A trail of honey

For about a year now I've volunteered as a trauma responder for survivors of deaths, house fires, and horrific assaults. Our local first responders request us on scene to provide emotional support.

Most of our calls are unattended deaths. Of those, about 1/3 are suicides.

I see on average 1 dead body each month. It's not a shock anymore. It is awkward to be in a cramped space and have to step over a body. I wasn't expecting that, but scenes can get very crowded with paramedics, cops, coroner, and family.

Mostly what I see are the family members and neighbors. I enter a sacred space, the worst hours of most survivors' lives. I am there so that the survivor doesn't have to be alone, doesn't have to wonder why strangers are in their home taking photos of the contents of their refrigerator, taking away prescription bottles, asking sensitive questions. I explain why things happen and what they can expect to happen next.

I am also there to try and prevent a secondary injury - an unintended remark, a family member who screams blame at them, prying neighbors, intrusive media, nurses laughing in the hallway outside of the room where a child is dying. I help victims express their wishes, whether they want to see their loved one before the coroner takes the gurney away, or if they want to be away from the scene while it is being processed. I connect survivors to temporary housing, grief support, funeral homes, legal aid. I help survivors look for the victim's phone, wedding ring, favorite blanket, power of attorney paperwork. I make sure pets on scene are secured and have food and water. I sit with survivors and listen to their stories. I try to help them regain a sense of control when their entire life has been violently upended.

I've raced across town to help a young woman tell her half-sisters that their father died before Facebook could. Social media is an absolute menace in the initial hours of a tragedy. People just do not think before putting something shattering into the world.

There are so many lessons in this work.

My perspective on what matters has shifted.

My perspective on time has shifted. You have all the time in the world until you don't. And then you never have another moment again.

Words matter. I've held inconsolable children whose last words to their dead parent were unkind. I've sat with people who hadn't spoken with their sibling in years, and now they can't even remember why. I sat with a 16 year old who couldn't stop wailing because when her dad told her he loved her that morning, she didn't say it back, and ten hours later he died by suicide. I've assured people that it's not their fault their friend died on the bathroom floor because they didn't answer their phone call that morning.

I am grateful beyond measure that I never made an attempt to take my own life. For years it was all I really wanted. Witnessing the utter shock and devastation of 3 back to back suicide calls let me see what it does to those left behind. As much as I just wanted my own pain to end, it's unimaginable to think of the pain I would have inflicted. I've never seen anything worse than that aftermath.

I do not wait. I don't delay going to see my dad for a long weekend whenever I can. I don't put off the dream vacation. I don't horde the good wine or bubble bath. I tell people how I feel and what they mean to me and how they have changed my life.

I savor. We don't know which summer will be our last. We don't know which book, which dessert, which vacation, which conversation, which cuddle, which drive through the mountains, which walk in crunchy leaves, which shared laughter will be our last.

“You always look so happy in your vacation pics!”