Love.
What emotion is there that encompasses all others? The alpha emotion, the one that creates so many feelings ranging from laughter to sadness. The one emotion that influences personalities and urges us become someone we aren't, intimidates us into becoming someone we don't like, and at the same time make us want to be someone better.
That alpha emotion is love. What a powerful thing, and what an amazing rollercoaster ride to witness firsthand.
Of course I'm in love to my beautiful wife and she makes me smile just writing about her. And I've felt that fury knocking on my door, creeping up on me and challenging me to become someone I am not, better or worse, all because of my love for her. I have grandiose nightmares that Oscar-winning directors would dream of filming. The one's where the love of your life gets hurt, and the only thing left is renegade revenge.
But the other night, in a span of 20 minutes, I watched a son transition through every emotion known. Like the seven steps of denial, or the twelve steps in A.A., I watched him speed through every emotion in his vocabulary. Not even slowing down at the speed bumps.
We were told to wait for cover. Meaning, wait for the police because something was going on. Something, that the already preoccupied dispatcher felt might be concerning. But, when we arrived in the neighborhood, we saw the large fire truck sitting outside the address with it's light bar swiveling red, white, and blue lights. We pulled up to make sure they were O.K.
As we approached I saw a young man, with pants hanging around his thighs, nervously flinching cigarette ashes in the air. He paced with the cadence of a crack-head. Flinching to the right, stuttering to the left. He made a quick dash back inside the house as if he had heard a gunshot.
I looked at my partner and said, "That must be why we were told to wait for cover. He's high as a kite."
We opened the front door and entered through the lingering cloud of cigarette smoke dissipating in the air. I looked for the crack-head and heard him rummaging upstairs.
Blood was spattered everywhere. Bright, red blood soaked the toilet, the walls, the carpet, and the mirror as if someone had filled a balloon with it and tossed against the wall. An explosion of blood, all of which came from the mouth of the pale, sweaty man resting on the hallway door rationalizing in his head what had actually happened. He sat there, in denial, trying to tell himself that all that blood didn't come from him.
My partner tended to the patient and I strategically placed myself in the room to intercept the person I believed was on drugs. He came tearing into the room, almost knocking over a lamp, and quickly stopped in front of me.
Not looking at me, and wiping the tears from his swelling eyes with the cuff of his long sleeve T-shirt, he attempted to speak. Nothing came out but stutters and grumbles. He was too choked up to talk.
"That's his son," said a fire guy.
He then darted out of the room and disappeared from view. More noise was heard clunking in the other room.
We loaded the patient and took him out to the ambulance. I stayed with a fireman and waited for the distraught son. He came screaming down the stairs, frantically fumbled for his keys in his backpack and began to close and lock the door.
"Uhm, partner? I'm driving so it's probably best that you don't lock me in the house," I said.
His red, swollen eyes glanced up at me and he tried to get out of my way, accidentally knocking me into the wall in the process. I exited and he, again, fumbled for his keys as though trying to escape from a serial killer.
Outside, on the porch, I touched his shoulder and talked to him. "It's going to be alright. I know you are upset and that your are scared, but I promise you we will take excellent care of your father."
He nodded.
"If you are going to ride with us I need you to settle down. Take a couple of deep breaths, slow your thoughts down, and walk with me to the ambulance."
He inspired deeply and held it. Exhaling slowly, he finally looked up at me.
"If he were any sicker we wouldn't be hanging around," I said. "He's doing fine."
Again, with his sleeve he wiped his swollen eyes and tried to hide the fact that he was crying. Twenty year old don't cry, especially in front of paramedics.
Like a lost puppy, he indirectly made it to the front of the ambulance. I asked if he was O.K. and he signaled with a nod of his head "yes."
I went to the back of the ambulance to help my partner. As I began my work, the son jumped out of the ambulance and walked outside. "I'd better go check on him," I said to my partner.
I got outside and he was yelling at a neighbor. Not in a confrontational manner, but anger had already set in. His quiet vocabulary increased and became more profane.
I, again, walked him to the ambulance and told him, "Your dad is doing fine, I promise."
With that, he cried and laughed. One of those awkward cries where laughter sneaks in and makes it's presence known.
We left for the ED and I tried taking his mind of things. He quickly diverted the conversation back to the emergency at hand and we walked through what happened, step by step.
In the twenty minutes I spent with him I witnessed: confusion, grief, anger, embarrassment, laughter, joy, sorrow, fear, passion, indignation, kindness, and lastly love.
This son loved his father so much. And that powerful emotion of love, took him on the ride of his life.
That alpha emotion is love. What a powerful thing, and what an amazing rollercoaster ride to witness firsthand.
Of course I'm in love to my beautiful wife and she makes me smile just writing about her. And I've felt that fury knocking on my door, creeping up on me and challenging me to become someone I am not, better or worse, all because of my love for her. I have grandiose nightmares that Oscar-winning directors would dream of filming. The one's where the love of your life gets hurt, and the only thing left is renegade revenge.
But the other night, in a span of 20 minutes, I watched a son transition through every emotion known. Like the seven steps of denial, or the twelve steps in A.A., I watched him speed through every emotion in his vocabulary. Not even slowing down at the speed bumps.
We were told to wait for cover. Meaning, wait for the police because something was going on. Something, that the already preoccupied dispatcher felt might be concerning. But, when we arrived in the neighborhood, we saw the large fire truck sitting outside the address with it's light bar swiveling red, white, and blue lights. We pulled up to make sure they were O.K.
As we approached I saw a young man, with pants hanging around his thighs, nervously flinching cigarette ashes in the air. He paced with the cadence of a crack-head. Flinching to the right, stuttering to the left. He made a quick dash back inside the house as if he had heard a gunshot.
I looked at my partner and said, "That must be why we were told to wait for cover. He's high as a kite."
We opened the front door and entered through the lingering cloud of cigarette smoke dissipating in the air. I looked for the crack-head and heard him rummaging upstairs.
Blood was spattered everywhere. Bright, red blood soaked the toilet, the walls, the carpet, and the mirror as if someone had filled a balloon with it and tossed against the wall. An explosion of blood, all of which came from the mouth of the pale, sweaty man resting on the hallway door rationalizing in his head what had actually happened. He sat there, in denial, trying to tell himself that all that blood didn't come from him.
My partner tended to the patient and I strategically placed myself in the room to intercept the person I believed was on drugs. He came tearing into the room, almost knocking over a lamp, and quickly stopped in front of me.
Not looking at me, and wiping the tears from his swelling eyes with the cuff of his long sleeve T-shirt, he attempted to speak. Nothing came out but stutters and grumbles. He was too choked up to talk.
"That's his son," said a fire guy.
He then darted out of the room and disappeared from view. More noise was heard clunking in the other room.
We loaded the patient and took him out to the ambulance. I stayed with a fireman and waited for the distraught son. He came screaming down the stairs, frantically fumbled for his keys in his backpack and began to close and lock the door.
"Uhm, partner? I'm driving so it's probably best that you don't lock me in the house," I said.
His red, swollen eyes glanced up at me and he tried to get out of my way, accidentally knocking me into the wall in the process. I exited and he, again, fumbled for his keys as though trying to escape from a serial killer.
Outside, on the porch, I touched his shoulder and talked to him. "It's going to be alright. I know you are upset and that your are scared, but I promise you we will take excellent care of your father."
He nodded.
"If you are going to ride with us I need you to settle down. Take a couple of deep breaths, slow your thoughts down, and walk with me to the ambulance."
He inspired deeply and held it. Exhaling slowly, he finally looked up at me.
"If he were any sicker we wouldn't be hanging around," I said. "He's doing fine."
Again, with his sleeve he wiped his swollen eyes and tried to hide the fact that he was crying. Twenty year old don't cry, especially in front of paramedics.
Like a lost puppy, he indirectly made it to the front of the ambulance. I asked if he was O.K. and he signaled with a nod of his head "yes."
I went to the back of the ambulance to help my partner. As I began my work, the son jumped out of the ambulance and walked outside. "I'd better go check on him," I said to my partner.
I got outside and he was yelling at a neighbor. Not in a confrontational manner, but anger had already set in. His quiet vocabulary increased and became more profane.
I, again, walked him to the ambulance and told him, "Your dad is doing fine, I promise."
With that, he cried and laughed. One of those awkward cries where laughter sneaks in and makes it's presence known.
We left for the ED and I tried taking his mind of things. He quickly diverted the conversation back to the emergency at hand and we walked through what happened, step by step.
In the twenty minutes I spent with him I witnessed: confusion, grief, anger, embarrassment, laughter, joy, sorrow, fear, passion, indignation, kindness, and lastly love.
This son loved his father so much. And that powerful emotion of love, took him on the ride of his life.
Comments
Thank you.
This was another great entry. You are one of the few folks whose posts I read twice.
Thanks for writing. As a resident of this mile high city I'm glad that you are out there: I hope never to meet you, but, if I do, I can take solace in the possibility that it might make for one helluva story.