They say you find out who your friends are when the chips are down. I learned that in 2011 when I was first laid off. At the time, Leslie and I owned a condo and our daughter was about to graduate from high school. A dear friend stepped in with remote work that helped us survive a very difficult stretch. We eventually sold our condo and pieced together part-time work to keep moving forward. It wasn’t easy, but we had options.

Today, we don’t.

In May 2025, at age 60, I was separated from a firm I truly loved working for. I was good at what I did, and the role allowed me to work 100% remotely — something that meant everything because Leslie, now 73, lives with full-body osteoarthritis and chronic pain. Being home allowed me to support her physically and emotionally in ways that mattered deeply.

Chronic pain changes everything. It limits mobility, independence, and often joy — yet Leslie remains the strongest person I know.

Since losing my position, I have applied for everything imaginable: professional roles, retail, customer service, entry-level work — anything that would bring income into our home. I’ve updated my resume, networked, reached out, and kept pushing forward. So far, nothing has materialized.

I am 61. We have exhausted our financial reserves. We are now living week to week, moment to moment.

After March 1, we will not have enough to cover rent, utilities, and basic living expenses. Our rent alone is $3,800 per month, which is typical for our area. We’ve applied for every age-related assistance program available to us. There is simply not enough support to bridge this gap.

This is humbling to write. Asking for help does not come easily to me. But pride doesn’t pay rent, and right now we need help.

We are asking for $10,000 to cover:

This amount would give us a few critical months of breathing room — time for me to secure employment and stabilize our situation before it becomes something far worse.

A friend recently reminded me to have faith in the kindness of people. So here I am, choosing faith over fear and humility over pride.

If you feel moved to help, please know that any contribution — no matter the amount — means more than we can express. If you are unable to give, sharing this page would help just as much.

I have faith. I have faith in us. And I have faith in you.

With love and deep gratitude,

Donna Faber (aka Fogler) and Leslie Faber