Letters from the Other Side

“I love you so much” was the last thing I texted to my husband before I died. I know, I know it’s not very original but give me a break it had been a stressful day. I spend my days at work listening to the worst part of other people’s days. Today, I lived mine.

I mean is it too much to ask for one thing to be about me and my happiness, me and my emergency. I’m sitting here, chained to this desk, hoping I’m not about to die. I didn’t want the last thing I said to my husband to be “don’t forget to stop at the grocery tonight”.

So like I said it wasn’t grand or original, I just wanted him to know how much I love him. We send these kind of texts throughout the day anyway, it wouldn’t have seemed strange. It wouldn’t have made him worry.

The only relief from this place happens once a year, vacation.

My husband and I were set to go to Hawaii for our anniversary this time—he hates beaches but he loves me. I was looking forward to finally spending quality time with him.

Looking back on all the time I lost with him, my family, my friends— was working here worth it?

This place never cared for me, they announced our job openings before announcing our memorial services—though good luck filling those positions after this shit show. My family is doing me proud though, raising holy hell with how I died. They will make sure those responsible will pay, the administration.

The administration, when they deign to visit, love to tell us that it takes a special person to answer 911 calls. I say that’s bullshit. They just manipulate our compassion for our community and our love to serve and try to turn us into automated drones like them.

I mean give me a break, I’m dead because of this job.

If we’re so special, and so “necessary” why won’t they make sure we are adequately staffed? Why is it acceptable that we work double the hours most people do in one week?

I’m already earning overtime and it’s only Tuesday. I don’t know what it is about Tuesdays, but everything crazy seems to love Tuesdays. Also just to add to the bedlam, there was going to be a full moon tonight and that always has the whole city on edge. If you ever need to know if it’s a full moon night, you need only look around the radio room, at my coworkers. After all, we all have to be crazy ourselves to be working here.

I must have been out of my damn mind to not have walked out the door the first day, during my training, when they told us about the fire alarm. After all doesn’t everyone learn in elementary school when the fire alarm sounds, you get out?

Nope, not our job.

Our job, we’re told you are to sit there and wait, until they actually confirm a fire!

My coworkers and I have all joked about what we would do if a situation like this happened but it’s different when faced with it. To leave our station is to be considered A.W.O.L. Never mind that we are actually civilians and never signed up to be in the military. Forget the fact that we are not “technically” considered first responders and therefore, don’t receive hazard pay. We are still expected to conduct ourselves as such. We take all the risks, with none of the benefits.

The only thing that can make this place bearable at times is the work family.

Now, I should clarify who I include in this family. When you work a job like ours, where you miss most holidays, birthdays and other celebrations, with your actual family, you have to build comfort somewhere else. How else do you think we hold onto the thread of our sanity when we’re mired in the worst of humanity? The greatest blessing is to have someone else who understands the horrors we hear. We are known for our morbid sense of humor but, if you had to listen to all that we do, you too would do almost anything to stay sane.

We organize massive potluck feasts and silly outfit contests to make the holidays less lonely, as we all miss being at home, with our own families. We spend almost eighty percent of our time, with another family we didn’t choose. Sometimes you want to strangle them and other times you’re so damn grateful that someone understands you. Plus, who else are you going to complain to about those bastards in the administration?

Every decision made by the administration was devoid of all common sense. They punished their dedicated workers. They gave us a new, broken system to handle our calls. We wanted to serve our community, but they gave us no resources and only empty promises they would fix it.

They took our time, our sanity, our lives.

They took everything!

The destruction of our 911 center, the largest in our state, caused a cascading catastrophe. After all, if you never knew this, let me educate you. It’s not the destruction of the Police, Fire fighters and EMS crews that will destabilize a city. Sure, it will cause disruption, but these resources are spread throughout our city; the effort needed to destroy them is absurd. But to disable communications, to take away the ability of these agencies to communicate with each other, and for the public to communicate with them… Now that is how you truly become an agent of chaos.

If anyone would be considered an agent of chaos, in my book, it would be the administration. They made my day and my life torturous; from the sleep deprivation, to the gaslighting, and taking our lightbulbs! You heard me correctly. When we complained about the intensity of the bulbs causing us headaches, they didn’t replace them with dimmer bulbs, they just removed them! They never made a decision that was to our benefit.

One day the administration will have to answer for abandoning us; for having no viable evacuation plan. My family will make sure of it.

I wish I had been able to see my family one last time, but I was with my work family in the end. If I had to die and couldn’t have my husband by my side, I’m happy my friend Henry was with me.

Earlier that day, we had been keeping track of all the overdose calls, Henry and I. There must have been a batch of bad heroin, in the city, because there were more overdoses than normal.

“So that’s seven to your six” Henry said spinning in his chair to face me. “Now go take your break and I’m sure I’ll have had 3 more before you get back.”

“Let's hope not,” I said, unplugging my headset, tossing it onto my desk.

“I have to say, that one was pretty bad though,” I murmured, Henry swiveling his chair to listen. “That was the second time today that father had to do CPR on his son. He already overdosed earlier this morning.”

“Well shit.” Henry can’t say anything else before he gets another 911 call. I leave him to it, as I head to our break room, to refill my water bottle. I then smuggle myself into the “Quiet Room;” a room unique to this profession. After a day spent having people chatter and scream in your ear, you appreciate the novelty of silence. Somedays, all I want is silence. Those are the really bad days. I feel like mothers would understand this sentiment.

I myself am not a mother. I wish I had taken the time to be one before it was all over.

While today has been draining, I’ve had worse. So I slip in my earbuds and just pace; enjoying the ability to stand and move, as I listen to my new favorite song.

Finally, my timer sounds, in my ears, letting me know I must return, to my shackles. I swore, one day I would answer to no time clock.

Just another promise I broke, to myself

As I stepped back into the radio room, I see that chaos has descended, once again. I roll my eyes, as I head for my seat. Now remember, at my job, we are managers of chaos. We crack our knuckles and dig in, where others would run screaming from the madness.

We are all a little mad ourselves.

So this bedlam is a pretty familiar sight, and eventually it will subside. But as I approach my desk, I realize something is different, there is a spark in the air. I feel it traveling down my spine—it’s fear.

Everyone is terrified.

I sit down, in my seat, and let Janet know that she can take her break, it’s her turn. She doesn’t move, just glances at me nervously and continues her call.

“They’ve suspended all our breaks, until further notice.” Henry voice trembles, as he quickly makes himself unavailable to take calls.

I know they only do this for major incidents. “Why, what’s going on?” I ask.

“Security found a suspicious brown package when they were making their rounds.” Henry answers.

“There not evacuating us are they?” My voice hushed as Henry hesitated; it’s not really a question. We both know how this goes.

When I chose this job, I didn’t choose to lay my life on the line.

“You mean to the back up center that they dismantled last month before the new one was operational?” Henry’s retort is laced with fear.

“How far out is the bomb squad?” I ask, shuddering at the thought of how severely undermanned our police department is. It has been a rough year.

“Jesse is working the dispatch channel they’ve assigned just for this,” Henry pauses. I close my eyes, I already know the answer. “They are marshaling now, but it’s going to take thirty minutes.”

“What are you two doing!?”

We both startle and turn to see our supervisor glaring over the top of our desks. “Get back on the phones and keep taking calls, now!”

I hook back into the call system as Henry takes his next 911 call. We both watch, as the administration scrambles throughout the radio room.

29 minutes…

All non-essential personnel starts evacuating.

We have to stay.

15 minutes…

Someone calls to complain about all the roadblocks around our building. I explain the situation. He doesn’t care. He continues to yell and curse. Apparently, we are making him late for his appointment. I do my best. I don’t scream every obscenity I can think of, including a few of my own creation.

All I want is to hear my husbands voice, not be cussed out by some uncaring idiot.

10 minutes…

Everyone but us has left the building, including the administration.

They left us.

5 minutes…

Jesse lets us know the bomb squad is almost here, I can’t take it anymore. I send my final text to my husband, just as I take another 911 call. I see my phone ringing, on my desk, his picture lighting up the screen.

I never get the chance to answer.

In the end, the bomb squad didn’t make it in time, they were three minutes away when the suspicious brown package exploded.

That’s not what’s important anymore. I’m dead after all. Just another casualty of a neglectful administration and a terrorist.

There were so many things I wanted to do but will never have the chance.

I wish I had just walked away, I didn’t mean to die for this job. I just wanted to live… for me… and my family…

I love you so much honey, I’ll see you on the other side.

Your loving Wife