Life Inside The Ambulance

At my grandfather’s funeral, my uncle said, “He was like the general, and we were his little soldiers… We forgive you, dad.” For better or worse, I feel that I was raised to be like a soldier. Cool and calm in a crisis, doing what needed to be done. Feelings didn’t matter. Funny that I went on to devote my adult life to exploring those silly feelings. I saw what happened to people when they were dismissed and suppressed.

When I talk to other former paramedics, they say, “Do you miss it?” Meaning life inside the ambulance. The blaring of sirens, flashing of lights, feeling the speed of traveling through space while standing still and doing what needs to be done in a crisis. In a way, I never left the ambulance. I just work with people who have more time to fix what ails them before it has a chance to kill them. And I am still that same soldier, so open. My eyes a portal into infinite space where strangers are compelled to speak the unspeakable into eternal nothingness to be witnessed, held, and transformed. Not by me, but through me. They don’t teach you that in grad school!