As most of you know, I am a 911 dispatcher. Most days don't bother me and I don't let calls affect me after I leave the building.
Yesterday I answered a call to screaming and crying, the kind that rattles your bones.
I tried telling her to take a deep breath because I still wasn't sure if she needed police or a paramedic.
I transferred her to the fire department where she was able to say her husband was purple and on the bathroom floor.
The fire dispatcher began CPR instructions. He counted with her while she held the phone, cried and counted 1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4.
My heart ached. I knew he was gone.
He was only 40.
With 3 children at school.
It appears a heart attack took him.
It bothered me all day. I prayed for his wife and children last night.
And it reminded me to treasure each day.