SSDI income-limit.
And that first manager was eventually fired.
I always felt somewhat unused considering my ability, but I was stroke-addled. My ability to communicate and think were slightly compromised.
What I achieved was really my own doing, and they encouraged me.
As an employee I got the newspaper free, even into retirement.
The Messenger, hurting, changed owners, and began charging retirees.
We continued to get it, even though I had to pay for it, but only my wife was reading it.
I never had time to read it, even when I worked there.
So after my wife died I was just trashing it.
Directly into the recycling!
I had two trips to make in September, so I called Messenger Circulation to arrange two vacation-stops.
Then I asked if I could just cancel my subscription.
“You don’t want the paper?” they asked.
“I never get to read it,” I said. “It just goes into my recycling.”
And so the cord is cut.
The Messenger is no longer what it was. It’s thin and small.
I remember complaints about the cost of newsprint. What about the cost of staff?
Like that fantastic building-expansion I was witness to is too big for what it is now.
When I was in their employ it was doomed by the Internet.
But it was a fabulous job.
I wanted the Messenger to look good, and they concurred.
I wonder if it will last?

• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles away. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS; “Transit”) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and its environs. My stroke ended that. I retired on medical-disability.
• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. Like me she was 68. I miss her dearly.