Response

     I remember a time when I was very, very passionate about responding to a crisis.  I had days of training, I felt qualified and capable.  I kept hoping people would call me when needed.  I'd taken the classes, use me!  Right?
     When 9/11 happened I, like every other human being, wanted to do something.  Anything!  Just ask!  Of course, I had a small baby and that precluded me from driving up to New York.  Later, a friend would tell me of a different call.  She was asked not to respond.  She was asked to sequester herself from the horrible images that day.  I had a hard time understanding why the critical incident stress experts would ask someone to do this.  She is, by far, one of the most gifted debriefers around.  She explained that the bosses knew this.  This is why they wanted to save her.  I understand more after having had my own treatment for PTSD.
     I think we have something in our psyche that helps us to respond to a crisis.  As I told a friend of mine, most people run towards the fire, not from it.  We can prove that we have courage, compassion.  We want to know that we can help, that we are needed, that we matter.  What better time to respond?  I know this because I spent over 10 years responding to emergencies.  There is no greater satisfaction in truly saving another person; no greater thrill than knowing that you faced the fire.  There is no greater sense of satisfaction in a pastoral moment when someone is at their worst.  We all want to be a part of that, on some level.  This is why we pray, we watch the TV, we cry.
     For my friend, she chose to be held back from all of this because she understood something incredibly important.  Someone has to take care of the caretakers.  This is what my friend did at the Pile in New York.  It was months after 9/11 and the need for help was greater than it was on September 12th.  Sometimes, we forget the fallout of any event.  We forget everything, except for being needed.  Later, we pay a price.  I am beginning to realize that few people understand the price that caregivers pay.  Even fewer people understand the specific needs of caregivers.  It takes great courage to be willing to be held back, saved for a darker day, saved for a day that no one is watching. 
     I don't feel that urge to rush to the scene any more.  Perhaps it is fear of PTSD resurfacing.  Perhaps, I've finally decided I've seen enough.  Perhaps, I know I matter wherever I am.  Perhaps, I realize that not responding is its own response.  Maybe, I just don't have anything left to prove.