After the Call: Staying Connected Beyond the Console

Written by Roxy VanGundy, ENP, CMCP, RPL, CPE, CCM

This time of year always feels a little heavier, and maybe it’s the right time to talk about a topic we usually try to dodge.

For many years in emergency services, I never gave much thought to the people who left us—those who retired, moved on to different jobs, or had to separate for one reason or another. Once they were gone… well, they were just gone. It wasn’t malicious. It was just how things were. Out of sight, out of mind. In fact, the agency I worked for at the time was big on “quitter cakes.” You know the kind: Betty’s leaving? Let’s frost a cake and make some jokes about her being a traitor. Have fun sleeping in Betty! We all laughed. We thought it was funny.

What I didn’t think about—what I should have thought about—was how hard that transition must’ve been for so many of them. Leaving this job isn’t like leaving just any job. It’s like ripping out a part of your identity and trying to function without it. 12-hour days for any length of time imprints on you. It just does. And what’s worse, we as ECC’s let years—decades, sometimes—of experience, insight, and history walk right out the door with them. No ceremony. Just a cheap cake.

Fast forward to 2023. I was 18 years into my career when I was slapped in the face with exactly why this mattered.

We found out our friend Nicole had taken her life. I met Nicole at a national conference. We bonded over trauma (as one does in 911) and side- shave haircuts. She had the BEST side shave haircut. If you knew Nicole, you would know exactly what I mean when I say she changed the energy of a room. She was a walking tuning fork—she vibrated differently, and everyone around her felt it. She was the kind of person strangers asked, “Who is she?” Not because they didn’t know her name, but because she commanded attention.

Nicole, myself, and two other friends had a text group. It’s how we stayed connected through our chaotic lives. We followed her journey from her 911 home in Massachusetts to a fresh start up north. New relationship. New job. New everything.

But soon into the new start, things started to crack.

The relationship soured. Training at her new job was tough. And then—COVID. Not just a sniffle-COVID, but the kind that laid her flat. She got better, barely, and then got COVID again. This time, it triggered an ear infection so severe that it impacted her hearing permanently.

As you and I both know, in 911, our tools are our hands, our mouths, and our ears. Her hearing didn’t bounce back. And suddenly, the job she was—not just the job she did was no longer possible.

She told us how much it hurt. How isolated she felt. How, once she couldn’t physically do the job anymore, it felt like people stopped caring. Like she’d been erased.

Nicole knew so much about this profession. She’d handled the Boston Marathon, lived through a brutal officer-involved shooting, worked in metro centers and smaller shops, and trained people across the country. She was a library of knowledge. And still, in the quiet after 911, she couldn’t find a place where she belonged.

She drifted. We drifted.

She texted less. Responded less. When she told us she moved back home, I thought that was a good thing. Closer to family. Some stability. I was hopeful that it would help. She told me a few months into her time there that she was going to drop off for a while. That she needed space. And like a well-meaning, busy friend, I gave it to her.

I curse myself for that.

She didn’t need space. She needed someone to show up and say: You still matter. You’re still 911. Your knowledge, heart, and years of service still count for something.

But I gave her space.

And two years ago this August, we lost her.

I wish I could say I was shocked. But I wasn’t. I knew something wasn’t right. And still, I let her tell me otherwise because it was easier to believe the lie. We get so caught up in the busyness of our lives that we don’t always stop to really consider what we can do to change the course of another person’s.

She told me once that I shouldn’t care what people thought of me. That I was good enough to do anything. “You don’t have to prove anything to anybody Roxy. Just be you.” I wish she had believed that about herself. Nicole was enough. Just being herself was everything.

I share this story because it circles back to something we all need to understand: People who leave 911 are still 911.

We need to stop treating separation like a funeral. Whether a person retires, transfers, is burn out, or are forced out, they still carry the DNA of this profession. We, as a community of professionals and just human beings, have to be intentional about keeping them connected. Because the truth is, we need them.

We need their knowledge. Their stories. Their mentorship. Their perspective. I truly believe that 911 could be on a more positive path forward if we had all hands-on deck. Present and past 911.

Ask yourself:

• Who did you used to work with that you haven’t checked in on lately?

• How are they—really? Just call them. Text them. Send them a card that you are thinking about them and treasure what they’ve taught you. It will mean more than you know.

• Is there a way you can help them stay involved, feel valued, or contribute their wisdom? Think about workgroups, mentorship programs, could you team up to write something together about your time in the center?

• And simply, are you making space for those who stepped away?

I know this job teaches us to compartmentalize. We’re professionals at flipping the “human” switch off. But maybe it’s time to flip it back on? Maybe it’s time to do just one extra step more than what we are comfortable with?

To those who’ve left, or are about to:

Please know—we still need you. We still want you. Volunteer, mentor, teach, consult, speak. There are so many ways to give back without stepping into the headset again. Don’t ever forget how much you’ve given.

Your worth didn’t walk out the door when you turned in your badge.

You are still 911..

Thank you, Roxy 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.