Strength

Someone I know had a traumatic experience recently, and her talking about it inadvertently brought up an old experience of mine. That seems to be happening a lot lately.

I guess it's been about 7 years...

I was woke early in the morning by a phone call, a frantic voice on the other end, sobbing, "I think my Dad is dead." It was a young girl and after some initial confusion, I realized who it was and rushed across town to her home. When I arrived there was chaos...police, ambulance, friends, neighbors, gawkers. I pushed my way through and into the house, still not knowing what had happened. I found my son's young friend, a girl of 14, huddled and crying in the living room with friends that had been sleeping over. Her father had killed himself, a suicide by gunshot, witnessed by the man's girlfriend. Apparently, the police took one look at me and decided I was the most responsible adult on the scene. I was older, had not been present and wasn't falling apart. I'm told I have a look about me that says, in charge and under control...that is not always a good thing. I suddenly found myself right in the middle of an ugly situation. Instead of taking care of a 14 year old girl and her younger brother as I had anticipated....or for that fact, thinking I'd arrive to find her Dad sick, passed out...anything but dead, and at his own hand, I found myself answering police questions, identifying the body and taking possession of his guns, along with other belongings the police were considerate enough to not want to fall into the kid's hands. The police were very professional. They made my trip into the basement...less painful? Less shocking? This was someone I had known. Someone my kids and I spent time with. But the police officers covered everything they could and were very careful to show me just his face. But I knew. I knew what was behind, below, beyond that masking. But I prefer to deal with my imagination than the reality. I will also say that I would rather be the one that took on that task instead of the people huddled in the living room upstairs. They had already been through enough...and would have way more to deal with in the future. His death left a large gap and a lot of questions in many lives. And the one thing I did, maybe the biggest change I made that day, was to prevent that body from going through that living room. The ambulance crew had brought him up the basement stairs into the dining room, where I was standing, yet again conversing with a police officer over some detail. They turned the stretcher towards the living room and I stepped in front of them. I told them they were not going that way. I told them to go out the back door. The EMT argued that to go out the back door they would have to go down two flights of narrow stairs. I repeated that they were not going through the living room where this man's children and friends sat. The police officer looked at me, I think he knew a fight was brewing and directed the EMT to the back door. I will never regret being there to make that stand. It is a memory nobody needed.

I am a strong person. My experiences make me stronger. Sometimes I don't want to be the strong one that others rely on...but sometimes, I'm glad I was.

Even when others may never even realize that I stood up for them.