Death is an old friend of mine. We go waaay back. One might say we are inseparable. I think of my friend daily… multiple times each day in fact. And we meet in the strangest places at the most unexpected times. Some people might think this is morbid or depressing… even scary. But I disagree. This is the story of how death and I became best friends.
A. The Graveyard Shift
Cemeteries have been a big part of my life almost since the day my life began. I have been exploring them since I was a very young child. I know this because I accompanied my grandfather to cemeteries when he was compiling the family history.1 Grandpa died when I was seven years old.
I loved those visits to the cemeteries on sunny warm days. My brothers were too young to come along so I had grandpa all to myself. Of course, grandpa was on a mission to locate ancestors. This was a challenge because he had limited information with which to work.2 When I became too much of a distraction, grandpa would tell me to go play. He didn’t have to ask twice.
I loved running from sunny clearing to shaded dell, examining the different shaped stones, reading the inscriptions3 and thinking about the the people they memorialized. Who were they? What did they accomplish? Were they “good” people or “bad” people? On one particularly sunny and warm day I observed a group of adults and children dressed in fashions I have come to associate with the late 1800’s. It looked to me like they were having a picnic. I asked my grandpa who the people were and he said there were no people. Did I see ghosts or was my five year old mind pursuing a flight of fancy? I think the latter but ultimately it is uncertain.
Anyway, this fascination with cemeteries has stayed with me all my life. As a teenager, I used to visit cemeteries with a notebook, carefully recording all the information on each stone, names, dates, symbols, epitaph. I still have one of those notebooks. As soon as I could drive, my visits took me to other cemeteries farther from home and by this time I had a Super 8 video camera with which I recorded the stones. These days there is an entire genre on YouTube of people doing essentially the same thing only with modern equipment.
Currently, I am a Steward of the Firefighters section of a local cemetery. Several of us conduct work parties there, cutting grass, raking leaves, cleaning the stones,4 and replacing them using our own funds when they can no longer be read. I also conduct historic cemetery tours, although I have cut way back on the number of tours I lead due to unruly behavior on the part of tourists. If you can’t be thoughtful, reflective and respectful, you cannot tour with me.
I suppose that I have spent more time in cemeteries than almost all living people save for maybe those who are employed in such places. And on each visit, I still have the same thoughts as I did when I was five years old. Each stone represents a human life. Who where they? What was important to them? Were they happy with the lives they led? And, I think about my own mortality. On the day of my birth, my old friend, Death, was there wishing me a good life and reminding me that we will meet again soon.
But cemeteries are not the only place I meet my old friend.
B. On the Job Training
I intended to work in emergency services since I was in my teens and I made it my mission to prepare for a career in that field. I kept myself in good physical condition, I did ride alongs as often as departmental policy would allow, I read training manuals, I kept myself from negative contact with law enforcement and in my bedroom was a scanner which was on 24/7. If anything major happened, I went to the scene.5 My interest was far from voyeuristic. I wanted to learn how to effectively do the job. In this way, I got to know a great many of the police and fire personnel. They always encouraged me.
Doing this, I saw many people who died suddenly and in violent ways. I remember an MVA in which six men were killed in one vehicle. On another occasion, a man in a pickup truck ran a stop sign at a high rate of speed. He T-boned the trailer of a semi going so fast that the pickup ran all the way under the trailer and came out on the other side… well, the bottom half of it came out. Don’t drink and drive kids.
My family was dead set against me (pun intended) pursuing a career in public safety. My father believed that all cops were on the take and “Firefighters are the guys with 18” necks and the size 6 hats.” My mother was against it because of the danger involved. Anyway, my father was at various times the Police and Fire Commissioner for our community. He told me that he would stand in my way and he fulfilled his promise.
C. Plan B
So, reluctantly, I refocused by career goals although I never fully disengaged from the field. My great uncle was a Police Officer who was killed in the line of duty. Recalling the turmoil his death caused in my family I embarked on a study of Clinical Psychology with the hope of working with first responders and their families.
I enrolled in university and graduated with a Masters degree. Then I pursued my Psy.D. in the evening while working as a therapist during the day. I was fortunate enough to develop a case load which included many Police, Firefighters, Dispatchers, and Medics. Most therapists build their caseloads through word-of-mouth. And word spread that I was a safe and effective practitioner for first responders, who are not inclined to ask for help or trust non-sworn people to understand their lives and challenges.
My name also got around to people who were experiencing grief. I made a point of learning all I could about grief and trauma, focusing my training in those disciplines. In the process, I was able to see the world through hundreds of pairs of eyes. It would take many, many lifetimes to learn first hand everything I learned from my clients. This was a gift for which I am truly grateful.
Later, when I joined the fire department, I saw many more deaths. Some people died peacefully in their sleep. Some died by misadventure, some by accident, still others by their own hands. I was present when several people drew their last breaths. I consider it a great honor to be present at the last moment of a person’s life. Our crews always offered a moment of silent reflection at such moments. After I had been in that job for four or five years, I made a rough count of how many dead people I had seen. The number was more than 200. I worked that job for over 20 more years but never did another count. It seemed pointless.
D. A Death in the Family
One day in 2014, I was overseeing the hiring process for Firefighter Recruits. This was a long and complex process that the department conducted every two years. Typically, around 8,000 applicants took the written test (for around 80 positions). We had to rent out a convention center to administer the tests. Those who passed the written exam went to the interview phase. This phase consisted of several three person interview panels operateing simultaneously from morning until night for up to fourteen consecutive days. Those who passed the interview went to the physical agility test. And those who passed the agility test went to the Chiefs’ Interview… an intense experience during which applicants appear before the Fire Chief and his command staff.
Anyway, on this day, I was sitting on the Chief’s Interview Panel when we started getting calls from interviewees stating they were stuck in traffic on the freeway. This is a big deal because being late for any part of the process was automatic disqualification. Being on time is an important requirement for Firefighters. But we were getting so many calls from candidates stuck in traffic that we decided to investigate. What we learned was a double fatality MVA on the interstate had traffic stopped in both directions. We decided to make an exception to the disqualification rule for those stuck in the backup.
Having a bit of unexpected free time, I returned to my office to do some work. I took the messages from my phone, one of which was from a State Trooper who asked me to call immediately. I did, and he told me that there was a fatal accident. The driver was identified as my wife’s colleague and they believed the passenger in that vehicle was Mrs. Earl. I confirmed that they had carpooled together that morning. The Trooper told me to come to the hospital in the state capitol as quickly as possible because Mrs. Earl was in extremely grave condition.
What happened from that point is worthy of its own essay. Suffice it to say that Mrs. Earl’s colleague died instantly and she was pronounced dead at the scene. However, a State Trooper who previously served as a Medic noticed that the pronouncement was premature. She was taken to the hospital where she lingered in the ICU for ten days without regaining consciousness. I think it might have been easier for Mrs. Earl’s family if she had died at the scene. But I commend the officer for his heads up work and I thanked him later. Ultimately, I had to make the decision to take her off life support. We were married 30 years and together for 33. Till death us do part. I was present when she drew her last breath.
To Be Continued
1Back in the day before the internet… heck, before micro fiche… locating hardcopy documents in archives and collecting data from tombstones were primary ways of researching genealogy.
2 No Find-A-Grave either.
3Yes, I could read at a very early age thanks to my grandpa who loved to read and enjoyed teaching me.
4Do not attempt this without proper training and equipment. Many well meaning people do more harm than good using improper technique and the wrong products and equipment.
5Do not do this. Most people who do get in the way and the nature of emergency scenes has changed dramatically since I was a teenager.