Beacon of Hope

There are those who fight crime. There are those who fight fires. Then there are those who fight death. All of these fighters are brave, important and make a difference. I bet you yourself have been changed by one of these humans who make the world a better place. One of these real-life superheroes.

The lifesaving life is not for everyone. The only first responding I do is when my five-year-old falls and requires a band aid. I pass out at the sight of blood and get woozy over seeing people’s bones out of their joints. I’m not one to be someone else’s aid in a time of crisis. I am, however, the wife of a paramedic. I am the wife of a super hero.

I am so far removed from the scenes the horror that I’m not quite desensitized from it, but still close enough to harbor the pain. I fall silent when we see the empty spot where the “death tree” once stood two miles from our house. The tree that had a four-door sedan wrapped around it. I close my eyes and try to imagine it: The tree he had to hoist himself onto to get in the car and uncover someone’s blood-soaked, non-recognizable face. The street is still smoking from the car spinning out of control. The passenger’s lifeless body is near the car. The scene is surreal and I know he still sees it. I know, even if weeks, months or years have passed he still sees the scene as we drive by. The skid marks on the street are now dulled and I am silent when we see them. I know those scars on the pavement have become part of him.

The death tree now has a three foot white cross next to it with a name across it; the family’s way to memorialize their loved one who who died at my husband’s finger tips. While the memorial signs and flowers help the family grieve, it haunts the paramedic that held them as they took their last breath. I understand a lot of individuals cannot leave work at the door when they clock out for the night. I’m sure a lawyer reflects on a case he’s lost and a teacher thinks she’s failed students. But, I can guarantee you, they do not see dead people when they drive their daughter to school. It’s never simple when you deal with death day in and day out; It’s never just a bad night or a bad call, it’s a lifetime of constant reminders. It’s a grief over those that couldn’t be saved.

He comes home each night with someone else’s pain; a pain that, although he did not inflict, he also could not heal. A grandmother, a son, an uncle… these people who mean the world to you, also mean the world to him. Each life he cannot save becomes a part of him – his nightmares, his headaches, his bad days. My husband takes care of the sickest human beings during their darkest hours.

I imagine his brain is constantly filled with sobbing wives over lost husbands, the bawling parents of losing their adult son to an overdose; the screams, the wails, the cries, the blame. He’s held strangers as they’ve wept over a loss, he’s told parents they’ve lost their child. To these family members, he is their hope. To me, he is invincible.

Sometimes, he doesn’t want to talk about his day. Sometimes, he can’t wait to talk about it. Sometimes, he’s silent. Sometimes, he’s enthusiastic. Often, he is tired.

When an ambulance arrives on scene those lights are beacons. Patients see the red lights and they know Help has arrived. Hope is here. They are going to be okay.

A medic enters the medical field to save lives, but more often they learn the emergency medical field is more about coping with loss than saving. When he says the words “died” to you, he dies a little inside too. When a medic is holding your hand, they feel every fragment of what you feel. Squeeze their hand hard, you are a part of them now.