Working in emergency services, we have what we so lovingly refer to as “frequent flyers.” For most of the population, calling 911 is a rare occurrence, something that happens only a few times throughout your life. Or, if you’re lucky, never.

Then there are the few who call us all the time. Some even multiple times a day. At times, I get frustrated with them. Even so, they bring a sense of routine to a job defined by unpredictability and chaos. After some time, I find myself growing attached to them. When they don’t call for a while, I wonder if they’re okay or if something happened.

Some are better than others. While the reasons they call rarely change, each person brings something different with them. They all have their own patterns and rhythms. Some call just to tell you about their day. Others scream and cuss until you can barely get a word in.

My favorite was an elderly woman with schizophrenia. I’ll call her Valerie.

Her calls always went the same way. She would announce herself, say her protection order was being violated, list off random numbers and letters, then ramble for a few minutes. I would wait. When she finished, I’d say, “Okay. I will have this documented.”

She never wanted the police. She just wanted someone to listen.

They were some of the easiest calls, and yet every time, without fail, she would spend a minute or two complimenting you. She’d ask for your operator number, then tell you to pass a message along to your supervisor: “Operator 122. You are an asset to 911. Your dedication is truly unmatched, and the city is lucky to have such a kind, compassionate young man,” etc.

In a job where gratitude is rare, it mattered. Even on her worse days, like when she called to tell me they were shooting acid into her teeth, she still recognized me and the work I did at the end of the call.

A lot of my coworkers groan about frequent flyers, but Valerie had a special place in all of our hearts. I don’t think there was a single person who didn’t enjoy getting her calls.

Eventually, she passed away. We got the call from her apartment building’s maintenance man, who had entered her unit for a welfare check and found her deceased. The news traveled quickly. The sadness did too. 

We pooled our money together and sent flowers anonymously to her funeral.

Thank you for the memories, Valerie. We miss you.