
It is now past midnight. 2024 is behind us and a new year begins.
I happened to recall a saying we had in EMS, and I'm sure every agency had one similar, if not the same... "Whatever you're doing at midnight on New Year's...is what you will be doing the rest of the year."
I'm not sure why we ever said that or how it even got started, but if we were responding to calls around the midnight hour, it always felt somewhat sad. Sad...and a bit overwhelming, because we knew coming to the end of a high call volume year...would only roll us over into another one.
2024 was a challenge...and...it was life changing.
In November, I wrote a blog titled, "Breaking Silence." It was about a letter I had written to a patient whose memory I had carried with me for the last twenty-three years. I had never been able to fully process the events of that call. In fact, this year had been the first year which allowed me the opportunity to share my thoughts and emotions associated with the death of a patient in which I had not previously been able to openly and honestly talk about. However, I found talking in therapy, along with EMDR work, combined with spending time on the farm with the horses and coaches, led me to finally put everything I had been carrying in that letter.
As a way of releasing this patient and setting the thoughts and emotions I carried from the events of that shift free, Jenn suggested we burn the letter during one of our sessions. After reading online how therapeutic this process had been for so many others, it seemed like the right thing for me and so I asked if we could do it. However, with only a few sessions remaining in the year, either the weather didn't cooperate or...I failed to bring the request up again. I was struggling with not being able to fully let this patient go and I admit I was in a repeated cycle of self sabotage...yet again. Looking back, I was holding on to the letter, because I was afraid to let go of the patient. This patient, who died tragically, had over time, become a part of me... However, at our last session of the year, I mentioned my intention to shred the letter before the end of 2024. I was coming to the realization I no longer wanted, or needed, to carry this patient into another season. That was the truth...my intentions were good....but...my follow through, not so much.
Over the course of the holiday season, I found myself coming up with reason after reason not to shred the letter. I took out my journal and without ever opening it to the pages that held the letter, I put it away again. I was continuing to postpone the thing I needed to do for me...until yesterday...when I remembered, "whatever we're doing at midnight, we'll do for the rest of the year." It became clear to me in that moment, that if I was still holding onto this patient at midnight, I would hold onto this patient for another year...

And so, I carefully tore the pages containing the letter out of my journal, read over it, allowing myself one final time with my thoughts...and my words. With the house silent and the sound of fireworks beginning to line the night air as the New Year's celebration began...I respectfully placed each sheet into the shredder and within a few minutes...it was over. The emotions came...and I was finally able to mourn this patient who had been a big part of my life for such a long time. I've always known that at some point, I would have to allow this patient to go, especially if I was serious about coming to terms with a time that had been holding my healing journey hostage. However, letting go proved to be more difficult than I could have ever imagined...
Every patient we care for leaves a lasting impression on us. They somehow form us....they teach us lessons about ourselves, both good and bad...they teach us about how we tend to judge others or say careless things, when we're tired and have nothing left to give...they teach us that sometimes it's not about the cool things we get to do...it's about the simple things, like the holding of a hand or the wiping away of a tear...it's about seeing them for who they are. And...they teach us that underneath the uniform...and the badge...and the years of training, that, at the end of the day...we are human too.
I admit, I did keep a few sentences of the last paragraph of the letter, not to continue to hold onto for the sake of holding on, but to remember and honor the life of one who ultimately changed mine... "I have to believe there is a reason our lives met when they did. That somehow, something good can come of it...that our story was made stronger with us together, then apart. Know that your life mattered. It always did. It always will..."
Maybe, while not realizing it at the time, this individual played a role in saving my life....that maybe, after shedding the pain and opening my own eyes, this individual continues to teach me about life, through their own death...and that in turn, teaches me more about myself...the kind of person I was then...and the kind of person I seek to grow into. Over the last twenty-three years, all I had been able to see was guilt and pain and what I found over the course of this year was a gift from a stranger...
~Parker
I'm happy that you were able to let go. This was a tough read for me as I still hang onto the past; not letting go of those I couldn't save. The ones that haunt me the most are my first pediatric code and a mass casualty incident. I've tried to let go, but it's difficult. Your blogs are inspiring and I appreciate you taking time to share your thoughts and experiences. Thank you and may you have happy new year.