A Page From My Book: When Professional Tragedy Merges with Your Personal Life

Written by Danielle Rhodes, published on April 9, 2024

Trigger Warning: This blog post discusses sensitive topics, including the death of a child. Reader discretion is advised.

I have been a mom for almost three years, and it still feels new. Don’t get me wrong, it is the greatest thing I have ever experienced and brings me so much joy, but I feel like I just started this journey with this tiny human who relies completely on me and my wife for survival. Most of the time, I feel like I need someone to rely on for my survival, so the idea that I have full responsibility for another person, well, two people, is something I am not sure I will ever get completely used to.

Being a mom has changed me in ways I never thought possible and ways I wasn’t prepared for.

I have been in public safety for 25 years. That is one thing that isn’t new to me at all. It’s one of the things that I know best. I was practically birthed into it, coming from a very long line of public servants, including my parents, who were volunteer members of the local fire department in the town I grew up in. I remember being awoken many nights by one of them and being told to get in the car. This would happen anytime they were dispatched to calls in the middle of the night. Being an only child, they couldn’t leave me at home alone and would take me with them. There were countless times that I slept in the back seat of their 1985 Chevy Blazer while they battled the latest structure fire, helped clear up crashes, and anything else they were needed for. As I write this, it seems unbelievable to think about doing that to my little one, but those were different times.

I joined the fire department when I was 16 as a junior volunteer firefighter. I had been doing this my whole life since I was 7, and now I could do it officially. I was beyond thrilled. I could finally respond to calls, and there would be no more backseat sleeps as I would be out there with my parents, uncles, cousins, and friends doing all things firefighting. While I had been around it for so long, there were still plenty of lessons to learn and many experiences to be had, and I learned as much as possible while experiencing as much as possible.

When I graduated high school and was trying to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, the local community college announced a new paramedic degree program. It would take two years to complete, and you would walk away with an associate’s degree in Emergency Medical Science with a Paramedic state certification. I was already interested in being a first responder, so I thought, “Why not?” and enrolled. I didn’t know if I wanted to be a paramedic, but I sure would be.

I would say I enjoyed the first year of school. I was learning a lot, but I didn’t love it. It wasn’t something I could see myself doing forever. I finished the program because I had started it, but I knew I wasn’t interested in taking the state test to be a paramedic. I was fine being a basic EMT and could use that when I went to first responder calls with the fire department. That decision led me back to deciding what I wanted to be when I grew up. The problem was I was grown up and still had no idea. I knew I wanted to help people and loved being in the fire department. I wasn’t completely sold on the idea of becoming a paid firefighter, and I couldn’t see myself being in law enforcement.

So, several years went by (six to be exact). I worked in retail at a local Ace Hardware and helped teach EMT Basic at the same community college. I was an assistant instructor, helping fill in when needed and being an extra set of hands on the nights when students needed to practice or demonstrate skills. The lead instructor was the assistant 911 Director in the next county over. One day, she approached me and told me they had an opening and that I should apply.

Me? A 911 Dispatcher? Did she know that firefighters and dispatchers don’t get along? I wasn’t sure. I had the mentality that many field responders had at the time, which was that 911 Dispatchers had no idea what they were doing. They never gave out enough information, and what information they did give out was probably wrong. Writing this now, I cringe because of how arrogant and uninformed I was then. Even though I wasn’t completely sure about it, I decided to apply and was eventually hired. Maybe I could teach them a thing or two about how things must be done. Boy, was I ever wrong!

It didn’t take me long to realize how uninformed and arrogant I was. I quickly learned I had no idea what being a 911 Dispatcher meant or what it involved.

It was 2006, and they were beginning to implement a new CAD system, so I started my career writing on paper. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had an advantage because I came in knowing the ten codes and having field experience with firefighting and medical. All of these helped me tremendously during my training. I say training loosely because there wasn’t much training. It was more like someone telling me how I needed to do one thing or another one time and then expecting me to be able to do it on my own the next time around. There were no DORs. No SEGs. No classes. It was sink or swim, and fortunately for me, I was able to swim pretty well.

It also wasn’t long before I realized I had found my true niche in public safety. 911 Dispatching felt like an old favorite t-shirt that fit me better than anything else and was the most comfortable. I didn’t just like it. I loved it and wanted to absorb anything I could about it.

Fast-forward 17 years, and here I am, the Director of the agency I currently work for. I am also the Emergency Management Director, which allows me to still respond to emergencies in the field when needed.

In my career, I have responded to a lot of bad calls. Overall, most of them have never really bothered me. I have always been able to do my job and leave it at that, no matter the outcome. Not because of the stigma. Although, I did grow up in the “suck it up, Buttercup” era. I have always been able to separate it to a point where my mental health didn’t suffer. There have been calls that bothered me occasionally, but I have always managed to bounce back fairly quickly and move on in mostly healthy ways, for which I am grateful.

I feel blessed because I realize that not everyone handles trauma the same way, and I am a huge advocate for mental health in 911 and public safety as a whole. We all experience it, and keeping our mental health in the best shape it can be is necessary for us to carry on in our fields in a productive manner.  

In 2021, my 911 Center received a call about a child who had fallen into a lake in our area. They called me for two reasons. Reason one was to give me the rundown on the call itself, which is something I ask for on “big” calls so I can stay on top of their mental health. Reason two was because the call required a response from the county dive team that falls under the emergency management department, which meant that I would need to respond.

It was over the weekend, so my wife and I were home with our daughter, who was about eight months old.

When dispatch called, I learned that the child was 18 months old and that they were still trying to find her in the water. I learned that the dive team had been activated and that everyone was on the way to the location. I told them I would also be on the way to assist the dive team with anything they needed.

As I was putting on my uniform, my wife told me she wished I didn’t have to go. She expressed concern that the call might be too overwhelming for me, given our daughter’s age. I assured her that I would be okay. I explained that this call would be terrible but that I had seen and responded to many terrible calls over the years, including drownings of children. This didn’t suffice her concern, but she knew I needed to go.

The call wasn’t too far from where I live, so it didn’t take me long to get there. By the time I arrived on the scene, divers had recovered the child’s body and laid her on the boat dock until the coroner could come to do his examination.

I spoke to each responder I came in contact with to make sure they were all okay, which included going to the dock to check on several of them there. While there, I noticed that a crowd of folks had gathered on adjoining boat docks on each side of us to see what was happening. At that time, her body was covered. There wasn’t much to see, but when the coroner arrived a few minutes later, we knew that we would have to uncover her so that he could do his examination. We decided to band together with a sheet over us to keep the onlookers from seeing her.

As I bent over to roll the sheet onto my shoulders, my eyes fell upon her shoes, which were in front of me on the boat dock. They were pink sandals with an elastic heel. The part over the toes was made to look like mermaid scales and was an iridescent blue. I knew these shoes. They were familiar to me. My daughter had the same pair. Insert life-changing moment here. It knocked the wind out of me.

At that moment, that split second, I realized I was not okay. At that moment, I recognized that this call would be different for me. It was at that moment that I realized that I was not as prepared as I thought I was. But…..why?

As we all waited patiently for the coroner to do his examination, it was eerily quiet. I could hear things like the wind as it blew from off the lake. I could hear the water lapping on the shore. I could hear the dock creaking as it rocked from the waves and other movements.

I began to think of my daughter but quickly pushed those thoughts away, fearing that I may completely break down, and I knew I had to get through the rest of the call. I had to fight back tears several times. I am sure this was all happening over just a few minutes, but it felt so much longer.

We all assisted the coroner in bringing Charlie (as I would learn to be her name) to his vehicle.

We stayed while the coroner went inside to deliver the official news to her parents. We stayed while her family, parents, siblings, and friends came out to say goodbye to her. We hugged them, cried with them, hugged each other, and cried with each other. We stayed for several hours, fermenting in the devastation and the sadness. I am sure some of us were delaying going home to avoid having to answer any questions, but all I wanted to do was get home to hug and “love on” my baby.  

When I was first notified about this call, I was given the wrong information to the point where I was led to believe that this drowning was a result of the carelessness of her parents. I was frustrated and angry on my way to the scene. I had hoped the water was cold enough that she could be revived, even though she’d been underwater for some time. Once I got on the scene, I learned that it wasn’t carelessness. This was the result of a pure and totally unfortunate accident.

My heart was broken. My heart was broken for the family, the responders there, and myself. What? Don’t get me wrong, I had been affected by calls before, but not like this. This was different. This was grief.

At some point during all of it, I called my wife. She asked me many questions which I don’t remember. The one thing I do remember is that I asked her to please discard our daughter’s shoes. The ones that were just like Charlie’s on the dock. I didn’t want to see them again. They are etched in my memory, lying on the boat dock. I knew, even then, that I didn’t want to think about this call every time I saw the shoes on my daughter’s feet. It would be too sad.

I also remember that my wife didn’t ask me why. She didn’t question my decision. She didn’t argue or protest it. She didn’t tell me that I was being dramatic or ridiculous. She simply said, “Okay,” and when I came home, the shoes were gone. She gave me what I needed, which was unwavering support for something I couldn’t yet understand or explain.

While I was aware that I was experiencing trauma, I wasn’t aware of why. Not to sound cold or callous, but I had responded to many terrible calls with tragic outcomes. In my 23 years, I have seen my share of terrible things. I had seen and experienced my fair share of trauma before. But this was different, and I knew it almost instantly.

When I came home that evening, I came home to a very anxious wife. She was concerned and had been from the beginning that this call would bother me. She was right. She knew before I stepped out of our house that day that this call could hit me differently. She knew that none of the previous “bad calls” I had before would matter because this would be the first time I would respond to this kind of call as a mom. And I had no idea. She knew, and I didn’t. I never expected it to hit me differently than any other tragic call.

The next day, we held a debriefing with everyone who wished to attend. It went well and was needed. I wasn’t the only one having a hard time with the call, and it helped everyone move forward in a healthy way. If you ever experience a tough call under the headset or in the field, I highly encourage you to participate in debriefings. They are helpful and important.

It only took me a split second to realize what made this call different for me, but it would take me several weeks to be completely okay. I didn’t sleep the first few nights after the call and would, at random times, be overtaken with immense sadness.

This was the first “big” call I responded to after becoming a mom, and I was unprepared for how it might affect or impact me. It felt very much like being sucker punched, and for the first time in my career, I understood being severely affected by trauma. It didn’t even occur to me that my being a new mom would play into any call I would respond to. Once again, I was very wrong.

Practicing what I often preach, I made a point to be transparent about how I felt with those I am close with and took steps to ensure I would heal appropriately. If I was sad, I said I was sad. If I was confused, I said that I was confused. If I was angry, I said that I was. I allowed myself to feel all the feelings without feeling guilty or ashamed.

This call taught me many lessons. Lessons as a leader, as a responder, and most importantly, as a mother. One of the most important things I learned was that no one is immune to the horrific aspects of our job, no matter how many years we have put in. I wasn’t prepared because I arrogantly assumed that this call would be just like all the others I had responded to in the past.

I think of Charlie often. I don’t know if I will ever not think about her from time to time. I have since met her parents, and my department has worked with them to bring awareness to pediatric drownings and water safety in hopes of preventing another tragedy, and we will continue to do so.

There are several things I credit to being able to bounce back. One is the debriefing we had after the call, and two is knowing that it was okay to go through the process of working to get myself back to normal by seeking help and support as needed. I am thankful for my support system, both personally and professionally.

If I could offer one piece of advice to anyone out there, it would be always to be prepared for the impact something could have on you. It doesn’t matter if you responded to a particular type of call many times before; this one could be the one that brings you to your knees. And you know what? That’s okay. Don’t fall into the stigma. It’s okay to not be okay. Make sure to help yourself by asking for help, love, and support. It can mean the difference between “keeping on keeping on” or “hanging it up.”

Thank you, Danielle for sharing your experience with us. If you are interested in writing a blog, please email amanda@911derwomen.com. Sign up for our newsletter on our homepage to stay up to date with 911der Women programming, exclusive content and blog updates. Click here and scroll to the bottom.

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