Big girls don't cry

Yesterday was one of those days which I wanted to spend in tears. You know those days? When what you have to do is hard, so hard because what you are doing is affecting peoples' lives and what you are finding out are things that are shocking and what you really didn't want to know. By the end of the day I really didn't like people so much. A defense mechanism goes up, I think, where, if you don't like anyone what you have to do just doesn't matter?

I think people think I am made of concrete. Or maybe steel. Maybe no tissue, no blood coursing through me or tears pour out of me. Maybe they think that I can find all of this out and not want to just scream, or throw things, or vomit. I ran around interviewing people Thursday, and leaving messages, and begging for records. Records, which I came to find out, others didn't have to go through the same process I did. Records which appear to be kept from me. Why? Because of the information I am after? Shit! That means what I am after is on target? Shit, shit, shit!

Friday one real important meeting and then people start calling me. Right and left people are calling. Confirmation after confirmation. People wanting to tell their story. So many people talking I grow tired of hearing people talk, but I still need to clarify a few points and I still don't have the paperwork from records. I do, however get the "exciting" news that they released the same records to someone else. That can go into the story.

I don't think they are the same records I am asking for. I hope not. We will see. I get a call back from a few other official sources and read legal documents. So much to read and my eyes are burning, my chest is throbbing, my throat is raw. Obviously, I've got the crud.

So, last night to release all of that pent up sadness I watched the Netflix that had arrived in the mail, Two Weeks, with Sally Field. Oh my gosh. I cried within the first 15 minutes and didn't stop until it was over. My mom and dad watched it with me, which was nice. They don't do that often, sit and watch a movie on the big screen. They asked me if I was crying because I was thinking of them dying and being there when it happened or if I was thinking of my children watching me die? Who was I identifying with?

Actually, neither. I was just crying because all day I had wanted to cry and cry and cry. But I couldn't. I had my big girl pants on all the while knowing what I wanted was to peel them off, throw them into the hamper, crawl back into bed, pull the blankets up over my head and pretend I didn't know a damn thing and hope the big pink elephant trampling the county would disappear, on its own, without me doing anything.

But it won't. So, today I got up, put on another pair of big girl pants, got another interview which confirmed another fear, had a wonderful birthday with my grandson, spent time with the hubby, read more legal documents brought over by my editor that an attorney had sent to us, and made plans for tomorrow. The movie for tonight? Driving Lessons. I hope it makes me laugh. I want to, after this week. Long and hard.