We See You: An Open Letter To EMS Personnel

We See You: An Open Letter To EMS Personnel

"...so others may live..."

To the "Everyday Heroes,"

We see you. Every single day. You are the sound of the pager tone at that restaurant telling us you are needed- we hear you. You are the lights simultaneously flashing letting your presence be known- we see you. You are the sirens screaming down the highway warning others to get out of the way- we pray for you. You are the calm voice in a moment of panic- the gentle touch of reassurance- we feel you. In a moment of terror and chaos, you are the calm and composed figure of hope- we trust in you. You are the breath of life in the revival of loss- we believe in you. In a moment of loss, you are the heaviness of the heart- we cry for you.

You are tired. You are hurting. You are haunted. The long days, hours, and minutes of each shift have worn you down. The losses and question of "What more could I have done?" linger in the back of your mind. You see the worst of the worst, and those moments stay with you forever; they replay over and over in your head when you close your eyes and are a constant reminder of how cruel and unfair the world is. The images of those horror stories are etched into your mind down to the very last detail- you cannot unsee the tragedy of Hell.

This job surely isn't easy- only the few and the brave can do it. It is the most rewarding job of all; there is no greater feeling of accomplishment than that of saving someone's life. You don't do it for the money. You don't do it for the glory. You do it for the rush you get when you get a call. You do it for the people. You do what you have to do when you have to do it, as long as it means you are helping someone. You do it every day, hoping and praying that you made a difference in someone's life- that's all that matters.

Although you don't get the recognition as often as you deserve, you are more valuable than you think. You are just as important as police and firemen. You risk your lives every day to save the lives of others. You are more than just an "Ambulance Driver," a "Paramedic," an "EMT," or a "First Responder"- you see, you are more than an "everyday" hero; You are the angels sent to help heal the wounded and tend to the sick. You are the difference between life and death. You are the reason that woman is able to see her son graduate high school. You saved that man's life- he can walk his daughter down the aisle at her wedding next summer. You safely delivered that baby on the side of a road, and he's now a happy, healthy two-year-old. You see the young man working at the local coffee shop? You brought him back to life when he OD'd- he believed in you when he gave up on himself; you made him feel his purpose, and he's changing his life because of you. You are the "Star of Life"; at the end of every day, you shine through in someone, somewhere, bigger and brighter than ever.

Thank you for what you do. Thank you for the service you provide. Thank you for being compassionate and believing in others in their moments of weakness. Thank you for giving us hope in our moments of doubt, and having faith to fall back on. Most of all, thank you for seeing us when we are vulnerable and afraid.

We see you, too.

Cover Image Credit: wallpaper24x7.com

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To The Parent Who Chose Addiction

Thank you for giving me a stronger bond with our family.


When I was younger I resented you, I hated every ounce of you, and I used to question why God would give me a parent like you. Not now. Now I see the beauty and the blessings behind having an addict for a parent. If you're reading this, it isn't meant to hurt you, but rather to thank you.

Thank you for choosing your addiction over me.

Throughout my life, you have always chosen the addiction over my programs, my swim meets or even a simple movie night. You joke about it now or act as if I never questioned if you would wake up the next morning from your pill and alcohol-induced sleep, but I thank you for this. I thank you because I gained a relationship with God. The amount of time I spent praying for you strengthened our relationship in ways I could never explain.

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Thank you for giving me a stronger bond with our family.

The amount of hurt and disappointment our family has gone through has brought us closer together. I have a relationship with Nanny and Pop that would never be as strong as it is today if you had been in the picture from day one. That in itself is a blessing.

Thank you for showing me how to love.

From your absence, I have learned how to love unconditionally. I want you to know that even though you weren't here, I love you most of all. No matter the amount of heartbreak, tears, and pain I've felt, you will always be my greatest love.

Thank you for making me strong.

Thank you for leaving and for showing me how to be independent. From you, I have learned that I do not need anyone else to prove to me that I am worthy of being loved. From you, I have learned that life is always hard, but you shouldn't give into the things that make you feel good for a short while, but should search for the real happiness in life.

Most of all, thank you for showing me how to turn my hurt into motivation.

I have learned that the cycle of addiction is not something that will continue into my life. You have hurt me more than anyone, but through that hurt, I have pushed myself to become the best version of myself.

Thank you for choosing the addiction over me because you've made me stronger, wiser, and loving than I ever could've been before.

Cover Image Credit: http://crashingintolove.tumblr.com/post/62246881826/pieffysessanta-tumblr-com

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Batter Up

Because someone needed to teach her rotten boyfriend a lesson about how to treat a woman.


I have this memory from when I was younger,

I must have been six, maybe seven? An age

When you can remember, but not quite

Understand. I remember the landline

Ringing sometime in the middle

Of the night in my grandmother's small,

But adequate house. I had been sleeping,

Tucked under a shield of satin covers,

My grandmother next to me, blanketless,

And stiff, on the very edge of the queen mattress

Like she was anticipating some sort of disaster.

It wasn't the phone that pulled me from my sleep,

It was my grandmother's instant jerk, her eyes

Flipping open quicker than a light switch,

The mattress springing back up, adjusting

To the new lightness as she fled the room. My waking

Was soft like a song. Slow and humane.

My eyes adjusting to the dark, my ears absorbing the ringing,

My mind reminding itself that I was at my grandmother's house.

Then, the ringing stopped;

Abrupt, like a disarmed fire alarm.

It was just a drill, I thought.

But, then I heard the mumbling

From behind the door, panicked mumbling.

Rapid, like gunfire. My grandmother's Rs

Rolling down the hallway and under the door crack.

She only spoke Spanish when she was angry.

The call ended, my grandmother returned to the room,

Wrapped me in a blanket, and carried me into the night.

She buckled me into the backseat of her Toyota and said,

We were going to Auntie Mandy's house because someone

Needed to teach her rotten boyfriend a lesson about how to treat

A woman.

When we arrived at the house, we found the front door

Wide open, the house lights spilling out onto the porch.

A truck, I had seen once before, was parked a foot away

From the front door, aggressive. The truck had trampled

Over the dandelions and daisies, which lay wounded

In the front yard. A scene that begged for investigation.

My grandmother told me to stay put in my seat.

I watched as she walked to the back of the car, her normally pretty

Face turned straight, looked masculine. I watched as she pulled

Something wooden out of her trunk, then in her feline walk,

Approached the house. She turned to me, and I saw the

Baseball bat, immense in her female hands.

I slouched in my seat, the window above my head.

I never saw her go into the house.

I don't remember how long I sat,

Until the red and blue lights came.

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