Deputy Medical Examiner

[deputyme]

Sometimes when people ask what I do for a living I say waiter or some other well-understood profession because explaining my job is tiring.

Hearing your job sounds awesome for the thousandth time when you know earlier that day you had to watch a kid collapse to floor and cradle the family dog as you had to tell them that their dad died overnight.

Or being tired of not being understood as a first responder even though you experience severely traumatic scenes regularly when all you deal with is death and tragedy with each call from dispatch.

All because people see what they think I do on tv but don’t experience what I’m actually exposed to on the job.

[deputyme]

Out of respect I left your badge on the table for your family to find, though taking it off of your jacket kind of fucked with my mind.

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They expect it not to change you. They expect you to be whomever you were the day before your first trauma scene. They don’t hear the screams of a child moments after they were informed of a parents’ death, so they don’t understand why you’re quiet. They think you’re distant, grouchy, or tired. We both know you’re just thinking about doing all this again tomorrow; a new death and a new family to change forever. A new experience that will change you from who you are today, which in turn alters you even more from the person you were that first day. And through it all, given you were gifted the right work partner, you’re still convinced you’re changing for the better.

[deputyme]

Another day and I had to tell family that their loved one is gone. Another day and I had to ask people uncomfortable questions in order to obtain the truth. Another day and I feel like the grim reaper. Another day and I hope that the decedent’s family members don’t hate me. Another day and I keep thinking about a person who died that I never knew. Another day and I cry because I see the anguish in a family’s eyes. Another day and I wish I could help these families more than I do. Another day that I wish decedents family’s knew that I’m sorry. Another day and I wish that family’s would call to talk because I actually care about their well-being. Another day and I hope that the decedent’s mother slept better last night than she did the day before. Another day and I really wish I could reach out to see how the decedent’s mother is doing. Another day and I care for someone I’ve never met more than I care for myself. Another day and I hope that today there are no death calls, only peace. Another day and I hope that people don’t associate my face with only death.

[deputyme]

That room couldn’t have possibly felt any smaller and it seems as though my colleague and I never loomed so large. Telling multiple kids that their beloved parents both died as a result of the same tragic incident makes you feel like the bad guy. You didn’t swing the sword but your mouth wields the sentence, for these kids our explanation and truth changed their lives forever. I’ve never felt so heavy, my eyes never having clouded so fast. Trying to comfort them as the crisis workers attempt to console inconsolable tears. I remember my own heads voice-over screaming at the top of it’s lungs “I don’t want to be here!” and yet, we both stayed. We stayed until the words had left our mouths, we stayed until our words reached young ears, we stayed as young ears were joined by young whimpers, we stayed as whimpers were joined by hugs of support, we stayed as hugs and support were joined by sniffles, we stayed as the sniffles were joined by questions, we stayed as the questions were joined by answers, we stayed as answers were joined by silence, we stayed... and though I can’t get that shitty fucking day out of my mind... though I find myself constantly thinking about the case and the kids... though the dams of my eyes keep breaking... though my heart sits a bit lower in my chest... though I know I’ll think of this case tomorrow... though these moments of shear vulnerability shake myself and the vctims to the absolute core... I will stay for them.

[deputyme]

There are memories I’ll never forget. Sometimes I can still feel the screams of a child who just lost their mother... somehow their anguish still has the ability to pierce my ears and rush down my face.

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Please remember while some of you travel or visit relatives/friends whom you don’t normally see this Thanksgiving, that we see you. We miss our people too, we miss laughing and feeling physically surrounded by love. I wish you could see the things some of us do. I wish you could hear the sorrow and helplessness some of us see. I wish you could see what this virus is doing to families like yours. I wish you could see it before you have to experience it, and I really hope you never have to experience it. Please stop mistaking this temporary time apart from your family as a lifetime. Please be thankful that you have family members to miss and that they aren’t gone forever.

[deputyme]

People often forget about those who respond after first responders. The funeral directors, the medical examiners, etc.

I am not downplaying first responders and their bravery and their ability to do what and go where most others run away from.

But I am up-playing last responders and their ability and their compassion to do and go where most others never will.

Responding to scenes when you always know the outcome.

I know it’s our job to respond when called upon, but I also know that we only ever see the aftermath of worst case scenarios.

Never do we see situations where people pull through, where miracles seem to come true, or where a sigh of relief is made after a stressful call.

We go to scenes to make sense of the death, to help others cope with loss.

And we notify family, explaining why we’re at their door and what comes next for the loved ones.

We hold back our own tears as we watch families lose theirs. We offer assistance in any way we can and sincerely give condolences.

We’re there for people when others can’t be, and that’s why we do it.

I think you have to be somewhat crazy, to do what we do.

To subject yourself to that kind of sorrow and human emotion like we do, well you can’t be completely sane.

Most people don’t understand. They think we like death, that we’re almost enamored with it.

To be clear, we don’t have an obsession with death, we have a weak spot for the living.

Seeing people’s anguish during the most profound and heartbreaking time(s) of their lives is a difficult thing to do, but I firmly believe that no one should have to go through that pain alone.

So we collectively try to lessen some of the pain.

I always thought I wanted a job that I could leave at work. That when I clock out I’d be free from it until I walked back.

But it wasn’t in store for me.

Even if I could leave my go bag, laptop, and paperwork at the office, the difficult scenes and cases come with me.

They’re there when I watch tv, they’re there when I see the news, they’re there when I’m talking with friends, no matter what I do.

I’m not saying that I never stop thinking about a scene, I’m saying that they come back to you sometimes.

Whether it’s a difficult scene running through your head or the screams of a 12 year old kid learning their mom is dead, it comes back to you.

There are moments when you ask yourself how the hell did I get where I am at this moment? Why is it me standing here and doing this?

But you remember when you walk into your house and are greeted by your family.

You remember that you want your family treated with the same dignity and respect that you give.

You remember that thank you card a family sent to you, when they expressed their gratitude for your assistance. That you ‘protected them while giving them a chance to grieve, helping them to breathe again’, and you remember why you’re a last responder.