Aftermath

I drove by the house this morning on the way in to work.

I’d driven by the house before, my wife and I had walked the dogs past it before, and I’d admired the landscaping before. I think I wanted a different memory than that of the house burning and those kids in the street. Scene tape is up all around and the investigation is still underway, but things are calm now. I don’t talk about that morning to people. My wife and I don’t talk about it to each other. Other people don’t understand. I took my wife to see her podiatrist yesterday. He knew we were from Gearhart and eventually he had to ask, “so that plane crash was right where you live, huh?”

“Yeah, I was there. I don’t want to talk about it.” That was it. I don’t want to be rude to people, but I don’t want to share details either.

I’ll write about it though. I think it’s because I’m doing it on my own terms, no one is asking the questions. I’m able to share the details that I want to share and no one is pressing for anything else. That’s comforting to me.

*****

There has been some criticism towards our local dispatch center following the plane crash and I want to stand up for them. Our south county dispatch center fields 911 calls for 3 police departments and 4 fire departments. At the time of the accident, only one dispatcher was on shift, as usual for that time of morning.

Several local people have had concerns about unanswered 911 calls after the crash, or calls that took too long to answer. The single dispatcher fielded 32 911 calls in 4 and a half minutes. The initial fire dispatch occurred 18 seconds after the second 911 call was received (the second call provided a rough location, the first apparently did not).

Per protocol, the dispatcher toned the fire department and dispatched the alarm before fielding the additional incoming 911 calls. During this 4 and a half minute time frame, the dispatcher also managed to contact her dispatch supervisor at home to request assistance in the dispatch center.

I think our dispatcher should be applauded and commended for handling such a difficult event so professionally and efficiently.

*****

Trauma counselors from the county and Red Cross have been in the area the last few days to counsel the firemen, family, and community members. I was invited (as all responders were) to the initial counseling session Monday afternoon and all following sessions. I’ve attended trauma counseling sessions before and they’ve helped, but I think doing what I’m doing right now, writing about how I feel, does so much more for me.

Seeing my brother firefighters that morning, the sadness and solemness in their eyes, I’m so grateful to know that they are getting the counseling they need. I left the scene before the body recovery began—I had a busy morning ahead of me on shift, they needed me in at work. I know the guys that carried those three kids out, most of them have families, young kids of their own. I can see in their faces and hear in their voices how this is hurting them right now. I’m grateful to know that we’re taking care of our own right now.

*****

After I got on shift that morning, I transported one of the survivors from the hospital to the airport to meet an air ambulance crew. She was going to the Oregon Burn Center for specialized care.

The tragic irony didn’t escape me, though. The helicopters couldn’t land at the hospital because the weather conditions were too poor. Now, this little girl whose life had been changed forever, was now going to fly to Portland in the same conditions that may have contributed to her tragedy.

I was so saddened and bothered by that notion, and I could only wonder how she felt. Or if she was even in a state to understand what had happened and what was happening to her right then.

But I felt a sense of fulfillment from being able to help her, even in the small way of transporting her from one place to another. I felt like I had done something good that morning.

*****

I wrote before how I wished I had been wearing my turnouts that morning and not my white button down. I’m not sure that’s really true. I don’t envy the firemen that were there.

I don’t envy any of us. I am exceptionally proud of every one of them though. Every fireman there (with the exception of a handful of paid chief officers) were volunteers. And every fireman that helped to carry the last three children out volunteered to do it—volunteers of the volunteers. No one deserves my respect more right now.

The house after the fire had been knocked down.

*****

As I drove by this morning, neighbors had set their trash cans and recycling out. Others were out walking their dogs, coffee cups in hand. Traffic on Marion had increased, as you would expect. The house is such a tragically awesome site and a large memorial has developed: flowers, candles, and balloons all along the long stone wall.

I guess it’s a sense of curiosity that brings people to the house, to leave their memorials, the same sense of curiosity that drives people to ask “what was it like?” Sometimes I feel guilty about how my emotions surround the accident. I was in the shower when the explosion occurred, I wasn’t even sure what had happened. I was only on scene for 45 minutes, didn’t taken part in suppression or recovery operations. I only assisted briefly in patient care, helping to get them packaged and transported.

Sometimes it feels like I didn’t do enough, like I didn’t have an opportunity to do enough.