She literally feels a “physical heaviness” when she knows she is becoming overwhelmed. She can also feel anxious and can become overly emotional and cry often. On the day we met for our interview, which occurred during an intense week of training, education, speakers, and public scrutiny of the Tema Conter Memorial Trust charity, Alvarez said she had broken down five times.
“But that’s therapeutic for me if I recognize it and let that happen. Then it’s okay. There was a time I was involved in the Tour, in the documentary and I was dissolving, and I knew I needed to step back,” she said.
Knowing your boundaries can be difficult, as can finding balance, but Alvarez has managed to do both, after a few bumps in the road, education, self-care, and arming herself with knowledge and tactics for growth and healing. Part of the reason she is able to work the way she does is because of the support she receives from her husband.
“He’s very aware and conscious and considerate about how it [his work] affects me. But he still has that attitude that he’s totally fine. I’ve caught him on a couple of occasions, maybe in a weak moment [saying], ‘Okay, maybe I have some shit to deal with.’ My husband would be great for peer support. He doesn’t have an archaic attitude that they [responders] should ‘suck it up.’ He just believes that he can suck it up and he’s totally fine,” she said.
There will likely be many people and spouses reading this who are nodding in agreement with Erin about their own partners.
I asked the question that had been plaguing me since we started talking so openly. I now consider Erin a friend and did not want to hurt her, her husband Rich, their family, or our relationship by writing about these personal details without his permission. Keep in mind, this whole conversation happened as a result of the video that Erin shared publicly on social media.
JL: “How would [Rich] feel about you talking about this? Is he okay with it?”
EA: “I’ve asked him recently and he said it’s fine. He is a real introvert and clearly I am not. I feel like I haven’t asked full permission, but he knows me, and he knows what I have been talking about and what I’ve been doing and he hasn’t said, ‘I don’t want you to talk about me.’ I wouldn’t be talking to you if I thought he would be upset.”
The husband and wife are a united front in their commitment to one another, their family, and to helping others. Ask yourself: would you be willing to put your private life out there for public discussion in the hopes of educating people and ultimately saving relationships and/or lives?
Erin said her husband would openly talk about the calls in a detailed or factual manner, but he never talked about how he felt about the incidents. “There’s a big difference, right? If he comes home and he tells me about what calls he’s done, and then we just go on with our night, that’s not helping at all. He’s never really told me.”
That is a very powerful statement: “He’s never really told me.” We can fill hours of conversation without ever peeling back the layers to get to the bottom line of how we are really doing, and how our work and personal lives leave an impression on us.
“I asked him, ‘What calls do you think impacted you the most? What sticks out in your mind?’ And he said, ‘You know, the traumas, when you’re hearing people screaming or you’re smelling blood or you’re seeing signs of death, that’s what I see in my head.’ But when I’ve seen his personality be really deeply affected is – here he comes after a shift and [for example] he’s had to tell a spouse of an elderly person that their spouse is no longer there. Specifically, those calls sadden him deeply,” Erin said, “… notifications … for spouses who don’t have anyone else. Their family is not there. The only person they had in this world for the past sixty years is this person [who just died] and Rich has had to be that person to say, ‘I’m sorry – they’re gone. You’re alone now.’ And it devastates him. Those are the ones that stick out to me.”
Her voice was sombre as she discussed observing her husband’s pain. Her demeanour and facial expressions softened when she talked about him. She clearly has great respect, admiration, empathy, and love for Rich.
JL: “No one wants to be that person [to do notifications].”
EA: “But someone has to be that person.”
Erin Alvarez’s Legacy Letter
An Open Letter to Spouses and Families of First Responders:
I am not alone.
Repeat this to yourself every once in a while, especially in those dark moments when you feel completely helpless.
I am not alone. I am not alone. I am not alone.
Because I promise you, you aren’t.
I have been married to an advanced care paramedic for a decade.
Over the years, I’ve come to know the signs that he’s had a bad shift, or a particularly bad call. Sometimes he talks to me about it, and sometimes he doesn’t.
The important thing is that he knows I’m here for him.
Our secret?
He’s here for me, too.
Being the spouse of a first responder carries a certain weight of responsibility, and while we are married to the ones in uniform, we also carry the burden of the trauma they’ve witnessed.
Keeping ourselves in check, talking it out when we need to, isn’t selfish – it’s necessary.
I admit the anxiety and the stress sometimes can’t be kept at bay. There have been many times I’ve watched my husband walk out the door and I worry he’ll never come home.
The danger associated with these professions is so precarious that I wonder if preparedness is even possible.
I remember watching the news on June 4, 2014, and felt a lump in my throat that didn’t leave for days. Three Moncton RCMP wives lived every first responder spouse’s worst nightmare.
I remember being particularly drawn to the photo of Constable Fabrice Gevaudan, and later when I heard his wife Angela speak, I was in awe of her strength, of her calmness, of her ability to forgive. As fate would have it, Angela and I met through the Tema Conter Memorial Trust, and I now call her a dear friend.
When I was in Moncton, for the first anniversary of the June 4th incident, the healing had only just begun. The wives’ sorrow was still palpable and I think all of us can say we grieved in our own way right along with them.
But on the second anniversary, expecting the same cloud of grief, I walked into a light so radiant that the darkness could no longer be seen or felt.
A monument for the three officers was unveiled, each statue with such immense detail and emotion that the true essence of each hero was there for everyone to experience.
It was a celebratory event, one of gratitude and grace that Canada’s first responder family all took part in their own way.
Angela is not alone.
I am not alone.
You are not alone.
I won’t pretend I have all the answers, but I do feel that I am armed with the compassion, the empathy, the gratitude, and the mindfulness to help myself, to help my husband, and to help other first responders and their spouses and family members.
Let’s continue the conversation.
Let’s stay healthy and let’s support each other.
We are all in this together.
11
Bill Sandford: The Memory Box
Sixty-nine-year old Bill Sandford spent most of his professional career working alongside first responders.
Bill built an exceptionally strong and respected relationship with paramedics, EMS, fire, police, and other emergency personnel while working as a photojournalist for major newspapers. He has filed for many news agencies, including the Toronto Sun, the Toronto Star, United Press International, The Globe and Mail, and Reuters.
The award-winning photographer spent more than four decades in journalism and witnessed first-hand some of the most traumatic and horrific incidents in Canada: the country’s first school shooting, multiple plane crashes with mass fatalities, the Paul Bernardo case, a major train derailment, and hundreds of other fires, murders, and
emergency scenes.
He described some of his varied work for me prior to our interview in the following short autobiography he wrote:
“I have been a journalist, more of a photojournalist, for forty-two years. For a number of reasons, I seem to have retired after moving to London, Ontario.
“My last fifteen years were spent as a freelancer, working out of Barrie and covering central Ontario for the Toronto Star. After twenty years on the job as a staff photographer for the Toronto Sun, it was a refreshing change. Working with a freelance reporter, we could find our own stories, both news and features. We owned the Ontario page for a number of years before the Star revamped its front section.
“I took the journalism course at Humber College, starting in 1967, when the community college system was formed. I was already an accomplished amateur photographer from my high school days, but my first visit to a big city newsroom, The Toronto Telegram, made me realize that most reporters were stuck to a desk until assigned to a story out of the office.
“I knew I didn’t want that kind of job, so I found a job as a darkroom technician with a small photo agency called Federal Newsphotos in downtown Toronto. The owner let me shoot public relations photos for some of his clients and cover any news that came our way.
“In July 1970, I had my first view of a really big news story: the crash of a DC-8 into a farmer’s field near Woodbridge. All on board were killed, leaving a field of debris and bodies spread over a wide area. I wasn’t prepared for the scene, as a young photographer, but I shot what I could, not focusing on any of the gruesome sights that presented themselves …
“I was amazed at the co-operation of the Ontario Provincial Police that day, allowing us access to the scene, walking us around the perimeter, and basically letting news people [have] the time to do their job. Over the years, I talked to veteran officers who were working that day and they had similar [traumatic] memories. Those who were on traffic points say they had it easier than those who protected the scene and assisted in the investigation.
“After leaving Federal Newsphotos, I started freelancing for United Press International, where our work was mostly covering sports for Canadian and international news outlets.
“I found another staff job while living in Brampton, signing on with The Daily Times, one of those colourful Thompson newspapers … I brought the idea of chasing spot news with me, having a police scanner installed in my car.
“After a year at the Times, I went to work for Inland Publishing, where we started a new paper called the Etobicoke Gazette. I chased news stories and photos in Etobicoke and out in Peel Region, where I was still living.
“It was on a day off that put me on the scene of another multiple tragedy: the shooting of teachers and students at Brampton’s Centennial High School, [one of] the first of these massacres in Canada or the United States.
“I went into the school following the first Peel officers on the scene … again, another scene that would stay with me and others who experienced it, for some time.
“I started at the Toronto Sun in 1978, as a dreaded reporter/photographer on the police beat. Again, I preferred being on the street, but it took a year before I became ‘just a photographer.’
“I did score some brownie points one morning by being on the desk early. I was still living in Brampton and drove into Toronto early to avoid the traffic. I took my place at the police desk, cranked up the emergency radios, and moments later heard Metro Ambulance call for units at the airport. The tone of voice made me listen closely, as they started [sending] ambulances to the scene of a DC-8 that had crashed into a ravine at the end of a runway. I had to stay in the office [and] get photographers and reporters and editors moving. I didn’t get to the scene until the next day.
“With my skills at covering the city and regions with scanners, I was finally free to do what I enjoyed, covering spot news. I started meeting police officers, ambulance personnel, and firefighters. A lot of them became good contacts over the years … Over the next twenty years, I photographed fires, accidents, and shootings that left memories that are sometimes hard to shake.
“I filled in for the police photo unit a few times when they were busy, taking photos of fatal accidents that showed bodies. I was glad to just hand over the film and not spend any time looking at the photos. Just being on the scene was bad enough,” Sandford wrote.
Reading Bill’s biography made me realize we were kindred spirits who had never met. We have much in common. We have been journalists for decades. We have witnessed countless traumatic events by working as police/crime reporters and while doing spot news. We have built close relationships with the people who attend at emergency scenes or who are victims of trauma. All three have taken a toll.
“We are the witness to what’s gone on, and you can’t be there, but we can,” Bill said of the integral role of photojournalists and the media.
I spoke to him via telephone at his home in London, Ontario. He graciously sent me a number of his photographs to view prior to our interview. They give a glimpse into the nature of what he has witnessed over more than forty years.
“I think I’ve suppressed ninety percent of the stuff I’ve seen … quite recently I’ve unearthed this box of pictures when we moved from Barrie to London. A lot of the stuff was in boxes and we just left it in the basement. And going through the boxes, it’s all coming up, remembering some of the stuff I’ve been through and some of the stuff I’ve seen,” the veteran photographer said.
It struck a chord with me after having unearthed my old files in a box in my garage and after having visited CTV Atlantic to view many of my old stories. Digging up the past can be taxing, depending on what memories lay dormant or forgotten.
“I can suppress it, but every once in a while it comes back,” he revealed. “It’s so hard to explain. I never really considered myself a ‘big shot.’ I’m someone in the background. What we’re doing now is something I’ve never done before.”
JL: “You’ve never done an interview with someone before?”
BS: “No. Not like this and all this stuff is bubbling up.”
JL: “At any time, if you’re tired or it’s too much, we will stop.”
We never had to stop.
However, he became emotional during one crucial part of our interview. We were discussing his first major assignment at a mass casualty disaster when he was just a novice news photographer.
It was July 5, 1970. Bill had graduated from Humber College the year before. He was not prepared for what lay before him that day.
Air Canada Flight 621, a DC-8, was flying from Montreal to Toronto and on to Los Angeles when, after a failed landing attempt, which heavily damaged the plane, it crashed a few minutes later into a farmer’s field, in what is now considered Brampton. All passengers and crew aboard were killed.
The following news story reports one less person in the total death toll, as it was filed just the day after and the number of dead would have been fluctuating.
It remains the deadliest crash in the Greater Toronto Area (GTA) history of the now Pearson International Airport. It garnered international news coverage including this story, AIR CRASH KILLS 108 AT TORONTO AIRPORT, which appeared in The Greeley Daily Tribune in Colorado on July 6, 1970.
“An Air Canada DC-8 jetliner bound for Los Angeles crashed in flames while approaching Toronto International Airport early Sunday, killing all 108 persons aboard.
“Airline officials said an engine fell off and one wing collapsed just before the huge plane nose-dived into a cornfield in rolling farm country near the village of Castlemore.
“The plane carried 99 passengers – 22 of them reportedly from Southern California – and a crew of nine.
“A golfer playing at nearby Woodbridge Golf and Country Club, William Farmer, said the airliner’s outer starboard engine appeared to be on fire as it came in to land.
“‘There was a loud bang and something fell off,’ said Farmer. ‘All of a sudden the plane veered
in a very steep left turn and started heading right for us. We began to run but didn’t know where to hide. Then the plane flipped over on its back and suddenly dived into the ground so straight the pilot couldn’t have aimed it better.’
“Farmer said the impact caused a loud explosion. ‘We could see bits and pieces flying high into the air. I knew no one was going to survive.’
“The weather in Toronto Sunday was described as warm and sunny. Visibility was perfect … The jet hit the ground only 75 feet from the farmhouse of Styze Burgsma, who said the ‘tremendous blast’ blew out the doors and windows of his home. Neither Burgsma nor his family of 11 was injured.
“The plane, Flight 621, left Montreal at 7:15 a.m. (EDT) and was due to arrive in Los Angeles at 1:50 p.m. (EDT) after an intermediate stop at Toronto. The crash occurred at approximately 11:15 a.m. (EDT).
“Michael Matyas of Toronto was driving about a mile south of the crash site at the time. ‘We saw two fire balls going and a lot of smoke,’ he said. ‘We saw an engine fall off. We turned off the highway and walked towards the plane, but we couldn’t get close because of the intense heat.
“‘There was nothing but mangled metal and pieces of bodies strewn all around. Flames were shooting up into the sky.’
“There were 119 persons waiting in Toronto to board the plane and many of them witnessed the crash. They were put aboard a second DC-8 for the flight to Los Angeles and arrived at Los Angeles International Airport at 2:50 p.m. (EDT). …
“An investigation into Sunday’s crash was ordered by the Federal Department of Transport in Ottawa, but a spokesman said the burning debris made an immediate close examination by investigators almost impossible.
The Legacy Letters Page 14