The People of the (Longest) Night

We're looking at the longest night of the year . . . more darkness, less light . . . thinking about “the people of the night” as I relax and prepare for Christmas in my warm, light-filled, safe  little casa. 

Who’s out there? What are their stories? 

Law enforcement. Trying to keep the bad from getting worse. Answering 911 and staying calm as they listen to tales of indescribable human horror Reassuring callers that help is on the way. Watching out for us, whether we acknowledge it or not. Getting drunks off the roads. Risking it all when a family quarrel escalates into domestic violence. Your mother was right: Not much good happens after midnight.

Homeless people What must they go through; most of us can't even imagine it. Broken. Lonely. Hungry. Cold. Isolated. Addicted. In pain. Scorned. Rejected. Unwanted. 

Medical/hospital/emergency room people. Focused. Engaging in gallows humor just to get through the night. Pulling on reserves of strength they didn't know they had to save one more teenager from a gunshot wound, reanimate one more cardiac arrest patient, bring one more overdose case back to life and possibly even hope. Helping women deliver babies. Willing an old person to hang on as life slips away and the family races to get there in time. Working behind the scenes to clean up the operating room, wheel the body down to the morgue, fill the stat prescription that may save a life.

Transportation people. A long way from home. Tired. Stressed. Single-minded as they try to deliver the load, land the plane, keep the train on schedule. Longing for food, a hot shower, a soft bed, the airport, the next station, their loved ones' faces.

24-hour store people. Ringing it all up, whether it's pediatric cough syrup for a frantic parent, candy and chips for a band of roving teenagers, or groceries for someone who just got off work at 2 a.m. Stocking grocery shelves so they'll be bright and abundant at 6 a.m. 

Clergy. God, the clergy. What DON'T the clergy do in the wee small hours. Holding the hand of with a dying grandma as she leaves this world. Praying that her exit is peaceful and free of pain and fear. Comforting the daughter and grandson of a stroke victim. Standing vigil in the intensive-care unit with a patient the doctors and nurses are trying to stabilize. Answering the phone when a family needs consolation because their troubled teen has just taken his own life.

Restaurant people. Sure, they're serving food but they're also serving comfort. Solace. Company. Probably conversation, maybe more so than during the standard mealtime hours. The reassurance that somebody else is up at an ungodly hour. 

These people -- and whoever else is out there working overnight -- are on my mind tonight. I wish them light.