Bad Memories...

This week, I've been in a Mass Fatalities Incident Response training.  It gave the participants the opportunity to hear real-world lessons learned (translation: mistakes somebody made and learned from) in some of our nation's worst disasters.  September 11, major hurricanes, other airplane crashes, train derailments, etc.

Sprinkled through the lesson plans, we received regular updates on the situation in Haiti.  It is BAD down there, and I'm not just talking about the damage and its effects.  There is a political vacuum.  When that happens, anarchy dominates - survival of the fittest (or most ruthless).

Hearing the war stories this week brought back some bad memories of the days and weeks I refer to as the "dark days" after Katrina.  They're memories that I don't much talk about outside of a very small circle of very close friends - colleagues who were there.

Not only did the disaster war stories cause some of those memories to come out into the light, but the stories from county coroners and funeral directors really drug out some of the repressed memories of car wrecks, house fires, and other smaller-scale emergencies that cost someone their life. 

Outsiders sometimes think those of us in the world of public safety are calloused, have thick skin, or simply do not care when we have to deal with death.  We wish that were true.  But the truth is for every body we recover, there is a life attached to it - a life of loved ones, wives, husbands, parents, children, and friends.  It is so easy for us to project the faces of our loved ones onto the circumstances we work in.  We're scared that one day, it will be someone we deeply love and care for.

While in class, I texted Therapist and told her what was going on, and that sometimes I wish somehow I could just find a new field of work.  But between a lack of finances to pursue studies, and the fact that I'm not a good student keep me from doing just that.  And I wrestle with the reality that even if I could find a new path, the faces, and some of the names of the many, many victims I've worked with over the years are permanently etched in that bundle of neurons at the top of my neck.  They'll always be hiding out in the shadows, waiting for me to hear a sound or smell a smell that's associated with their memory....and the floodgates of bad memories will open.

This afternoon my blackberry has been buzzing as the state gathers information about resources we have that might be useful in the Haiti response and recovery.  I really doubt we'll go over there.  However, I have no doubt that there is plenty of room for new bad memories, and I'm coming to dread potential deployments like these. 

Let the waiting game begin...