RIP Shawn Yim

Deke’s Note: As a bus operator with 12 years of service, I am constantly reminded of the perils we face every day. Having seen and experienced firsthand countless horrific incidents and heard of even worse, it takes an immense amount of courage to take the wheel each day. Here, I describe how many of us feel when another operator is brutally murdered on the job.

A few years back, a passenger told me bus operators have "no idea what PTSD is", based on his buddy's hell after serving in a wartime military. It was terribly rude of him to make that statement. While I can agree his friend having served in battle is likely to suffer severe PTSD seeing his brothers and sisters killed in wartime, he has no right to belittle others who also feel the agony associated with severely traumatic events.

He dismissed me as easily as one who has just killed a buzzing fly. It infuriated me, set me off. Instantly however, my "professional self" kicked in. Realizing I could not win an argument with this entitled asshole, my psyche called in a favor from above and enabled me to de-escalate. The angry part of me wanted to stop the bus and slap his silly ass until he got off my bus. The sane side stopped that base instinct and insisted I call a truce. Later, as I replayed the incident within, I realized my control was beginning to slip. I didn't think another encounter with this regular passenger could withstand the fury he had ignited within me. Any further discussions of this kind would surely be impossible to control from my side, the "professional" bus operator. Giving in to the fury which burns silently within many of us would surely cost me this job. I cannot afford that, so it's vital I remain in control of my emotions.

A few days ago, a Seattle Bus Operator Shawn Yim was fatally stabbed while on the job. 

Add Shawn's senseless death to the list of other brothers and sisters senselessly and violently removed from service to their fellow citizens, and my anguish explodes a thousandfold. I can honestly attest that every operator who has read of Brother Shawn's murder asks themselves "What if that was me? How could my family cope with such a heavy load of my death? Would they EVER find peace on this Earth?" If it were me, NO. My wife, my children, my dear grandchildren, my brothers and their wives and kids, could NOT. My soul would not be at peace when I passed due to some crazy fuck shoving a knife into my body, stopping a heart that has beat over 2.5 billion times since my mother gave birth to me.

If I died today, my almost two-year-old granddaughter would not remember me except through visceral memory. These first two years of her life have been vitally fierce to my soul, as she has been an intense part of my life since her birth; I was at the hospital when I heard the chimes marking her entry and I saw her for the first time in the Natal ICU minutes after she was born. Every week to this point, I have been blessed with her presence, and we have formed an incredible bond I hope she could never forget.

If I died today or on the job due to some worthless zero, my wife would be left in poverty because we live paycheck-to-paycheck with little savings and literally zero assets. I didn't know my grandparents, and any future children of my own would never know me. My writing projects in the wings would never reach maturity. Except within my loving circle of friends and family, my name would be forgotten in a decade's time. Everything I've achieved would be for naught, because I wouldn't have reached my full potential, that which my parents fought so hard to ensure. My three children would be thinking about our last moments together, and I hope they know each were special to me, no matter any ills we faced together. My surviving two brothers would remember the Patrick our mom fought so hard just to make me walk, sad because my potential was cut short. That negated potential would be my fault, bros, because I've always been such the procrastinator.

All I want to be remembered for is that I always care. For my Beloved most of all, and our kids. For our grandchildren, so dear to us both. For my brothers and their families. For Beloved's parents, who have been so powerful a support factor our entire lives together. For my dear friends, with whom I've shared so many fun times. For those who have read the words I've offered; writing has been my one strength in a lifetime of weakness, the only part of my life I could count on.

* * * * *

Today, I wonder in my grief for Shawn Yim, how horrible this Holiday season must be for his family. Like others who fell on the job before Shawn, I did not know him personally. But I feel his soul. We did the same job, thought the same thoughts whenever some poor bastard boarded our bus without a clue, likely to sell it anyway. Murderous Bastard stumbled onto our bus and broke some rule likely to inspire Yim's bus operator Code of "Ah Hell Nah", leading to the argument ending in Brother Shawn's murder. My tears cannot be measured, but their number add to the thousands of fellow Operators who mourn his death. We know the dangers Operators face daily, which could ultimately lead to our own demise.

So yeah. Every September I ask you all to join us in #BANDTOGETHER. It's for Shawn Yim. It's for Irvine Jubal Fraser of Winnipeg in 2017. It's for Thomas Dunn of Tampa Bay Florida who managed to safely stop and lock his bus after being stabbed in the neck and bleeding out in his seat. It's for ALL those who lost their lives in service to what we ALL do EACH day of EVERY year.

Maybe this, another senseless death, will spur you to join US at ATU757 in Portland Oregon every year for nearly a decade as we simply don a bandage on our door-side cheek to honor those who paid the ultimate sacrifice while serving our beloved local populace. Our only goal is to deliver you safely to your stop. In return, all we ask is simple respect.

Please, just don't kill us. We're just here to serve you. People depend upon us. Our families pray we return safely. Shawn Kim's family won't ever see him again. 

* * * * *

Last night, and the afternoon prior, I spent an incredible day with my granddaughter Mila Rose. We sang, we danced. We roughhoused. Our day was spent as a 23-month-old grandchild should with her grandfather. I sing Christmas songs to her, she mimicks me. I send videos of myself while on my shift, singing to her. Mila asks to see them multiple times because we're apart.

These past few years have been some of the happiest of my life. Finally, I have the luxury of being a grandpapa to the most incredible child I could ever imagine possible. She's an intensely-wild soul with whom I constantly relate to. My Beloved and I are so intwined with this baby it's impossible to imagine life without her. Everything I've endured throughout this life has landed me here, with a love I cannot live without, sharing wondrous moments of grandparenthood with my Beloved. It's all we could ever dreamed of, and we're living it now. Today.

* * * * *

Losing a brother to such senseless violence, I equate his life with mine. If my life had been stolen rather than Shawn Yim's, my family's reality would be violently shattered as Shawn's must be today. This impending holiday season would loom without my weird songs via the Grinch. My family would miss my ornery self, mourning my transit agency's refusal to allow my donning a holiday tie on a previous uniform. It might even miss my cooking dinner, or falsely mirroring a Grinch-like demeanor although I've always loved the holiday season. My sons might remember me vainly trying to coach their youth basketball teams while encouraging them to have fun no matter what. My sweeet daughter might recall how I never "dissed" her mother no matter how difficult it was to remain civil, just because I knew how much Mom meant to her. I also hope Beloved would recall how special the holidays became as she raised me up from the horrors of my past to the wonders of the family I always dreamed possible. 

Although our family suffers the pain of one in the throes of addiction, we still love each other and hope the best for the one who needs our love the most. Beloved still enjoys her parents' presence, we just celebrated our 30th Anniversary, and we have our incredible Mila Rose. Yes, life still presents obstacles to wonder, but we will rise above anything in the way of happiness.

Merry Christmas, dear Readers. This is the holiday I celebrate with my family. Happy Holidays to the rest of you who don't share this moment with us. I wish only love to sear through your pain, and happiness to prevail throughout every second you share this world with me.

RIP Shawn Yim. May eternal light enshroud your soul and comfort your loved ones. Meanwhile, each September until I die as well, I will honor your service via our #BANDTOGETHER celebration of your ultimate sacrifice.