Maybe You Gotta Mourn

This weekend was pretty rough. I worked an event that, from the beginning, was a giant pile of mess. And, by the way? I worked that first day, too. This event was screwed on so many levels, and began not so much with human error, but with a technological fail. Hundreds of people were affected, and the people who could make decisions to try to mend what had broken worked TIRELESSLY to do so. And yes, I played a very small role in this. Even if I didn't make any of the decisions, I came in extra hours to help untangle just a tiny part of the enormous knot. I like puzzles and I'm pretty good at them.

So, for about a month we've been doing our best to fix this broken thing. And maybe not everyone ended up happy. In fact, I'm pretty sure everyone was a least a little bit displeased with some aspect or another. We all tried very hard to do something that was not even possible, and we did it while people yelled at us, called us names, made racist remarks, hung up on us, and made up stories about what said or did.

And it's not that I can't understand where many of these folks were coming from. They only wanted to enjoy a special day with their families. This is something I can understand. I openly sobbed at Old Navy when I learned I couldn't get a flight to Hilo to see Noah compete in the track state championships this past May-- an event in which he would never compete again. And when I did get my butt to Hilo, I couldn't even see him run because I had to catch my flight back to Oahu. I remember sitting in the car, the roof leaking (because it's Hilo, hello, and it rains), in anguish, because should I or shouldn't I try to stay to watch? As it was, I barely made my flight.

And then when I got back, I had to miss Lucy's last hula performance. I have never missed any of them, and the one I missed, they actually PLACED. My daughter sacrificed her knees and feet for that hula, and I didn't get to see it. She has danced since she was five and is no longer dancing, and that moment will not come back.

I know what it's like to miss out. I know the intense disappointment and frustration. I know that all these families were frustrated and angry and sad. I would be too.

But I also know how hard we all worked to try to make things as right for as many people as possible, and as quickly as possible. And if it couldn't be done quickly, it could be done in a reasonable amount of time. We all endured the yelling and cursing and insults when it wasn't even something we had done because we understood what it meant to everyone. We tried to be as accommodating as we could because we thought they deserved it.

I had a phone call yesterday from a woman whose verbal assault, while understandable, felt like I was being pummeled by rough surf. Over and over, she repeated her displeasure, interrupting me when I tried to speak. I could not breathe. And then she asked me questions about how I would personally handle the situation, and I could not answer honestly. To have answered honestly would be to have further upset her because no matter how frustrated or angry I might be, I would not take it out on a stranger on a phone. So I really did want to help her because I could totally empathize, but it's not like I have the authority to do what she wanted nor would it have been fair to the hundreds of other people who couldn't be accommodated.

And so yesterday, Saturday, I spent most of my morning being yelled at, which is probably an exaggeration. I got pummeled all morning. I dreaded answering the phone or making phone calls to  people. It was physically and emotionally draining.

Those shitty feelings, I still carried with me today. I hid at home and ignored my phone. I tried to work out my issues through industry. I did laundry, scrubbed my kitchen, did the dishes. Until I couldn't move anymore without breaking down and crying. I just collapsed on the floor and sobbed. I couldn't stop it, I couldn't help it. I was raw and empty. I had no more fuel left to fight.

The conversation Charlie and I had after helped me put this whole thing into perspective. Sometimes, you know, I think I care too much. I mean, this shouldn't have bothered me like this. That job isn't even my primary job, and I get attitude at all the time by kids I work with. I've worked retail before. I know what it's like. And so I think I care too much sometimes. I can hear so many of your voices telling me to let it go, that it's not worth it. And then Charlie tells me that maybe I shouldn't drop it. Maybe I shouldn't just let it go. Maybe it's something I need to feel and mourn. And when he said that, I suddenly felt so much lighter.

It's not your fault for thinking I care too much or that I shouldn't worry about it. I would likely think the same. I was also afraid that if I showed that it bothered me so much, people would think I was weak. That I couldn't handle it. I also didn't want those people to win-- the ones who called us names, cursed at us, and lied about us. But if you can imagine that you are filled with anger and you unleash it on me, then I become filled with your anger. And now imagine that I talked to one hundred people in a couple of hours and half of them filled me with their anger. And now imagine twelve people filled with the anger of hundreds of people every day that they go in to work.

I'm not writing this to get your sympathy or to talk about how wonderful I am and how terrible those other people were. I'm not trying to stir up more anger or resentment or pity. Many of them were venting their legitimate frustration. I write this now to say thank you to the folks who responded to us with kindness and patience. You could have yelled at us, but you didn't and believe me, it made a difference. When I began my first round of calls, so many of you were sympathetic and kind. Not only did it make our jobs easier, it also inspired us to work harder to help you. Your understanding was like a balm, especially since you didn't have to be so nice to us. You chose to be, and I respected you for it.

I write to remind you that we are all human beings just trying to get by and be happy. I think the real reason for writing this is to purge myself of all that anger I've been collecting for others. It's complicated, you know, because I don't have to hold onto it, and I certainly don't want it, but I still think most of the people who vented should vent. I can't explain it.

Anyway, it looks like it was a lovely event. I saw many smiling faces. I'm happy it's over, and I hope we can attend to the issues so that it doesn't happen again. There's only so much you can ask of people to forgive, and I don't know how we will all fare if we have to endure this kind of aftermath again.