The Site Visit

Over the twenty years that I have been working with survivors of loss due to traumatic death, I have walked many of them through the places and locations where their loved one, or co-worker had died. They get the opportunity to stand, sit, or lay down on the spot where the body was found. I have also accompanied first responders who were critically injured to the spot where they faced their own mortality. Most of these individuals stand in these sacred spots and pray, cry, meditate, scream, or sit in silence. These are called site visits.

There are some people who don’t understand why someone would choose to visit the place where a violent death or injury had occurred. Why conjure up bad memories or dwell on a minds-eye image that could haunt a person for the rest of their life? It seems gruesome and feels morbid. So, what’s the point of conjuring up hard feelings and deeply distressing moments?

When a person gets their ‘life’ ripped out from under them in a sudden and traumatic way, sometimes the only way for them to begin the grieving process is to stand on the spot where they were either injured or their loved one had died. They didn’t get the opportunity to tell their person goodbye or that they loved them one last time. Or, they didn’t know that what would happen in that space would change the course of their life forever, in a very difficult and painful way. There is a sense of connection in that space, which brings a sliver of peace and comfort when a person is able to place their hand on the very spot where their loved one took their last breath, or where they may have been wrestling with the possibility of their own demise. It’s holy. It’s sacred. It’s a moment that is precious. It can also be very healing.

I have witnessed those holy moments and have been in the presence of others experiencing such moments, felt the bittersweet mix of sorrow and peace. Even though I have set foot in dozens of those spaces and places with others, never in my wildest dreams could I imagine that I would have that same opportunity and in such a divine way.

On Monday (March 29, 2021), our department responded to a structure fire in a neighboring city. My husband arrived first. After being on the scene for a few minutes, he called to tell me that he thought that the fire he was at the apartments where I had suffered a career-ending injury years ago. I had already figured that out when I looked at our dispatch notes and the map. I desperately wanted to go, but my husband wasn’t so sure. He was concerned that it would bring up too many bad memories. Memories that sometimes came out as nightmares in the dead of night. But, just like the many others that I had accompanied on their site visits, I felt the strong need to be there and witness this fire. I wanted to face this demon that had haunted me for so many years and declare that it had not won…that I was still here, alive and prospering. The feeling of needing to be in that space, at that moment was almost overwhelming.

Just like that hot August day in 1997, I drove to the scene in my personal vehicle. When I came upon a road blockade, I showed my radio and badge, and the police officer waved me through. Just like that day, I parked on a side street, and with my heart pounding a thousand times a minute, I hurriedly jogged to where the command was set up. I was trying to don my gear, juggle my radio, wrestle with my thoughts, and push down the excitement of a roaring structure fire.

As I made my way to my husband and the rest of our crew, the thick acidic smoke gave way to the flames that were shooting from the apartment building. I stopped for a minute to take the scene in. The memories of that day, twenty-two years ago, started to play against the backdrop of the new memories I was starting to make on the current fire. I was filled with awe, with wonder, and with an overwhelming sense of peace. There was no hint of traumatic memories that left my stomach in knots and my mind jumbled with anxiety. There were just flashes of frozen moments in time. In my memories, when I saw myself in the various places and stages of the previous fire, I immediately was able to match it to a memory of the work that I am doing now because of the injury I sustained on that fateful day.

It was as if God was telling me, “because of that, you now do this.”

“Because you suffered in this manner, you are now able to help others that are suffering.”

Every single blip of a memory from that day years ago, was immediately met with a counter-memory that reminded me that I am still here being the hands and feet of Jesus to those who have suffered even more deeply than I had. What an incredible gift to be given. To be allowed to remember those terrible moments and then see the outcome of my own loss and devastation brought a level of healing that I had not yet experienced. I got to actually partake in the holiness of that sacred space where I would face my own mortality and feel the feelings that so many others could not put into words. I fully and personally understood for the first time what those family members and co-workers tried to explain. There really are no words that will fit the emotions, the feelings, or the experience of standing on such holy ground.

And, when God gives you a rainbow in a place that held so much pain, it’s a beautiful reminder that He keeps His promises and He will restore us to our full glory. Either in death or in a continued life, He will allow our devastation to be used to prosper others, in His name and for His glory.