Mourning Period

Turning in my flight attendant badge, key, and manual was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I walked into a room where I usually felt comfortable, not knowing if there would be people that I knew or cared about or had never met. I had hoped that if anyone I knew was there, it would at least be a friend. The only person I saw there was a girl who worked behind the front desk - meaning she was a flight attendant who was working in the crew room for a bit, helping supervise the comings and goings of thousands of flight attendants. She was friendly, asked me why I had decided to quit, and asked me if I wanted to speak to my supervisor. Now, I have no beef with Continental Airlines or the company in general. I did have problems with my supervisor (there are bad eggs in every company, and this guy was a real jerk). I left suddenly, after a quick fight with my supervisor, knowing that I would not be qualified for rehire. So when I entered the crew room, I spoke with the friendly girl who worked at the duty desk, and told her that I definitely not want to speak to Matt the Supervisor because he had treated me badly. I also told her that my doctor had been telling me for over a year that this job was making me sick, but I chose to ignore him until the last minute. As sweet as she was, and as much as she tried to help, I left the crew room crying and had to walk alone back through half of the Houston Intercontinental Airport, which as a whole is about as big as my hometown. Luckily, I saw a friend of mine. Not a close friend in the long run, but with flight attendants you grow strangely close very quickly for short periods of time. As soon as I saw him, I made a beeline straight to him and began bawling all over his uniform. The sweetheart that he is, my friend Adnor talked me back down to a calmer state. We had previously discussed why I was quitting, and he reminded me of all the good things about leaving this job. As much as I loved being a flight attendant (which was a ton), I also hated it, and it made me miserable. After saying my final goodbyes with Adnor, the Houston Airport, and the world in which I had lived for three years, I met my father and brother outside. I didn't realize before I quit just how hard it would be, and neither did my father or brother. I finally had to tell them to pay attention to me for a minute because I was in a bad place (they are not the most observant, but they are men). I needed to mourn, and I needed company. 

Lately I've been wondering when I'm going to move on. I'm over it. I'm done with the wishing I could be in the air or wake up in a foreign country. I hate that I miss packing my suitcase and eating airplane food so much. I think it's a bit sad that one of my favorite skills that I have is pouring drinks from two different cans at the same time and not spilling - yes, I was that good. I even miss wearing my polyester uniform that did not breathe. But, unfortunately, I am still in mourning. I've also wondered if it even counts that I'm mourning a relationship that wasn't with a living being. Obviously if I had lost a pet or broken up with a boyfriend, it makes sense. But quitting my job? I broke up, suddenly, with Continental Airlines and my job as a flight attendant, things that meant so much to me.

According to How I Met Your Mother, the mourning period for a break up is one of three options: half of the time the relationship lasted (almost 1.5 years), one week for every month you were in the relationship (32 weeks), or 10,000 drinks (I decided that "from the time it takes you to walk from the bed to the door" did not apply to me, as I am already out the door). I am nowhere close to any of these. Is there some kind of curve for different types of relationships or the way they ended? My dog died over two years ago, and I am still in mourning for her. If the mourning period is half the time of the relationship, then I have 5 more years to be sad! It's too much for me. As much as I loved Sophie, I don't want to miss her like I do for 5 more years. And I definitely don't want to miss my job for another year, or so. I want to remember the good times we had together and know that Sophie is in a better place, and I am in a healthier, happier place than before. I hear myself say these things and think that it is ridiculous to be so attached to something that I have already had at least 6 others before without mourning them. But this is how I feel, and I can't just make it stop. I guess flying was my first true job-love, even though I have had other jobs that I really liked. We just weren't meant for happily ever after. This was also the first time that I didn't end a job on completely amicable terms, which may be another factor, according to one friend of mine. So, please bear with me as I attempt to get over a rough breakup by working on those 10,000 drinks, listening to sad songs and sing them as if they applied to me, and talk about how much I miss flying, even if it was just a job, as opposed to a boyfriend. Truth be told, being a flight attendant is more than a job, it's a way of life. Does that justify my feelings a little bit more?