Crash - cont'd

...........As I continued looking around the yard, I noticed another high-vis jacket moving about near the MacEnroe's front door. It was one of my female commrades, Karen. She looked worse for the wear, her makeup and eyeliner had been disrupted by tears and had run badly making her look like the female version of Alice Cooper. I caught her eye and she came over immediately and then fell into my arms. She'd been tasked about 30 minutes prior to work with property owners on the block (if this area actually could be said to have 'blocks') to secure fresh drinking water for the rescuers, with possibly a warm garage to cycle those rescuers that needed to rest or decompress. She was now sobbing uncontrollably, almost to the point of hyperventilating. She'd found mostly locked doors (owners weren't home and the police had initially refused to commandeer anyone's property because of the areas tawny nature.). She did though get a response from the MacEnroes and as such had tried tirelessly, and tearfully, to get them to approve the use. In her mind each minutes that went by was a further failing of life in general for the victims of this crash. The last thing they needed was further adversity entering their lives, or what was left of them. These owners had resisted to the bitter end until I came along. At 6'5" and 250lbs my stature somehow proved to allow additional avenues to be opened for us that night. These people were not happy by any means, but finally relented when confronted with reality, and explanation of the need and a small dose of "you have no choice." As I dwas with the other owner up the hill, I was very empathetic to their predicament, always trying to put myself quickly into their shoes. They had not chosen to have this happen, litterally in their backyards, but were thrust by stupidity into it. They had to forever deal with the fact that many many people died on or across from their property. Not a good thing to have happen for property values, or for that matter, if you believe in an after-life.There was a small split rail fence that had to go. We took it down. We tried as much as we could not step in flower beds or disturb bushes. As the rescuers were being booted (FBI) from the plane, they were asking for new assignments and then tasked with the gruesome duty of bringing the dead to our 'main' deceased staging area. You could see it on their faces as they approached, body in tow. We told them where to place the filled bags or bulky blood stain covered sheets. Earlier in the evening these hero's wore faces of determination, concern and bravery. Now those masks had been replaced by sallow, blank, even pained expressions. Outer jackets were opened to the cold air as they walked, four to a backboard, down to us. Having been in over-drive for the better part of 2 hours now, the firemens internal temperatures were abusive. Their coats unbuttoned, heat and steam were being released into the cold and moist night air. Karen had finally found the strength to compose herself and looked back up the hill at this never ending line of bodies coming to us. She turned to me and said " it almost looks as if the deads souls are fading away in whisps as they get closer to us." I could see her eyes moving between the broken plane and broken bodies, and again she fell apart and crumpled to the ground.I'd tried hard to find the most resilient looking men as they dropped bodies off to us. We had the gruesome task of trying to begin identifying the dead. We'd need to look for any identification, if it was on their person. We looked on necklaces to see if their were inscriptions, for obvious tatoo's, something, anything we could put on our reports to try and begin the needed paper trail. About the only saving grace at this point was that the triage tags being used had been consecutively numbered. Someone else had begun the process of placing these tags on the toe of each victim (if there was a toe). Its very disconcerting to see those triage tags, which start out all firm and intact, varying colors and numbers printed on them, arriving at our location with all but the bold black section (death) ripped off. These people had become, at least for our needs, numbers. Internally I started striving to put the 'person' back in place of that number. I didn't want any one of these victims in my charge to be John or Jane Doe, or worse yet, Unknown #45632.Within about 30 minutes of us starting the body repository, the ME showed up with his staff. Seeing us, he thanked us profusely and said he'd take it from there. It was surprising to me when he showed up. I had been hunched over slightly aligning one of the new deliveries to us. (In death, I didn't want anyone to look like an outcast. I guess I wanted them to be part of a family, even if only of my mental creation. As unusual as that sounds, to me, they needed to be part of something, even in death, rather than that anonomous five digit number.)I'd been able to assemble a team of 15 by that point. It was made up of firemen, paramedics, EMT's and general passers-by. (As a further aside, my future brother-in-law lived in Oyster Bay. His brother had been out that night when the crowd he was with heard the commotion of the plane crash and went on their own (neither firemen or medical person among them) and just jumped in to help in any way they could. Jeffery was an exceptional man for doing that.)Upon being relieved, we sought further tasking from the incident commander and were summarily released for the night. Our three ambulances had finally gotten through to the crash site and had made three trips each back and forth to area hospitals. The other chief I had arrived with had long ago gone home. Luckily, trucks were packing up and going over to the Oyster Bay firehouse for coffee. The Ladies Auxillary there had opened up and were running full catering in their firehouse. I heard that, being such a small town, they'd contacted the owner of one of the local upscale restaurants that wasn't open that day. The owner in turn called in all of his staff and opened the kitchen and began making food for the rescuers. Chafers were out, plates, forks and everything one could possibly imagine was there for our taking. For the most part though, the hot food remained in the chafers. Coffee and tea were the choice of the night to try and quell the chill in our bones (and minds). One of my ambulances had waited at the firehouse for the remaing crew members still in the field. Everyone now assembled and brought together it took us home.The ride back was mostly quiet. Unlike after most calls, this night we did very little talking or after action exchanges. We were consumed with the aweful images playing in our minds. Upon arrival back at our headquarters, we found that some family members had opened our kitchen and put out coffee and donuts along with the beginnings of some hot food. We debriefed a bit, contacted dispatch to have the local 4 fire department chiefs give us a call because we decided to go out of service until 8AM. We did this for a couple reasons. First, the amulances had no supplies left. We needed to restock. Next we didn't think we'd have anyone ready to go on another emergency that evening after having been through such an incident. The cheifs, me included, and the line officers (all of who made it to the crash) meeded a break. We filled out paperwork, assigned patient numbers for those transported to hospitals, spoke briefly about the next days needs to start formal debriefs as soon as possible and then started heading home.For me, I'd begun to experience something I'd not come in contact with before. It was a strange feeling. A numbness, indifference, had set in. I'd started to replay certain images in my mind over and over again. I noticed the slightest of nervousness in my voice. Something, I knew, was amiss inside me and I could feel it coming like a freight train. I did the only thing I instinctively knew how to do at the time, call my beautiful fiance and wake her, and her family, up.Mary - a rock and a hell of a shoulder to cry on. Now still my lovely wife of many years. Why she's put up with all of my antics in that time I'll never understand, but she, like a trooper, always does. (That story is for another day.)We were engaged to be married. Mary lived at home, I lived in Merrick next to the railroad. Mary was raised catholic with a rather strict set of rules to abide by established by her loving mother. Whenever I went over to the house we'd spend most of the time talking or watching TV in her room (the door had to be kept open at ALL times so the risk of hanky panky could remain low.) Usually my curfew for visiting at the house was 11PM. After that, the hallway light would flash on and off to let us know it was my time to leave innocent Mary for the night. The house rules were established. I could not call after 9PM for fear of waking her father up or disturbing her older sister with her boyfriend John.Me on the other hand, a young and vibrant type A male living on my own.This night though, I woke the house up. Earlier, I'd advised Mary that I was going to this crash. She wished me love and care and we hung up. When I called now much later, she'd been the first to pickup the phone and answered ahead of her mother. I said I was headed up because I didn't want to be alone. I arrived at the house a few minutes later and Mary greeted me with open arms and much tenderness. I tried to explain to her what I had seen that night, though making every attempt I could to maintain the 'male' composure and not let too much detail out for fear of sharing my now on-rushing deamons. She made me food and drink and we layed together in her full size bed for a couple of hours. She tried the best she could to be supportive, hold me and try any way she could to comfort me. I think I fell asleep for about an hour. I had too many bad images keeping waking me up and then keeping me awake. Not wanting to exacerbate things in the house more than I already had, I got up and and left about 6AM.The next 2 days were the beginning of the hardest period of of my life........