The Day I Dropped My Husband at the Airport, My Eight-Year-Old Daughter Warned Me Not to Go Home. Minutes Later, I Saw Why.
My supervisor, Denise, met me before my first shift.
She showed me an empty conference room where I could take a break if needed, and introduced me to a peer support specialist.
She did not ask for details about Mark.
She asked whether I had a plan if a difficult call brought back memories.
“I’ll tell you,” I said.
“That’s the plan,” she replied.
“You don’t have to prove you can sit through everything without reacting.”
For the first hour, the calls were ordinary: a stalled vehicle, a worried neighbor, a minor traffic collision.
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