Before I became a 911 operator, I identified as an atheist. I grew up Christian, but lost my faith around the age of twelve. I moved through life believing there was no higher power, until I found myself struggling to explain the number of coincidences I experienced while working in dispatch.

One of the first calls that made me question my belief was a 5 year old who had accidentally shot herself in the head while playing with a gun. When I went home that night, I felt desperate to make sense of what had happened and asked the universe to show me a sign that she was at peace in the afterlife.

The next morning, I walked out to my car and saw a dead crow in my assigned parking spot. I remember stopping in place, struck by the timing and peculiarity. I looked up the meaning afterward.

Dead crows are often said to represent a recently deceased loved one is at peace and protected.

Another call that felt significant involved a man harassing women at a 7-Eleven. He had followed my caller all the way to her front door. I had a friend who lived near that same 7-Eleven and visited it frequently. When I first took the call, I felt an urge to text her and tell her to avoid going there, but I brushed it off as overthinking.

About ten minutes later, the feeling returned. This time it was overwhelming, like a fire burning in my body. I couldn’t ignore it. I messaged her.

She told me she was one foot out the door, about to walk to that 7-Eleven, when my text came through.

I’ve received other calls like this, and I’ve learned not to ignore them. Once, a woman was being actively raped outside my friend’s apartment. My friend was about to leave for work, and I was able to warn her just in time. She exited the building through another door.

I’ve started to feel that these calls come to me for a reason. And I don’t think it’s just me. I see it in my coworkers as well, and becoming a trainer has only solidified that belief.

We all have our strengths. Some of us handle certain types of calls better than others, or have more knowledge in specific areas. Those calls seem to find the people most equipped to handle them. One of my trainees excelled at talking to callers in mental health crisis, and she received more of those calls than anyone I knew. Another was deeply passionate about animals and familiar with local resources and rescues, and she, too, seemed to receive those calls more than anyone else.

I don’t have a single explanation that fits neatly into words. I only know that these moments happened often enough, and with enough weight, that I could no longer ignore them. What replaced it wasn’t certainty, but a deeper sense of connection. A feeling that all of this is a part of something bigger.

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