it takes a village

Duppy was dispatching the night it happened. It could have been any of us, but it was him. I can't imagine how difficult as a dispatcher in a small town it must have been, getting calls about someone you know and love committing suicide, and I'm glad it wasn't me. A few months later when I had to dispatch an ambulance for one of my best friends, I can imagine that my feelings may have been similar to what went on in his mind.

We took a course later that fall on public safety telecommunications. One of the chapters was on handling suicidal callers. What amazes me about talking with Duppy that night was that he hadn't taken the course yet. His calm, comforting voice on the phone and his directness in dealing with the situation weren't the result of a national training course; they were just the result of being a good human being. Although I was losing my mind on my end of the phone, hysterical, crying and likely screaming... in spite of the fact that he must have been in as much shock as I was, he didn't show it. That's what makes a good dispatcher in a town like Skagway, and I'm glad it was him.

When we found the body it was Ray who showed up first. For the second time in my tenure as a Skagway resident, tragedy had struck and Ray was responding. This time, he was my boss and part of our conversation had to include me telling him nonchalantly "I'm not coming into work tomorrow" and him telling me that was OK. Of all the things people told me in the first 24 hours, the one that I keep coming back to is something that he said to me when he showed up on the scene. He had pulled me aside to ask me something, I can't remember what. He looked me in the eye and said firmly "You know that nothing you could have done would have changed anything. It may have put it off a day, or a week, but if this was what he was going to do he was always going to do it." At first, I just took it as the cliche "it wasn't your fault" nonsense which I already knew. But as time went on and I continued reliving the hours before Stimee's death, Ray's words kept coming back to me, and I really saw what they meant.

Jim had been hiking when we were looking for clues of where Stimee had been, hoping that we would find him camping out or sleeping in the woods. I told him what was going on, and we went our separate ways around the loop. He was the first one I texted when we found Stimee. He must have called Katie, because the next thing I knew she was there, like she always has been, providing unconditional love and support.

It was Katie who sat with me while we waited and literally held my hand. When I said "you don't have to sit here and wait with me" she automatically shook her head and looked at me like I was crazy and said "No, i'll stay and wait with you." In the first few moments of shock, Katie's presence beside me which seemed to say "i'm here for you no matter what happens" meant more to me than anything else anyone did in comforting me after the fact. I can't imagine how empty and lonely I'd have felt in the first few moments of sitting at the crime scene if Katie hadn't been there with me.

After I filled out my statement at the police station, I went out to lunch with Jim and Katie. I ordered a salad and ate very little of it. When we got there, Shakey was our server and as she smiled at us it occurred to me that this big thing had just happened and very few people knew about it. Right at that moment, everyone around us was completely oblivious. I knew that it wouldn't be long before gossip started flying, so I enjoyed those few brief moments. As it turned out, someone must have already told Shakey. Katie and Jim told me later that our bill that day had been on the house.

I don't remember a whole lot about that lunch apart from how every taste of my salad made my stomach lurch. I also remember the immediate comfort I felt when "Bohemian Rhapsody" started playing, followed by an instant dread at the oncoming lyrics which seemed to describe Stimee's suicide all too well. Feeling again like I was going to be sick, I looked to Jim and Katie. They both automatically picked up the vibe and knew what was going through my mind. "I think we should go smoke," Jim said. And for the first and only time in my life, a Queen song coming on the radio made me exit the building. And Jim and Katie were right beside me.

The Canadians - Adam, Crystal, and Matt - came to town as soon as they could that evening. They stayed with me for a couple nights. My incredible roommate, Erica, had been out of town. I had called her and texted a couple times telling her to call me as soon as she could so I could ask if she was all right with the house being invaded by Canadians. She called while we were at the Eagles. "What's going on?" I told her. She was as shocked as everyone else. When I asked her if Stimee's friends could stay over, she automatically said "of course" as if there never should have been any question. She was incredibly supportive throughout the whole ordeal, and I can't imagine that I was the easiest person to live with during the following months.

The Canadians and I, before going to the Eagles, went to the Red Onion. It was shortly after going to Stimee's house to remove his guns so that if anyone should break in they wouldn't have access to them. We were all distraught, shocked, emotional, drained. When we walked into the RO our appearance must have shown that, because one obnoxious woman started hollering at us to smile. "You guys look like..." she bellowed, and then stopped. I'm really glad she stopped there.

Our server was Stacy. She either knew what was going on and how we related to it, or else just caught the feeling coming from us. Either way, she understood that we were having a rough night and treated us exceptionally well. She didn't really joke around with us or try to make us feel better. She just accepted that we were having a shitty day and treated us accordingly. I talked to Adam months later on a drive to the hot springs and he said that he'd been thinking about Stacy and how her energy had just been perfect for the night we were having.

At the Eagles, we ran into some friends. I remember Amanda was there and Canada Dave and Stephanie. Their familiar sympathetic faces were appreciated. We were all shocked and grieving together. I don't remember who else we saw that night but those three stick in my mind. I was relieved to see them and I got a feeling they were relieved to see us as well.

Michaella was our bartender. She knew what was going on by that point, and was really sensitive as well to what we were dealing with. At the end of the night, when we were getting ready to pay and I was trying to tell the Canadians that their money wasn't any good there, Michaella interrupted to tell us not to worry about it. She bought our tab.

In the days, weeks, and months following, many more people of Skagway came out from the woodwork and supported me and each other. Jan Tronrud dropped food off at the house. The Days of '98 girls (Alishia, Kaitlyn, and Afton) made me focaccia and cake. The other dispatchers rearranged their schedules so that I could have a week off for bereavement. Andrew took charge of the funeral arrangements so the rest of us wouldn't have to.

Margaret put up with me screaming at her on at least one occasion. Holley, as always, my first friend in Skagway, gave me the ability to vent my emotions to someone who I trusted. Tekla, even if she had to be up in the morning, rarely said "no" to me wanting to hang out at midnight when I got off work. Nicole was home sick from work one day and in spite of being sick went for a drive with me to Dyea to help me clear my head. Mike and Kellie - well, it's hard to even know where to start there. Mike was one of, like, five people who came out at midnight for my birthday ten days after the fact. Kellie masterminded a plan to shout "happy birthday" from the train to the caboose where i camped out a few days later.

Since leaving Skagway, there have been a lot of negative things about it that I've been fixated on. And there are a lot of negative things about it that make me glad to be gone. But on this day, as I'm remembering what happened a year ago, I'm focused instead on the ways that Skagway is unlike anywhere else. In the wake of the biggest shock a lot of us had experienced, we banded together and supported each other. I've never had friends like the ones I had in Skagway. I'm sure I never will again.

I've only mentioned a handful of the people that made the most difference to me in the immediate hours and days following Stimee's death, but there were so many more it's impossible to mention them all. Every single person I came into contact with in those first few days showed me nothing but support, sometimes going above and beyond what I could expect. Even people who don't like me and who I don't like put all of that aside for the sake of something greater.

It could have, and would have been a lot worse to experience what we all did if we didn't have each other.

useless post.

As i'm working my way through "Desperate Housewives" on netflix I've been sometimes in that zone where i'm both frustrated and relieved by how emotional it's been able to get me. But the episode that really should have me in tears has only made me content and empowered. I think that means something...

I felt that sense of coincidence when I realized that it was in the last episode of season six that Susan expressed her range of emotions at leaving the place she'd come to call home. When I leave Alaska this spring, I'll be just shy of the six-year anniversary of getting off the ferry in Skagway for the first time. Coincidences like that normally serve to enhance the emotional response I experience. This time, it enhanced my sense of purpose and accomplishment in deciding to move on.

Since I've been in Skagway there's never been a time, until recently, that I desperately wanted to leave. There's never been a time when I haven't wanted to spend the rest of my life here. There's never been a moment, until recently, that I've felt like I could stand to be gone from Skagway for more than a few days. Every time some sort of circumstance forced me to confront the possibility that I might need to move (generally brought on by financial difficulties mid-winter) I have been overwhelmed by a flood of nostalgia and attachments to the place I've chosen to live for this chapter of my life and the people who come with it.

But suddenly that's just not the case anymore. And it really seemed to happen overnight.

I guess I just never really thought that my Alaska adventure would end. I kind of always assumed it was going to last the rest of my life.

I never thought I'd be able to get enough of it. And, truth be told, I haven't. I can never tire of seeing bears, moose, lynx, coyotes, wolves, porcupines, eagles, seals, sea lions, and whales in my backyard (literal and metaphorical backyard). I am never not struck by the majesty and wonder of the aurora, no matter how minor the light show. The mountains around me never make me feel enclosed or locked in; they fill me with awe, contentment, peace.

Ugh. To be honest, I really want to write a lot more about this. But, in a testament to how non-emotional I am about it, it's not something I really feel like I can express in words. I don't really have much to say about moving.

When I watched that episode of Desperate Housewives where Susan moves out of the neighborhood, I felt inspired to write a blog about my impending move. But, for how major of an event it is, I don't really have anything eloquent or "look at me i'm a writer"-ish to say about it. It's just one of those matter-of-fact things that seems in my mind a lot less momentous than it seems to be in everyone else's.

So it is that this blog turns out to be not just the chronicle of my fifth Alaskan winter, but the documentation of my final Alaskan winter.

It's odd to me how detached I've felt from the emotions that should go along with this. I know that what I will miss the most, allegedly, are the people I've come to love in Skagway and the small-town feel of it... but... I hate to say it... when my friends are getting emotional and reacting to my decision to move, telling me how much they'll miss me and so on... even then I don't really have a lot to contribute. I go through the motions, I say the words, I let them know that I'll miss them too -- and I'm sure i will miss them -- but I'm just so ready to be done with Skagway and all its demons that I'm not even worried about missing my friends. I'm not sure if that's part of being self-involved, or if it's part of being a robot.

A few nights ago after work I rode out to the flats with a friend because the sky was so clear we could see what must have been every single star in the galaxy. We rode out on the snowy, icy, slushy roads and stopped at a spot I'm sure I've walked or driven on hundreds of times. We sat in the dark and watched the glow and subtle curtains of the northern lights in one of those amazing places that make you feel like you're in the middle of nowhere and miles away from civilization in spite of the fact that you really aren't.

As I watched the lights and stars from our perch right out by the high tide mark, I felt like there should have been some response other than the one I felt. I should have felt "am I really sure I want to leave this?" or "This might be the last time I see this, I'm so sad." Nope. Instead, I was energized with the thought of "I'm so glad that I got a chance to experience this again."

OK, apparently i have a lot more to write on this subject but i'm floundering. End useless blog post. I'll revisit it later. I'm sure when I'm on vacation in a few days, out of town for the first extended period in almost a year, I'll have some nostalgia. Vegas and Wisconsin, here I come. It's a trial run in saying goodbye to Skagway...