Posted on by Julie Deziel

In The Dark

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or best known as simply PTSD is a mental health malady that is caused by extremely stressful or terrifying events. This condition is a very significant concern for those who work the trenches of 911 dispatching. It is very common for dispatchers to experience a secondary trauma from their exposure to the most distressing emergency calls. I have PTSD.

I dedicated nearly four decades of my life to serving the public during their most critical moments, including EMS and 911 dispatching. I spent eleven years in an ambulance, but then I experienced my own life-altering trauma event when I was involved in a horrific car accident. This accident left me unable to lift, walk on uneven surfaces, or even get down to the level of my patients. While working in EMS, I was also teaching EMS courses in Northwest Minnesota and Northeast North Dakota. Consequently, when the accident occurred, I had to resign from my position at the college where I taught. I found myself questioning my next move, wondering what lay ahead. Then, I discovered a position with the Polk County Sheriff’s Office that seemed to align with my knowledge and ability to handle emergency situations. I held a 911 telecommunication position for nearly twenty-eight years. Both of these pivotal positions had a profound impact on my life.

As a younger woman in positions of responsibility and raising my family, I failed to recognize the so-called PTSD that I later learned about. It wasn’t until later in life that I developed emotional numbness. To suppress the constant intrusive thoughts, I found ways to occupy my mind through alcohol, sex, and anything else that could distract me. Hypervigilance consumed me, and the constant worry of the next call or the events I knew would strike a loved one caused immense anxiety. The most distressing aspect was the intrusive thoughts that couldn’t be silenced. I relived countless calls I made on the ambulance, and even worse, the calls from individuals experiencing traumatic events themselves. The callers and patients became intertwined in my mind, taking over completely. It wasn’t just a few calls I could replay; unfortunately, there were many that lingered in my thoughts. I suppose this is the cumulative trauma that people talk about.

While the trauma I was dealing with early on was difficult that ugliness of the demon named “Cumulative Trauma” unexpectedly appeared when I was not looking. It didn’t ask permission to enter my home. It lacked patience to wait for my permission; instead, it forcefully pushed the door open and walked in, disregarding my reaction. It became an integral part of me, akin to a family member, accompanying every aspect of my life. Now, I realize that it was a gradual process that hollowed me out, leading to periods of extreme distress. The person who loved wearing masks wore them daily to conceal their true self. They hid behind a fake smile, concealing the fear that consumed them daily. This way, no one would know that a stranger had taken control of their movements and interactions with colleagues, friends, and family.  I lived in a dark empty, lonely hole where there was no ladder for me to climb out. I lived in the dark, alone with this pain, this horror, until I could not wait for another tragedy that would “hopefully” replace one of the horrors that I lived with, which unfortunately did not happen. It just jumped into the pile I held and made a place.

I will never hide the fact I am in therapy. Who would not want to find the way out of the dark, a way to live a life that feels relaxed, fun and not waiting for a tragedy to happen? I needed to find that. This road to learning to live with PTSD is difficult. It does not just happen overnight. The sessions are numerous and oh so very hard to sit through. When you sit with intrusive thoughs, hypervigilence, emotional numbing, grief nearly every week, well it becomes almost too much to bear. Strength is vital. But that is one thing that I found in my years of emergency services is that strength is most important as you have to be strong to answer the woman whose boyfriend just committed suicide while you answered the call in time to hear the shots, or a woman taking me on “the walk” she could not do alone to find her spouse who had made the decision to end his life. You have to have strength to help those whose loved ones are down and you have to give instructions for CPR while you cry silent tears right alongside of them. I will continue to live with my many visits with my therapist as I learn to retrain my brain and not allow the horrors to run who I am. One day I will see beyond that dark and see the brilliance of light.

“In the depths, shadows creep, like whispers in the night,

The past emerges slowly, obscured from the light.

Each though a heavy anchor, chained deep in the oul,

Yet hope still flickers softly, as dreams begin to roll.”

~ Unknown

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Hold On Tight

I remember the morning I took this picture perfectly. I was leaving for work early in the morning for a twelve-hour shift starting at 7:00 a.m. I am NOT a morning person…period! I was struggling to navigate myself and all my bags I take with me out to the garage and get down the road. I saw this artistic scene and literally slammed on the brakes. Absolutely breathtaking. I had to get out and snap a picture. As beautiful as it was, it was a reminder it was morning and I had this day shift to get through.

I have been researching for just the perfect song for a video of a big moment in our lives and our little paradise on earth; our home . I nonchalantly came upon a video this evening that drew me in. It is so incredibly fitting for me and the time in my life.

I have received two diagnosis’ earlier in the year that have knocked me off balance. First was the diagnosis of pulmonary hypertension with a high number that was found to be not very encouraging. In finding the possible cause of PH it was revealed that I have pulmonary fibrosis also which took my breath away (pun intended). I immediately began researching these conditions. I started with Google which sent me to being ready to go out and buy a cemetery plot. I switched it up to browsing into true medical research on these and visited with my doctor. I have found that it is not encouraging for a long life. Each of these conditions separately are not curable and each of them alone will progress to being fatal, but a combination of the two together does not have an are promising outcome. As medicine is a ever-changing field that advances in treatment keeps me encouraged. I am optimistic but I am also a realist and whether it is two years, or the median 4.1 year I will now live.

We all remember the big things in life; the births of our children, our weddings, the loss of loved ones. The days of the year creep by and we recognize those events. They are so incredibly large to us but focusing on just the these things leaves all the little things off to the side. We have so many small things that we may think are insignificant at the time; conversations shaping us, people in our lives who molded us into our being today. It may be the soft snow falling from the sky landing on Christmas lights laid on bushes outside the house or that sunset that laid out a canvas of simple peace and incredible beauty. These little things that were so nonchalant but now I realize are leading me down a path to a something greater. Eddie Pinero orates “Remember the Little Things” which leaves a soul to reflect upon their little things. “Oh they hide themselves those little things. In a way it’s not too different from the oxygen we breathe in and breathe out intertwined in every day life necessary to carry on, to grow, to evolve yet only missed when it is gone. We don’t think about the air we breathe unless of course we are submerged and without it.”

Do you know what is important? Do you know what you hold close to your heart? Do you spend time thinking about the little moments in your life? The little things though could simply be everything in our lives; the smell of coffee in the morning remembering a grandparent’s hug, walking down a wooded path and smelling the earth all around us, feeling the lashes of a grandchild sweeping against a cheek as they snuggle in for a nap, or the smell of chocolate cookies hanging in the air and finding simple pleasure from such.

Grasping the “things” that surrounds each of us is what gives us an internal picture that can be removed and replayed from time to time. It is these simple things that have now shown me what is important in my life. As I watch patiently for the sunrise being painted right in front of me I am reminded I am alive and for now I am breathing as time will steal that vital necessity from me. I now see the little things at the exact moment I am in embraced by the simple things for in present time they are my big things. So my friends, “Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you’ll look back and realize they were the big things” – Robert Brault

Listen to the inspiring message and think about your own little things and hold on tight.

Posted on by Julie Deziel · 1 Comment

That Happened Fast

IMG 2018

There is a line from  Mario de Andrade’s poem “The Valuable Time of Maturity” that opened my eyes to turning 60 years of age and how did I come to this point where “I counted my years and discovered that I have less time to live going forward than I have lived until now.”

When I turned 50 years old I could say I hit the mid-point of my life.  People are living longer and whose to say I would not make it to 100.  When you look at 60 though, you cannot fathom 120 years of life so I am now I can truly say I am on the downhill aspect of life.  But reality truly hit that I am for sure past my prime.  My grandmother died when she was 67 years old and my mom died at 63 years. I often think about how they viewed life in their 60’s and realizing that they would not live long lives.  As my mother battled ovarian cancer she realized that life would end sooner rather than later.  My grandmother dealt with the same aspects through her heart issues after a heart attack.  Now I face the same aspects of health issues as they did at the age of 60 or early 60’s.

My battle with COVID in January and February 2022 I have had lingering issues – a long hauler as I have been told.  But things progressed since then I have been diagnosed with two conditions that you do not recover from but progress  (fingers crossed for slowly) over time becoming fatal.  One is pulmonary hypertension (which is at a severe level) and also pulmonary fibrosis with decreased diffusion.  My doctors believe the pulmonary fibrosis is COVID-related and thus led to pulmonary hypertension.  Having one of these is bad enough but the two together are not so promising.  It is a very tough pill to swallow as I face many appointments and procedures that time COULD be shorter than I ever imagined but prayerfully I will beat the odds. I had a couple of appointments this week and one of the doctor left the room wishing me a happy birthday and says to “touch my loved ones toremind yourself that you are alive. I did that today at my birthday party…hugged and truly “felt” the love for I am alive today.

None of us know our end date and should live alive.  So that is what I will do.  In the words of Mario de Andrade,

“I want to surround myself with people, who know how to touch the hearts of people …

People to whom the hard knocks of life, taught them to grow with softness in their soul.

Yes … I am in a hurry … to live with intensity, tnat only maturity can bring.

I intend not to waste any part of the goodies I have left …

I’m sure they will be more exquisite, that most of whihc so far I’ve eaten.

My goal is to arrive to the end satisfied and in peace with my loved ones and my conscience.

I hope that your goal is the same because either way you will get there too ..”

Live my friends. Touch your loved ones and cherish each breath you take.  Life moves fast…so very fast and one day you may feel the need to put the brakes on as you say “wow, that happened fast.”

Posted on by Julie Deziel

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

Joni Mitchell sings “Rows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the air, and feather canyons everywhere. I looked at clouds that way.” I am not a fan of Joni’s music, I will immediateIy change the channel for I am one that needs the right song for the moment I am in. The other day though, I saw the YouTube video of this song with Joni singing mind you at age 78 and having to relearn so much following a brain aneurism a few years back, “Both Sides Now” at a Rhode Island Folk fest just this year. It brought me straight to tears.

Who as a child did not lay on their backs in the cool grass on a warm summer day and look for characters in the clouds; might it be a dog, a person laughing. Dreams are spoken and wishes held tight while looking. Just as fast as the clouds can change the illusions in the sky they can become just plain ugly. They bring the rain, the snow and a darker day.

Two years ago today I was in the throes of grief through losing a father, grandfather, my husband’s brother and my husband’s sister’s significant other in a years time. The cloud cover was heavy like the weight of a large quilt. It was almost comforting to lay under that blanket and the darkness of the clouds. As each death descended upon us it was much more comforting to just lay there with no break in the clouds. Little did we know one of the hardest deaths was very near. With little time to truly grieve, our daughter’s husband peacefully passed away in his sleep. Overwhelming, incredibly sad, stunning, leave you breathless and extremely painful. You grieve for the son lost, your grandchild’s realization daddy is gone forever and he will never know him as we did. The most difficult though was watching my own child grieve, hurt, in despair and not being able to make any of it better. The quilt never felt as heavy as it did that night, the next week…for months and now nearly two years. My child was simply sad and there was absolutely nothing I could do to fix it. Grief hung on my shoulders like a shawl. I could only walk through her cues as she began to heal but we know that can be an indeterminate period of time but it seemed like the clouds simply were ever in the way.

The picture attached is one from a race night and while sitting at my son’s pit spot about a week after my son-in- law‘s death I found absolute beauty in the clouds. I saw love, peace and a feeling of “this will be better one day.” Having been consumed with all the sadness and grief I thought I could never pull out from under I found that time allows us to grow into the new normal and that there is love before death and loss but also the same after. Just like the clouds can be ever changing so is life. I still find there are days that I need to throw the quilt off and allow the clouds to break. As Joni sings, “I’ve looked at life from both sides now. From win and lose and still somehow it’s life’s illusions I recall. I really don’t know life. I really don’t know life at all.” Just that life is difficult, with loss but the sun will peek through the clouds when they are darkest. That’s what I know about life.

Feel free to embrace Joni Mitchell in her reprisal to singing and giving truly giving us a gift in her song, “Both asides Now.”

https://youtu.be/4aqGjaFDTxQ
Posted on by Julie Deziel

Home Is Where The Heart Is

How many times have you answered the question, “What is your address?” Or have you typed it in on a form to have something shipped to you or filled it in on your human resource paperwork? This is your place, your landing spot, your place of comfort mixed in with a little chaos. This is home. Most people can say they have lived in at least two places in their life. One would be where they grew up and then the home they lived in as an adult. Some can say they have experienced many places across the world as home. Have you ever wanted to go back to that one place that you first called home, to relive those memories.

My first “home” memory is a two-story white house with a front porch and two detached garages. It had a big yard and we played with the neighborhood kids every day. I shared a bedroom across from my parent’s bedroom. There was a big old piano in the dining room that I took many years of piano lessons on. We always sat around the large dining room table after Sunday church and had chicken. I have often driven past it and wondered how much has changed since we moved out in 1977. I would love to take a walk through it and remember the back door slamming and stand at the bedroom window and look over the back yard and remember the laughter playing “Annie-Annie-Over” and “Kiss or Kill.”

Not every home has only good memories though for whatever reason. Taking a walk through a home once lived can flood a person with so many feelings. As you run your hand along the bannister you might ignite the feeling of a first love as you readied for prom. Maybe seeing your name in concrete reminds you of the demise of your parent’s marriage and how that laid groundwork for feelings of abandonment as you grew up. Would the owners of that house now allow you in even if you promised you’d leave? That you promised you would not take anything but the memories that you found along the way.

When we moved from the place I first called home to the second place I called home before I moved as an adult was a large three-story home on a little lake way off the road. Good memories were made there and sad memories sprinkled in along the way. Nearly 30 years after I left home I was able to call it home again with my husband as we had the opportunity to purchase it. It is still a large old three-story home that we have made our own and we have made our own memories but I am blessed to be able to reminisce with my old memories.

I have learned though from my first home to my hopefully last home it was not the lumber, the paint, how many bedrooms or what neighborhood it stood in but more of who was inside; who made those memories. It was the heart of the place that made it home; the laughter, the family. Each of those memories had a part of building who I am. When I leave our home for the last time as Miranda Lambert sings in her song, “The House That Built Me,” I “won’t take nothin’ but a memory from the house that built me.”

https://youtu.be/DQYNM6SjD_o

Posted on by Julie Deziel

If These Walls Could Talk

This old house has stood strong and tall since 1921. It has seen a century of faces that have moved through and left their mark within the stucco walls. It has seen death within the walls and heard the laughter of many children bouncing down the stairs on their butts just to run back up to do it all over again. There are secrets hidden, innocence stolen, and heard a fight or two. Oh the stories those walls could tell.

The house prior to the most recent changes we have made had 54 windows…yes, 54 windows. Most of the windows were the original paned windows and it was not uncommon to see the curtains move on a very windy day as they were drafty and cold. This house was my childhood home and now it is my forever home. The peace, the lake, the wildlife bring so much joy to our lives. Since January 3rd though I have had an extensive amount of time to spend within the walls of my favorite place where the curtains no longer move with an Arctic Clipper. Every time I look out the window the lake is frozen over and the snow is blowing over it and I am, somewhat, thankful I am thrust to just sit inside. I have COVID.

We have all been inundated with what is COVID and what we need to do when we have it and how to avoid it and the never-ending battle of pro versus con vaccination. I am vaccinated but still had the virus find it’s way into my asthmatic, pneumonia/bronchitis-prone lungs. It took a bit before I was finally tested as I did not present normally…ha big surprise. So I was in the throes of it when I was finally tested. Thankfully I have a great doctor who worked with my wishes to stay out of the hospital for personal reasons and decisions made. Plus they would not do much more than what I was doing other than an experimental treatment not approved by the FDA. COVID hit numerous organs a little hard and it has been a struggle but I am through the worst we believe although I am still having some residual issues with some things.

Today is February 8th and I am still sitting within the walls of my house. My husband and I quarantined from each other and walking stairs was impossible for me so I just have lived in my living room. But when you sit in the same place 24 hours a day, day in, day out can take a toll on you physically and mentally. I am timed to medications and nebulizer treatments. Sleep is almost non-existent and the walls have begun to talk. I have heard and felt this old soul of a house creak it’s tired bones just as I do each day. I hear it say I am tired of being strong just as I do also for each of the 36 days I have lived in my living room. In the silence as I do my Bible Study I can hear the lake and the house have a conversation together. It can push a wearied mind into a state they begin to think they are going off the rails. As I sit here though and think about my situation I think about all those that have to sit these same number of days behind a closed door in some type of care facility with minimal human contact and are scared and alone. They hear sounds from other rooms but not the rooms of their safe place, their home. The contact is not necessarily their loved one as I was blessed to have throughout.

So for now I will gladly accept the stories I hear each day and night within the confines of my living room knowing my strength lies just a floor above me. I will accept that it is a slow process to heal from this virus. I will welcome the midnight activity of the lake and wildlife out in our little world. And for now, I will continue to be content in sitting on the inside looking out.

Stay safe my friends, stay safe.

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Hidden

Shinedown “Through The Ghost” posted at the end of the blog. Feel free to play it will reading. Very thought provoking song. I do not own the rights to the music.

Who as a child did not play the game of hide and seek. Oh the excitement as you waited as they counted to ten or twenty and heard the words; ready or not here I come.” Holding your breathe so they did not hear you as they looked behind the couch and you may have even shut your eyes believing that by doing so you became invisible and there was absolutely no way they could ever find you.

Through the years I cannot deny I have simply wanted to shut my eyes and pretend I am invisible, that I do not exist, that I am a ghost that not a single soul can see me. I have tried to hide myself away from all that I encounter just so they will not know me…as I know me.

I boast oftentimes that I am the “queen of the mask” and I have drawers full of different ones. I can pull one out at the drop of a hat, for any situation. I do this so that I can hide myself away. I can find a way to cope with all that I hear through the 911s I hear. I can cover myself with the dust of an old mask of anxiety as I wait for the next tragedy. The tragedy of it all is that I no longer see myself. It seems the color of who am is blank. The senselessness and hopelessness has overtaken the color of my soul.

I am pained that through all the aid given, all the proper authority that has been sent, all the abuse taken by the upset and angry individuals, and all the tears cried with the hurt and desperate that the world with never know me as I once knew me…for I live within a shell of a ghost. It is easier to hide myself away. I have found that shadows allow me to live and function forward. The world will not know me as I had once known me. Time has taken its toll. I will remain behind the shadows as I take my place behind the mic where the only part of me exposed is my voice. My voice is my mask and the callers becomes a part of my army of ghosts that I will live through tomorrow. Excuse me. The line is ringing once again that I cannot hide from. “911, where is your emergency?”

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Always Our Hero

What is the definition of a hero? Merriam-Webster has a few of them. One is a “person admired for achievements and noble qualities.” Geoff would fall into this category. All his years as a firefighter automatically put him into that category which he entered into in his teens and would often practice with his cousin Tommy. Tommy reflected on these moments at the funeral. “I always thought it was the coolest thing to be saved by my own cousin time and time again. He was my own superhero.” From Burlington Northern Santa Fe all the way to the Senate floor he was a hero during the train derailment near Casselton, ND in 2013. To me though he was more than a hero, he was a son.

August 12, 2020. 365 days ago. 8760 hours ago. 525,600 seconds ago when my phone rang as my husband and I had settled on the couch for the evening. It was my daughter and she told me, “Geoff’s dead.” Only my straight-to-the-point Adair would lay it out that way. In the nano-second following I thought, “What did Geoff do to piss her off?” But it was nothing that Geoff did to upset her. Our Geoff was gone for real. I was up off that couch and saying we had to go to Adair. I made it to the dining room and I literally fell to the floor in utter shock, horror, loss, disbelief, and heart-breaking pain for my baby girl and grandson. I could not get up from the floor, Mike literally had to pick me up off the floor. “This is not happening. This is a dream. Please wake me up from this gut-wrenching pain I am feeling for all three of them.”

Just eight days prior I sat in their backyard and we visited for hours in which we figured out all of life’s problems, gossiped and watched what we at the time believed to be real dead birds hanging from the water tower (which we found out later they were not real) and of course Isak provided much entertainment. The days that followed Geoff’s death showed me a community filled with love for their friend, their family member, their co-worker, their hero and planning the most appropriate celebration of life they felt he deserved. I also saw those same people project so much love on Geoff’s favorite little guy and surround the love of his life with strength, love and a ton of food. The visitation and service that was put together was beautiful. They knocked it out of the park…literally! It was held at the baseball diamonds on a summer day filled with much sun and love. They honored their hero well.

I can see the hero everyone else sees but Geoff is my hero for a different reason. There is another definition for hero that to me fits him to a tee; an object of extreme admiration and devotion. Geoff loved my daughter with all he had. He gave his all to his little family and provided for them. He was her biggest supporter and together they could weather any storm. He fits that definition in the way he admired what they had and the devotion he had to their love and relationship. The love they shared was one-in-a-million and I was blessed to have him as a son-in-law, although I kept him in my heart as one as my own.

It is difficult to understand why things happen the way they do. I believe we all would agree there is no way Geoff would have chosen this journey for his Adair and Isak but he would be incredibly proud of the strength she has had over the last year and will walk with her through her life. We most definitely know he is watching his buddy grow into the goofy, compassionate, friendly mama’s big boy (he will tell you he’s not a baby) who looks like him more and more every day. The only answer I can give myself is that heaven must have needed a hero and although we wish Geoff was not the one picked we know they got the best. As the song by JoDee Messina (attached to this post) goes, “I guess Heaven was needing a hero. Somebody just like you, Brave enough to stand up for what you believe and follow it through. When I try to make it make sense in my mind the only conclusion I come to is that Heaven was needing a hero like you.”

Posted on by Julie Deziel

The Silence is Deafening

There is no denying that a train makes a statement. With its large lumbering engines blowing their horns at every intersection to the rumbling of the ground as they pass by at 60 miles per hour as we sit on the roadway and wait for each of the train cars to make it through and we can continue on with our day. For many it is an opportunity to check their social media pages or make a phone call or another to touch up their makeup or just to simply get lost in thought. Even though it is so loud and annoying to me personally…that silence is deafening.

I have written before about my son-in-law who we lost six months ago to an undetected heart condition. We are still reeling over that tragedy. Having worked in the EMS world I know that tragedy happens and it is definitely not choosy. My youngest son and I experienced a terrible car accident years ago and I remember the look of my children and family when I was able to see them and the fear in their eyes. I do not wish that on anyone. As I have walked with an officer to deliver the news to a young mother her husband will not return home, I wish none of our officers ever had to knock on that door and see the absolute horror in a parent’s face as they know what is coming.

As I put another year as a 911 dispatcher behind me…23 years actually, a scenario that just seemed unimaginable recently occurred at the end of a long shift. I experienced a 911 call that was eerily similar to my son-in- law’s situation. There is no training for this type of situation. During the most devastating moment of the caller’s life all I could do was think of my daughter having to make that exact same call. As I walked through the information I needed I wanted to assure them they were not alone just as I prayed my daughter did not feel. As they waited for help to come and the caller and I worked together I am most certain was a lifetime for an “actual person” to get there. Even though I was “with them”, I can only think they felt a crippling silence from their most loved. When ambulance and law enforcement arrived I was able to disconnect and even though there were two other dispatchers in the room all I heard was a deafening silence.

As the words from Disturbed’s “Prayer” sing out, “Another dream that will never come true just to compliment your sorrow. Another life that I’ve taken from you, a gift to add on to your pain and suffering. Another truth you can never believe has crippled you completely. All the cries you’re beginning to hear trapped in your mind, and the sound is deafening.” This is the life of a 911 dispatcher. You carry the sounds, the sorrow, the horror and they find you in the silence and it can most deafening in those moments. I do not wish that on another soul. I think about the dispatcher that took my daughter’s call often. I am so sad she had to comfort my daughter on the worst day of her life at the moment I would have given anything to have stood in for her.

I will continue to watch the trains go by and hope for a glimpse of a baseball cap and sunglasses and a smiling Geoff riding along with his buddies and silently remember all those lives I have been a part of through a loud siren ringing telephone when it pierced the silence of the dispatch center.

Posted on by Julie Deziel

The Window

“The soul can speak through the eyes,
and kiss with a look.”

-Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer-

A simple edited picture of me. When I first looked at it I thought it was a rather cool picture and my eyes really stood out. But I looked a little deeper into them and they spoke volumes to me. I would believe that many have heard the saying “eyes are the window to the soul.” I have learned in life that the soul is what leaves our body when we die but is also the spirit and essence of a person and is composed by all the mental abilities: reason, character, feeling, memory, perception and thinking. It is a book of who we are physically and spiritually.

When I was younger as we drove along the neighborhood streets I loved to imagine beyond the windows of a home in the evening picturing the lives of those inside. Do they live the Beaver Cleaver world? Do they have every toy and electronic under the Christmas tree to ensure that Santa requests were fulfilled. I still ponder the lives on a quiet drive through a neighborhood thinking who is there and what secrets are hidden behind their windows. Is there financial struggle or is their a lonely spouse following the loss of their beloved spouse through death. If we could take a walk up to the window to see further inside we could understand the narrative of their lives.

We each have a story no doubt. We are born and grow up and go through school with some being a jock and popular and some, like me, a wallflower who centered on music. My narration follows that same path throughout my adult life. I have remained the quiet and shy gal who loves with her whole heart those who I have let into my life. Through EMS work I have seen the joy of life entering life and seen the sadness of life leave a body. I have seen horrific scenes that are imprinted within my memory bank. As I progressed into 911 dispatching I no longer have to “see” but now “hear” the scenes, the horror of family discord, the devastating sadness of the realization that one’s loved one will no longer look at them, speak to them or spend another moment with them. Each one lays within my soul and travels with me along the highways and byways of my life. Be it a friend or a tragedy that encompass a memory of what is held inside they each are seen in my eye; my truth, my emotions, my fear, my happiness, my intensity, and my sorrow.

We as a family have traveled the grief road over the past year and a half in losing five family members but especially in the last five months our eyes hurt, our eyes are tired. My soul is exhausted and torn. Strength and faith are shook to their core and there is an overwhelming feeling of going under. I know I have the strength of our Lord who holds my heart and soul in his hands and will hold my tears and will dry my eyes. For now the windows to my soul are tinged a little red and swollen but they still remain intriguingly beautiful, not just because of their blue color but because of the words they hold within and everything the soul knows and continues to thirst for.

Posted on by Julie Deziel

I Have Mail

I love the holiday season. I can spend all day sitting admiring my Christmas tree all decorated and soaking in the smell of Christmas wafting from the oven. One of my favorites of the season though is checking the mailbox and finding out that I have mail and it includes those special envelopes from friends and family wishing our household a “Merry Christmas”..

I work in an environment that does not bring much good news. Those that reach out on 911 do not do so to let us know they have a new grandchild or they won at bingo or they are getting company over the holiday season. They unfortunately call on their worst day no matter what time of year.

This year has seemed to be a different year in the center. Communities being in lock down brought struggles that families were not familiar with which brought out more violence, more juvenile issues and substance abuse. As the crisis has continued to drag on and continued lock downs, be it schools or businesses, it has has wreaked havoc mentally and financially on many. The tentacles reach throughout on the crisis lines, mental health providers, emergency rooms, and our 911 lines.

It seems as if death has enveloped me lately. Recently I was involved in 3 CPR in progress calls within a 24 hour period. Over this past weekend there were 2 unattended deaths in 12 hours. There are many ambulance call for services and later an obituary is viewed in the local newspapers. It may or may not be related to the medical crisis sweeping across the United States. It could be due to an internal struggle they have or an undiagnosed medical issue or simply old age took over their tired body. I turn on the National news and there is the never ending broadcast of doom and gloom and the out of sight crescendo of death due to CoVid-19 and no matter where a person goes to on social media you cannot simply will not escape it. It is suffocating. It is almost as if I can actually feel the death as a formidable item. It is exhausting and overwhelming most days.

Tomorrow though I will walk through the locked doors of the 911 doors and prepare to take the calls of another individual who is having their worst day; short of breath, high fever, or a young wife finding their husband laying lifeless on the floor. I will do my job. I will check my mailbox on my way out of the driveway in hopes that it will present me with a little joy; an envelope filled with a peaceful scene or a goofy Christmas scene but both sending love with the pictures of the family and signatures of season greetings. I will FEEL alive and hopeful…for now.

I pray you are enveloped in much love and peace this holiday season.