The Worst Call

**Trigger Warning: Suicide, Physical/Domestic Violence, Mental Health***

“That must be so interesting,” the woman said. Her eyes were bright with interest, but the echoes I’ve heard over the years played inside my mind. I pushed them away. I knew what would come next. “What was your worst call?” She leaned in, clearly intrigued.

I remained smiling, thinking to myself, she doesn't understand. I knew how I’d answer. I did it many times whenever I told a stranger what I did for a living. I took a deep breath. “It does keep me on my toes. I’ve heard all kinds of things, but my favorites are always the funny ones.” I smiled, making sure my redirection was working. “My favorite was the man wanting us to arrest the radio towers because they were assaulting him,” I remembered how serious he was when he called 9-1-1 that day. But that isn't what the woman wants to hear. This man's mental health issues are my way of redirecting interest away from my mental health issues.

They laughed as I tried to push the atrocities tied to my job aside again. “What?”

“Yes, he said technology assaulted him. After talking with him further, I gathered he believed the static snow on his TV was a physical assault.” I laughed along with her. “What do you do?” I asked, trying to shift the focus away from myself.

Thankfully, the change of subject worked. I avoided any further uncomfortable questions about the horrors I’ve heard over the phone and on the radio.

Later that night, as I lie down for bed. The echoes resurfaced in my mind, as they do most nights. I toss and turn to get them to go away, but to no avail. The cries, screams, and pleading were a part of me now. I have heard the very worst part of my community. There is absolutely no way to forget it.

The first horror was always the screaming mother as she cried out, "My baby was run over in the driveway. He's dead!" The pain, screaming, and suffering of the woman's voice still haunts me today. I did not take that call; my trainee did. My trainee was also a young mother herself. She came in the next day to turn in her headset. I pray that both these young mothers will one day find peace.

The following call that echoes in my ear is from the three young boys who witnessed their father shoot their mother and then himself. The younger cried, "I just want my mom back." Those words always bring an intense wave of emotion over me. Especially after my mother died a few years ago. I roll over in my bed, trying to forget all of these things.

That's when the next call plays out again. The man's exhaustion sounded in his voice. "I just shot my wife, my daughter, and by the time you all arrive, I'll have shot myself too. I just don't want to be found by the neighborhood kids." He told me he can no longer care for them. His wife had dementia, his adult daughter was in chronic pain, and his own cancer had worsened. They couldn't find anyone to help them, and he was no longer able to do so himself. I was able to stall him long enough, but as soon as he saw the officers outside, he hung up and shot himself.

I get out of bed for a drink of water. This was going to be a long night. Might as well take a sleeping pill. I thought. Or I'll never fall asleep tonight. Some nights are worse than others.

After lying down again next to my snoring husband, I take a deep breath. Just don't think about it. Count unicorns. This was my version of counting sheep. My way to lighten things in my little world.

1...

2...

3...

Those three orphaned boys...

I shake my head. No. Don't think about it.

4...

5...

6... I hear the neighbor's car outside slam on its brakes. That's when the next call plays. The brakes squealed, and the screams were so loud, but too short. I had been speaking with her. They had hit a cow around some tight curves in the road when a truck came around those same curves and struck her. She was standing outside her car. She died. I was the last person she spoke to in this world.

Damn it. Tears began falling down my cheeks. My husband snores louder. I wipe away my tears and cover my face, trying to hide myself from my own thoughts. Instead, I trapped myself with them.

This is my life. I think to myself. Then I hear another man's voice in my head. "I can't do it anymore." He said.

"I'm so sorry you're feeling this way," I answer him. "My name is Sarah. What's going on that you feel this way?"

"I'm just so tired," I could hear his tears through the call. "My wife left me and took the kids. Everyone hates me."

"That is very hard," I say. "And a lot to deal with. When did this happen?" I entered the call for officers to respond into the computer very quickly. Of course, the quicker the better. Now, I just have to stall until they arrive.

"A few months ago," he answered. His voice is deep with sadness.

"When did you start feeling like you didn't want to go on?" I ask.

"Last week, when I lost visitation, I've been trying to get through it, but I can't do it anymore. I'm not strong enough."

I used to freeze when I got this type of call. What do you say, what do you not say? Then I figured out how to talk to the person as I would want to be talked to if the situation were reversed. "You are very strong to have been dealing with this for so long. I bet you're a lot stronger than you think. And way more loved than you think."

"No, everyone hates me," he said, his voice hollow.

"I know it feels that way right now. But I don't think it's true at all. I bet there are lots of people who love you. They are just bad at showing it right now. You should discuss it with them. Are you alone right now?" This is always an important question to ask.

"Yes. My mom just left for the store." Ah, this will give me some leverage. I don't want to bring up his wife and kids yet, as that is the source of his problems, and I don't know the whole story. However, I assume he is staying with his mom, given this mention. If she allows her adult son to live with her to care for him during a difficult time in his life. This will be my way to show that he is loved.

"There is one person who I know loves you. Your mom."

"She's mad at me, too," He explains, depressingly.

"If she's mad at you, that doesn't mean she hates you. That means she cares about you," I pointed out.

"No, she is going to kick me out soon. I won't have anywhere to go. I'm just going to hang myself now." Okay, now I have his means, but he said now. That isn't a good sign. However, I now have a technique to use.

"What if we don't get out there in time to get to you before your mom returns. You don't want her to find you like that." At that moment, I heard him break down and cry. I needed to poke a hole in his plan. Show him it won't work out like he hoped.

"No, I don't," he agreed.

"She loves you. That's why you are there. She may just want to push you a bit, but it's all from a place of love. She wants the best for you." I hear a door open in the background of the phone call.

"Mom?" He asked, as if almost on cue.

"Honey, what's wrong?" She asked him.

"Here, talk to her." He handed her the phone.

"Who is this?" She said.

"Hello, ma'am. This is 9-1-1, I think your son needs you right now. I have officers en route to help him as well."

We got out there in time. I saved a man's life.

Presently, I roll over again, now facing my husband. He's been happily snoring for over an hour, unaware of the horror I live with every night. I know I should tell him, but he doesn't understand what it is I do. I recall the first time I told him what I had done.

He responded like everyone else, "That must be so interesting. What's the worst call you've taken?"