Time To Move On

(Originally written 13 June 2009)

I sat in the dark.  I watched. 
I had pride in my professional ability to witness hideous atrocities and not show a single emotion.  Years of work with the Sheriff’s Office seeing human rudeness as well as the viewing of homicide photos for my medicolegal studies had left me jaded and, I thought, pretty cool under pressure.  This was different.  I continued to watch.  I felt my throat constrict.  Tears threatened. I reprimanded myself and tried to do some deep breathing but couldn’t seem to stop the mounting anxiety.  I tried to close my eyes but I could still hear.  I made a critical decision.  I stood up and grabbed my purse and turned out the rear exit, trying to hold my sob until I got outside the theater.  I was momentarily startled as I almost ran into a tall dark figure that was also exiting in front of me. 

I burst out of the second set of doors and into the sunny alcove where there were a few conversation chairs and benches arranged for breaks.  I was even more surprised to see several other individuals coming out the rear exit on the other side of the theater.  We all had one thing in common.  We were all trying not to cry. 

I made my way to the huge expanse of window overlooking Route 28.  I found a tissue in my purse and did my best to dab at my eyes so that I wouldn’t look like a drowned raccoon.  It was quiet in the alcove and I listened to the others.  The man closest to me was a big tall Marine looking type.  Tough and buff.  Khakis and a casual black dress shirt.  And tears.  Suddenly I didn’t feel so bad about my own emotional slip.  If a big tough guy could cry then I supposed it was okay for me.  I stared out the window and wanted nothing more then to leave.  Go home to my new baby daughter and wrap her in my arms and kiss her.  This was too much for me.  For anyone.  How could we win?  There was no way we would ever be completely safe.  I stopped myself.  If we all thought like this then we had already lost.  I wasn’t raised a quitter and wasn’t going to start now.  I was going to compose myself, go back in there and learn everything I could to make a difference no matter how small.

I used to have a job that I loved and that I was proud of. I used to feel like I made a difference.  Now, I don't. My job has gone from something I enjoyed to something I dread. From something I took pride in to something I want to avoid.  I know I am valuable and I know I am worth something. I am looking for a new job so I can, once again, assist my coworkers and all my clients – Federal, State, Local, Public and Private.   This is important.  I will make a difference.  And I will not be steam rolled by one petty bitch's  ignorance and greed.

Time to move on.

*This was written after viewing a classified film that was part of a classified briefing at a location that might be obvious to some but was not named.