“911 What is the address of your emergency” I say it, sometimes a hundred times a week! I have heard all kinds of stories, all kinds of calls. Calls that would curl your hair! Suicides, both from a person attempting and from someone who just found a loved one, a friend or a relative. I’ve heard gun shots in the back ground, I’ve heard a woman get the crap smacked clear out of her while she was on the phone with me. I once had a lady explain to me in a whisper that a man had just came into her house and crawled in the bed with her in the middle of the night! That was a humorous call, as the man was intoxicated and went into a house in a neighborhood where all the houses look the same! He just thought he was home and was just as surprised as the complainant was! In Dispatch, the heart of any Police Department, we laugh uproariously, we develop weird senses of humor, sometimes we fuss (we are women!) and sometimes….sometimes we cry. But we never, ever let ‘em see us sweat!
This past week, I had a day that unfortunately ended in heartbreak and tragedy for one boy. A boy my kids age. A boy that goes to school, plays basketball and plays in his school band. A boy I'll call, Jacob.
“911 what’s the address of your emergency” I could hear right away this was going to be “something.” As a dispatcher for almost 10 years, most of them where I currently work, your sense of hearing is greatly heightened. I am totally more audibly observant than I am visually. A hundred calls in a week, many of them really not "true" emergencies, but in this one, I hear something in this persons voice that told me something was bad wrong. He told me the address, and it was quite a ways out of our jurisdiction and I remember being a bit puzzled as to how the call reached me.
The boy said his Mom had passed out and needed medical attention, so I immediately put him through to the ambulance service, but I couldn’t let this boy go. I asked him name. "Jacob" he said. “How old are you, Jacob?” I asked. “Eleven.” He said. The same age as my oldest daughter. I asked him to “calm down” and I relayed the information myself to the medical professionals and I advised Jacob I would stay on the phone with him until they got there. Our policy is to stay on the line during all “in progress” calls. This was defiantly “in progress.”
So I pacified the boy and we made small talk, about school starting, his family and older siblings, his Grand-daddy which I could tell he really cared for. In the meantime he was trying to help his Mama by wiping her forehead with a wet wash cloth, massaging her arms, and he told me he had tried CPR, he took her pulse, he tried. He was very brave and seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. “My mama raised me right!” he told me. I told him “she sure has.” We talked for, probably 15 minutes. As time passed, I began to realize the little boy and his family just lived too far out in the hills and country of Arkansas. The little boys doubts crept into our conversation. He told me he could see she was fading. It wasn’t looking good. “Jacob, have you prayed?” I asked him, almost begged of him. He told me he had and he initiated a conversation about our spiritual lives and journey’s. He asked me if I was a Christian. “Yes Sir!” I exclaimed. He asked me to tell him about my “testimony.” I actually chuckled at this little evangelist and how strong he was being, considering the circumstances! But I remembered the scripture from 1 Peter 3:15, “…and always be ready to give a defense to everyone who asks you a reason for the hope that is in you, with meekness and fear.” I wasn’t having to defend anything with this brother in Christ. But he asked about my “testimony” and what church I attended and what version of the Bible I read; this 11 year old that was watching his Mom slip away from his life forever was concerned with a strangers salvation! He reminded me of another boy who I have studied about. A boy from Galilee that at around the age of 11 also taught about salvation to people many years his senior. A boy named Jesus that suffered also greatly in his own life.
I talked to Jacob as his Mom passed; he told me when he thought she “wasn’t gonna make it” but by this time, this kid was calm and reasonable, much more so than I, the “professional.” Oh, I was fine, all things considered and certainly within the realm of “doing my job” but inside as a mother I was screaming out in anguish! School starts Monday! What if she didn’t have his shoes purchased yet? Had she made him breakfast yet this morning? When will they get there??
I hate it when bad things happen to good people! I hate it when I am no longer the one in control and able to help. And I hate it when things happen for no reason. This woman was young, pretty, no poor health history (as far as I could tell) and no criminal background. She had a husband who was out working with their older son (which is too familiar a scenario!) and other family living out of state. But most of all she had a small son who was not grown yet! Who still needed to be reminded to brush his teeth and make his bed! Not many calls stick with me. I have taken thousands of calls in the course of my somewhat small career. At the end of my shift I go home. I go to sleep with no problems. This little boy reached our dispatch center in error by way of a maze of telephone fiber optics. There were at least two other agencies he should of went to before he reached me. Although I am saddened by his loss, I am grateful to have known this amazing little boy, if even for a brief amount of time!
** of couse I changed the boys name to Jacob; but God knows who he is and so do I. Thanks for reading. **
Lola Philpott
