The Day the Earth Fell - A year later...reposted 2022

Yes.  It's been a year now, since a mountainside became so saturated with winter and spring rains, that it fell to the valley leaving complete decimation in its path.  In rereading this original post, and reading newspaper updates of "Where are they now?", in regards to those most affected by this tragedy, I am forced to look back.  Only it's not really looking back.  An event of this magnitude doesn't really stay in the back of your mind.  It's woven through your every day.  Even though I had the privilege of being present and helping people through some very intimate details of their loved one's last moments, my involvement pales in comparison to the families who have had to go through an entire year's cycle of anniversaries, holidays, birthdays, and milestones without their loved one who was taken by the slide.  To those in that category, my heart truly bleeds.  There are no respectful thoughts, no moments of silence or reflection that can fill that void.

There are memorials planned for this weekend.  A time and place for all to gather to remember, and honor the victims.  I haven't decided where I will be on that day.  I think it will come to me and I will know where I'm needed.  I've been reaching out to the families that I met, the first responders whose blank stares and automaton movements first caught my eye, so many months ago, prompting an offering of a cup of coffee and follow up to make sure they knew about all of the resources available to them.  I want them to know that I'm still here.  That healing takes years, and we all have our own timetable. I know that the one year anniversary of that time is bound to bring forward a rush of memories and emotion.  It sure has for me.  What haunts me is the thought that maybe I missed someone.  Maybe someone fell through the cracks and just didn't want to talk about it that day, or in the weeks to follow.  I leave those precious souls to God, and I truly hope there has been someone in their life that recognized the need to draw them out a little, to press for "Hey I'm here for you! Whatever that means."

I say this often, but it can't be overstated.  Love your people.  Look out for your own.  Let them see the vulnerability in your eyes as you reach out to let them know how you feel about them.  The risk is low, and the payoff is so great. Nothing in life is certain.  But we have today.  So...go....and - 

...make it a great day


Repost - 

March 22, 2014

For some of you, this date brings nothing specific to mind.  It was just a usual spring Saturday, cold, wet, a little windy.  Nothing uncommon about it.  Normal weekend chores begged for attention, sleeping in was appreciated after a busy week.

Well, for others, this was the day that their lives changed forever.  This date will be pivotal as a before and after reference point.

March 22, 2014 was the day the Earth fell in a beautiful valley deep in Snohomish County of Washington state.  News reports formed after that day said that a landslide as large as a mile long charged into the valley completely uprooting and churning everything and everyone in its path.  The speed was estimated to be over 60 MPH.  It left 43 people dead, and many many more completely devastated in its wake.

For me, as a first responder, this meant that my Brothers and Sisters from many agencies were dispatched to the scene to make sense of the chaos.  I was out of town at an EMS conference but was glued to my phone and the Twitter accounts of absolute obliteration.

When I got home, I was tasked with going out to the slide to see what was needed from the perspective of our county Critical Incident Stress Management team.  I have served as peer support for ten years on the team.  I knew that a situation of this magnitude would take all of our resources for many months.  I geared up mentally for the long haul.

Over the next few weeks and months it was a matter of putting one foot in front of the other.  Many days were spent at the slide, given the moniker of "The Pile."  Many other days were spent checking on and following up with those affected most.  Way too many days were spent attending funerals of the victims.

My job was simple.  Watch carefully as the myriad of searchers carefully dug through layers and layers of mud, debris, and personal belongings looking for bodies to recover, looking for remnants of lives to be respectfully removed, cleaned, and returned to those families affected.  As you can imagine, these tasks performed day after day amid so much devastation quickly takes its toll on even the most hardened.  I had a FEMA director tell me that he had never been on a deployment that was so vast and heart wrenching.  My job was to make sure those on the pile had immediate access to psychological first aid, with follow up if needed, when the duties of the day overwhelmed them.  Not if.  When.    

Even though most of my commutes home from the pile were spent with the radio off, digesting the sights and sounds of the day, processing what I had seen, making sure I  hadn't missed a silent plea for help in the eyes of a searcher, every moment spent was a tremendous privilege.  To be able to build relationships with the searchers, many of whom were my peers, and also the many family and community members that were involved in looking for their deceased neighbors, was so humbling.  To be able to use the training I had acquired over the years to really make a difference day after day in someone's life.  It was life-changing.  

The work carried on.  One by one the victims were painstakingly uncovered and laid to rest.  Exhausted families struggled to pick up the pieces of their lives.  County administration worked tirelessly to manage the site and plan for reestablishing access and economic well-being to the areas left stranded by the site.  And always their first concern was to proceed with the utmost honor for the victims left to recover.  That was paramount.

Four months to the day after the slide, recovery workers found the last victim, buried under 18 feet of mud, house remnants, and logs.  I was there that morning as the searchers reverently stood at the site, their hard hats in hand, their eyes downcast with respect and such relief.  To be able to recover 100% of the victims in this disaster was nothing short of a miracle.  For those of us who believe in God as our higher power, I think it WAS a miracle.  

Tomorrow marks six months since the slide.  The small community of Oso will never be the same as they were before the slide...that is true.  But through their courage, strength, resilience, and amazing unity, they have shown the world that the hashtag #Osostrong really means something.  They've drawn together in grief and solidarity.  From news reports that pepper the local papers weekly, the people there have always been solid, together.  Neighborly. Interested.  And it's shown in the last six months since their very lives were torn apart.  

Tomorrow at 10:37 I will have a long moment of silence.  For the 43 souls that lost their lives that awful day.  For the families that remain to bear the loss.  For the lost dreams and homes that were decimated.  For the multitude of first responders that rallied and kept rallying til all were found.  For the families of those first responders who are now tasked with giving their loved one space to sort out the things they've seen and had to deal with.  For the thousands world wide who opened their hearts and wallets for a tiny Burg in the Pacific Northwest.

And after that moment of silence, I will once again vow to be more aware of the blessings in my life.  To be mindful of the wake that I cast as I interact with my family. Do the words I say and the emotions that I portray really show the ones closest to me how deeply I love them?  Life is so very uncertain.  It pays to make sure our daily connections with people really reflect who we want to be.

A variance...from my usual sign off.

Make it a mindful day.