Wow Rob, I'm so moved by this piece... these stories building one on the other, the vastness of emotions, skill, focus of confronting each person in an accident or whatever their situation is comes through your words so clearly...the miracles and the tragedies of the moments. It takes a special kind of person to face this work... thank you for stepping up and for sharing this with us.
"We all survive such unbelievable things." Beautifully put, Rob, and I like how you don't need to know your fellow-medic's full story to intuit that something has changed. Glad you've been able to return to volunteering yourself.
I relate to what you say about both your parents being gone and your feelings about that evolving over time, too. "It’s still a sadness, but an oddly welcome one." Exactly.
Thanks so much, Wendy. It gives me hope, given everything going on, to see anything or anyone change for the better. And I believe our moms died right around the same time (fall of 2021), so we're on a very similar timeline. It is something how grief evolves, isn't it?
It is. Yes, Mum died Sept 2021, two months after my dad, and my relationship with both of them continues to change. (Dreamed of my dad just last night – he was taking the rubbish out and I was concerned he was carrying too many sacks.)
I'm with you on looking for the positives going on around us.
Ohhh! Thank you. Deeply moving. Such a mix of feelings, memories, life is, particularly when dealing with loss, trauma. The mystery of it all, as little is clear or makes sense. I was just watching something from Jane Goodall, who said that each life matters, even if we don't find our purpose. The connections with people both here and gone keep changing. I sense that I am reaching a different stage in the journey, after two major losses now close to three years later. I am glad that you are back into volunteering in this activity that draws you. Just as our interactions with the living and the dead change as we change.
You’ve put it so beautifully, Carol: our connections with people both here and gone keep changing (as we change, too). Thank you for your lovely words.
Thank you, Rob, for the remembering, and the reminder that the forgetting has value also. Showing up willingly for the trauma and recovery is inexpressibly potent for facing life as it is, and yet here you've given us the taste of it to savor.
Beautiful…at 75, my memories are more persistent…a mix of beautiful and regrets…still, the sunrise raises me up every day and the sunset kisses me goodnight.
That's wonderful, Janice. I love to hear this. And yes, the mix of beauty and sadness is a particularly rich combination. I'm very happy to hear from you.
Thank you so much. I'm sure you have some incredible stories to share, given your former role as a geriatric psychiatrist. I'm looking forward to digging in. I appreciate the kind words.
Man, this is awesome. The use of gray was so good. Reading this one at a tough time personally but so grateful I did. I’ll remember this one for a long time. Thank you for writing it.
Very grateful to you for serving the way you do. Aside from your EMT skills you're just the kind of person who should be standing right there for people whose lives have just been called into question.
“Why don’t you volunteer now that you’ve retired?”
Because 36 years of 24 hour shifts with 6 to 20 calls a shift mostly on the medic slowly fading the “firefighter “ from my job title of “Firefighter/Paramedic” has left me not wanting to participate in medical care of others or fire work for that matter. I’m just finished. My first call, my last call and all the memories in between. Full color driving down the streets of Eugene and Springfield Oregon or anywhere Los Angeles County.
The bullet holes are still in the block wall where the cops shot that dude. There are still faded fake flowers and crosses on that corner where the kids got mowed down by a guy who just didn’t see them. Block after block call after call.
I’m not grumpy. Maybe you’ve finally risen to the occasion? Maybe your competency has finally made you a blessing?
Maybe it’s because now I’m in bed by 10 and not up until 6 a.m. for the last 4 years. But those memories? They never leave. They don’t haunt me but they never leave.
Thank you, Michael. You've done far more than your fair share, for sure. I so feel this, passing by locations and remembering certain calls. It doesn't ever leave. And yeah, maybe grumpy wasn't the fairest term to describe the previous demeanor of the medic I know here in New York, but it's how I took it at the time. I'm grateful for anyone who steps into fire/EMS, given everything it entails, and am especially grateful for your reflections here.
My mom passed in 2020. She and dad both lived with my husband and me. All three are gone now. I still feel them here. I still ask and receive their best advice. Thank you Rob for your beautiful work!
Thank you for this, Debby. What a gift to have your folks living with you. I'm sorry to hear about these dear people you've lost. I'm so glad you're still connected with them. Sending my very best to you.
Maybe those memories aren’t done with you yet, and they come back when you need them. This is a beautiful piece Rob.
Thanks so much, my friend. It is strange and wonderful how memories can do that. I appreciate you.
You are such a beautiful writer, want to save everything you’ve written, poignant mix of humor, existential angst, mortality, love. Wonderful stuff
I can't imagine a better comment to receive. Thank you so much, Isabelle. So glad to have you reading along.
Wow Rob, I'm so moved by this piece... these stories building one on the other, the vastness of emotions, skill, focus of confronting each person in an accident or whatever their situation is comes through your words so clearly...the miracles and the tragedies of the moments. It takes a special kind of person to face this work... thank you for stepping up and for sharing this with us.
Thanks so much, Linda—what a lovely comment. Really happy to know this resonated with you.
"We all survive such unbelievable things." Beautifully put, Rob, and I like how you don't need to know your fellow-medic's full story to intuit that something has changed. Glad you've been able to return to volunteering yourself.
I relate to what you say about both your parents being gone and your feelings about that evolving over time, too. "It’s still a sadness, but an oddly welcome one." Exactly.
Thanks so much, Wendy. It gives me hope, given everything going on, to see anything or anyone change for the better. And I believe our moms died right around the same time (fall of 2021), so we're on a very similar timeline. It is something how grief evolves, isn't it?
It is. Yes, Mum died Sept 2021, two months after my dad, and my relationship with both of them continues to change. (Dreamed of my dad just last night – he was taking the rubbish out and I was concerned he was carrying too many sacks.)
I'm with you on looking for the positives going on around us.
Ohhh! Thank you. Deeply moving. Such a mix of feelings, memories, life is, particularly when dealing with loss, trauma. The mystery of it all, as little is clear or makes sense. I was just watching something from Jane Goodall, who said that each life matters, even if we don't find our purpose. The connections with people both here and gone keep changing. I sense that I am reaching a different stage in the journey, after two major losses now close to three years later. I am glad that you are back into volunteering in this activity that draws you. Just as our interactions with the living and the dead change as we change.
You’ve put it so beautifully, Carol: our connections with people both here and gone keep changing (as we change, too). Thank you for your lovely words.
Thank you, Rob, for the remembering, and the reminder that the forgetting has value also. Showing up willingly for the trauma and recovery is inexpressibly potent for facing life as it is, and yet here you've given us the taste of it to savor.
Yes, Alden—the forgetting's important, too. I so appreciate your reading, and the kind, thoughtful words. It means a lot, coming from you.
Lovely meditation on attention and impermanence.
Thank you, my friend. I know you know.
Beautiful…at 75, my memories are more persistent…a mix of beautiful and regrets…still, the sunrise raises me up every day and the sunset kisses me goodnight.
That's wonderful, Janice. I love to hear this. And yes, the mix of beauty and sadness is a particularly rich combination. I'm very happy to hear from you.
Loved this piece.
Thank you so much. I'm sure you have some incredible stories to share, given your former role as a geriatric psychiatrist. I'm looking forward to digging in. I appreciate the kind words.
Man, this is awesome. The use of gray was so good. Reading this one at a tough time personally but so grateful I did. I’ll remember this one for a long time. Thank you for writing it.
Sorry things are rough, my friend. I'm always happy to hear from you. I really appreciate the kind words.
That’s such a great role to take on Rob. And I can see how you needed to take a break. A beautiful piece of writing and I’m intrigued about the medic.
Thank you for the kind words, Margaret! I'm intrigued, too.
Very grateful to you for serving the way you do. Aside from your EMT skills you're just the kind of person who should be standing right there for people whose lives have just been called into question.
Thank you, my friend. I feel the same about you. Glad to have you on speed dial.
Compassion fatigue. Vicarious trauma (not ptsd).
“Why don’t you volunteer now that you’ve retired?”
Because 36 years of 24 hour shifts with 6 to 20 calls a shift mostly on the medic slowly fading the “firefighter “ from my job title of “Firefighter/Paramedic” has left me not wanting to participate in medical care of others or fire work for that matter. I’m just finished. My first call, my last call and all the memories in between. Full color driving down the streets of Eugene and Springfield Oregon or anywhere Los Angeles County.
The bullet holes are still in the block wall where the cops shot that dude. There are still faded fake flowers and crosses on that corner where the kids got mowed down by a guy who just didn’t see them. Block after block call after call.
I’m not grumpy. Maybe you’ve finally risen to the occasion? Maybe your competency has finally made you a blessing?
Maybe it’s because now I’m in bed by 10 and not up until 6 a.m. for the last 4 years. But those memories? They never leave. They don’t haunt me but they never leave.
Tag you’re it.
Thanks for that piece of reflection.
Thank you, Michael. You've done far more than your fair share, for sure. I so feel this, passing by locations and remembering certain calls. It doesn't ever leave. And yeah, maybe grumpy wasn't the fairest term to describe the previous demeanor of the medic I know here in New York, but it's how I took it at the time. I'm grateful for anyone who steps into fire/EMS, given everything it entails, and am especially grateful for your reflections here.
Thank you, Rob. Your ability to express our humanity is such a talent and gift to us. I'll sit with your words for a while.
That's beautiful to hear, thank you, Victoria.
Beautiful.
Thank you, Christine!
My mom passed in 2020. She and dad both lived with my husband and me. All three are gone now. I still feel them here. I still ask and receive their best advice. Thank you Rob for your beautiful work!
Thank you for this, Debby. What a gift to have your folks living with you. I'm sorry to hear about these dear people you've lost. I'm so glad you're still connected with them. Sending my very best to you.
Thank you for taking the time to respond. I appreciate your kind words.