When the Emergency Is Yours: Navigating Grief as a 911 Professional

Written by Erin Allwardt, CMCP

As 911 professionals, we’re no strangers to emergencies. We hear them, feel them, and manage them—Every. Single. Shift. We’ve trained our minds to stay calm in chaos and have mastered the emotional skill of reminding ourselves: “It’s not my emergency.”

That phrase becomes a boundary, a survival tool. It’s how we process pain without absorbing it. How we keep showing up, shift after shift, call after call.

But what happens when it is your emergency?

What happens when the bottom drops out of your own world—and your brain, trained for triage, doesn’t know how to grieve?

I learned the answer the hardest way possible.

17 Days That Changed Everything

This year, I lost both of my parents—just 17 days apart.

First, my dad, My always-has-a-solution-for-any problem and quiet - or often not-so-quiet - strength behind so much of who I am. Then barely two weeks later, my mom. My anchor, my heart, my soft place to land.

It was like being caught in the eye of a storm. I knew how to manage trauma—on the job. But nothing prepared me for that kind of personal, back-to-back loss. My world stopped, but the rest of life kept spinning.

Grief didn’t come in loud, messy waves. It came in silence. Numbness. Logistics. I went into “dispatcher mode”—planning, handling, managing—because that’s what I know how to do.  That is what I’ve proudly done for the past 17 years. That’s how my brain processes pain: it doesn’t. It just… keeps going.

But this time, my own emergency couldn’t be compartmentalized.

The Disconnect of Being Trained for Crisis

What I’ve come to understand is that 911 brains aren’t wired for traditional grief. We don’t always cry right away. We don’t sit still with sadness. We problem-solve it.

So people assume we’re doing fine. That we’re “SO strong.” That we’ve “got this.”

What they don’t see is the silent weight we carry. The guilt when we don’t grieve like everyone else. The frustration when we feel like we can’t connect to our own loss. The moments in the dark, when the silence screams louder than any 911 call ever has.

Wearing the Headset While Carrying the Grief

I still showed up for work. Because the job doesn’t stop. Because people still need us. Because that’s what we do.

But grief doesn’t clock out.

I’d be in the middle of QA reviews or mentoring a trainee, and suddenly the weight of it would hit me out of nowhere. Or I’d hear a caller’s voice tremble in the exact way mine did when I made those awful calls to let people know my parents were gone.

There’s no manual for how to grieve when you’re also the person others rely on to hold them steady.

What I’ve Learned (And Am Still Learning)

If you’re a 911 professional going through personal loss, I want to share this with you from the heart:

• You’re not broken because your grief looks different. It’s not less real. It’s just wired through years of emotional survival and professional detachment.

• You deserve space to fall apart. Whether that’s alone, with a trusted friend, or in a therapist’s office—don’t wait for your system to shut down before you allow yourself to feel.

• You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. We’re so used to being the calm in everyone else’s storm, we forget we’re allowed our own messy thunder.

• Grief doesn’t follow the rules. And it sure doesn’t follow a schedule. I still have days when I pick up the phone to call my mom or think I’ll see my dad’s name pop up on my phone. And on those days, I give myself permission to not be okay. 

A Final Thought

Losing both of my parents just 17 days apart taught me something I never wanted to learn: that even as a seasoned professional in crisis, nothing prepares you for your own.

But it also taught me that our humanity—the part we work so hard to suppress on shift—is what connects us, heals us, and reminds us that we are more than our titles. More than our headsets. More than our uniforms.

We are daughters. Sons. Friends. Humans.

And when our emergency comes… we deserve the same care and compassion we give to others every single day.

To my fellow 911 professionals: your grief is valid. Your pain is real. And you don’t have to carry it alone.

Thank you, Erin 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.