Left To Die While Firemen, Zombies, And God Try To Bring You Back – J.B.

Left To Die While Firemen, Zombies, And God Try To Bring You Back - J.B.

Chad Campese

To all the fire, police, soldiers, nurses, and on who live in the fun, exciting, wild, questioning, burning out, shutting off, isolating, soul crushing, mind numbing, outlook changing, life killing world, of being a first responder.  (And yes those are in order of the career, for some, as the years go on.) Sincerely, J.  

Isolation.

J “lives” amongst the dead bodies, ghosts of the past, and zombies that crowd around him.

They’re everywhere.  Eventually, he becomes the walking dead himself.  And it almost kills all he knows and loves. It’s a beautiful and life changing thing.  Why?

His story isn’t unique.  The only thing that separates J from other first responders is the person behind the uniform.  The unique heart and mind that deals with the issues as he watched himself slowly, methodically, turn into something and someone that he and his loved ones didn’t even recognize.

As many First Responders do, he became the walking dead. Empty inside.  Mind rotting.  Body neglected.  Aimlessly wandering through the everyday just because he found himself waking up each morning.  

Being a fireman, you learn quickly that if someone has enough alcohol or drugs in their system,  they become a real life zombie.  Zombies never really die.  They come back, in an instant.  They keep coming back each time the squad gets called and CPR starts, or the Narcan gets pulled out.   

Car crashes, stab wounds, gun shots and overdoses, things that kill normal men, if you’re drugged enough, drunk enough, somehow the substances provide superhuman strength.   The nice family, the sober father, the mom driving home from softball that just got ran off the road and into the nearest tree, they don’t come back.  But the walking dead, he just opens the door and steps away from the crash, staggering maybe, but with just a scratch.  

Funny?  Sad?  Some twisted combination of irony and the truths of life all wrapped into one if you had the time and really just sat and chewed on it for a while.  It sums up the lives, personalities, and outlook of firemen, and most first responders as well.

And it clouds how we, and specifically J, looked at EVERYTHING.  

J eventually gets to that place that many know all too well as he ends up without any sense of purpose or joy walking aimlessly through the motions of his day, career, parenting, and relationships.  

What’s the point?  The world is horrible.  People are terrible.  This place is a mess.  His soul is empty.  His “why” is gone.  He’s dying.  Slowly.  From the inside.  

He’s missing something.  One thing.  The only thing that matters.   

But J had it once, even if it was slight.  It was enough.  It was a start.  

Church for him was great as a kid.  It was a place you went for fun activities.  No connection to God, for him.  But he loved the parties and lock-ins, and all the gatherings held at the building. 

As J got older those fun activities turned into a menagerie of old men, preaching, staring at his watch as the time slogged by.  Asking himself why he was there as his parents bounced to a few different church buildings during his childhood. 

Eventually, J got married and they did the church thing because they were supposed to.  It was expected, so he and the wife occasionally made it when they could.  As they had kids, they felt like they wanted to raise them in church.  He wasn’t quite sure why.  He even regretted putting them through the same cycle he dealt with.  Was there a point?   

Marriage.  It was great, at first.  Eventually, she’s there.  He’s there.  Stuff to do.  Kids to feed. Motions to go through.  Why are we here?  What happened?  Why did I like you?  What are we doing?  Why are we even doing this, together?  

Life as a fireman in one of the busiest stations in the city, it was awesome, until it wasn’t.  As it meshed with everything else that seemed to be pointless and life stealing he became numb to what was happening around him.  But he didn’t know why.   

All J knew was that the whiskey, the quiet, and the isolation made it better.  He’d walk in the door and say, without actually uttering a word,  “Can everyone just leave me alone?  I had to make a bunch of life and death calls today and I’m tired.  I’m tired of the negativity.  I’m tired of dealing with zombies and death and pain.  I don’t want to make any more decisions, and no, hell no, I don’t want to talk about my day because I didn’t want to do half the stuff I did.  God forbid I have to relive it by telling you all about it.”   

So, for a few minutes at least, the quiet of the night, the burn of the drink, the peace of mind as the wind rustled the trees in the distance, for the moment, it felt like Heaven.  His mind was free.

But it never lasts.  He was living, and dying, in his own mind numbing hell.

Why?

Because he was missing it.  The only thing that matters.  And J never realized what he actually needed. 

With every dead baby, stab wound, drug overdose, heart attack, sleep for a bit, adrenaline rush, calm down, sleep, wake up, calm down kind of day…… J’s light was going out.  

For J, for all first responders, it’s difficult to keep friends and family close because they can’t understand your mindset, jokes, or your perspective.   It’s even harder keeping close friends in this line of work without letting them bog you down and kill your spirit while stealing your soul as they go through the same motions, issues, questions, and process.  

It’s an impossible quandary. And it happens to most of us.  It’s a fine line we don’t walk well.  So we isolate.  We die.  Slowly.   

Who do we talk to?  Who do we connect with?  Who can say to us with utter abandon, how was your day?  And be really prepared to hear the answer?  To understand? 

Connection.  

With friends, with family, with God.  J, first responders,  we’re all missing connection.  

And if you’re that man or woman that sits alone and says I don’t need anyone as you raise a glass to the sky and toast to your own self sufficiency,  props to you.  J’s been there.  And he’d say you’re full of, for lack of a better word that doesn’t start with a capital S, crap.  

Good luck with that.  You’ll die old, lonely, and alone.  And it’s not at all what you were built for.  

J was built for relationships.  We were all made for connection.  And when that light goes out deep in our soul, for this reason or that, we lose most of who we were meant to be.  

J’s light was dying out.  A slow, tedious, choking death that saw it flicker and then go. Only to come back just a bit until it was just an orange ember on a charred piece of wick.

Slowly, methodically.  Going through the motions, the treadmill of life.  Groundhog day over and over again with a hunch in his back as he dragged himself out of bed for another pointless day.  

It’s all about connection.

As first responders, like J, we lack it for so many reasons.  For J, and for me, there’s only one way to reignite the part of the brain that deals with empathy and connection that the job, the experiences, turn off to keep us alive.  It’s one thing you can do, today, after reading J’s story.  

Give up.  Tell God you give up.  You can’t fix it.  You can’t control it.  And you need to connect to the One who leads, directs, and CONNECTS it all.  

J finally gave up.

“Blessed are those who’ve come to the end of their rope.  With less of you there is more of God, and His rule.”  (Mathew 5:3 MSG)

It all starts with the spiritual.    

What happens when a zombie leads your family?  J happens.  What happens when you have no connection in marriage.  J happens.  What happens when you go to a job where people need to know the human side of you but you can’t share it, because it’s gone?  J happens.  And you start to lose and destroy everything that matters and makes life worth living.  

And just so no one thinks I’m singling him out, Chad happened to.  And so did Shane and Mark and Andy and Shelly, and on down the line for every fireman, cop, soldier, man or woman that has checked out of life for whatever reason and just goes through the motions.     

Why continue on like a zombie after we recognize the issues?  Because we’re too embarrassed to admit our need.  It’s trained into us.  We’re the ones that come to help, not the ones that need help. If we give up control, people can die.  So J learned to get it done himself.   

But it’s a lie.  And J didn’t stay there.  He couldn’t.  There was too much at stake.

The day the final blow up happened J finally admitted his need.    He and his wife knew something needed to change.  He knew everything needed to change, and he’s thankful, even though he wasn’t sure why he was there, that his family was still present in church. 

God was calling.  To more.  To better.  To life! 

He turned to the pastor.  He connected.  He gave up. J said he had no idea what he was doing or why.  He was honest. He was J.  He had to, forever, own and live his life and leave the zombie behind.  

His wife deserved more.  His kids deserved more.  His friends, the people he serves at work, they all deserve more.    J was made for more.  So he connected.  Because of that one sentence his wife said that is burned into his mind all these years after the fight.  

Angry, sad, hurt, confused, a mixture of it all, she looked him in the eye and said, “I need to find my church people.” God showed her the answer.  She showed it to J.  

It broke him.  He agreed.  They jumped into counseling and connected to others.  Ultimately J decided to leave his busy station for another, knowing that for his soul, and his family’s health, he needed to slow the pace.  

And if they were going to do church, they were going to do it right.  He was going to connect with God instead of just doing activities.  They went to adult groups and fellowship while connecting to others, and currently he’s in the process of understanding how all this fits together for the future.   

He credits Johnstown Presbyterian Church with being a place of true belonging.  What a church  should be.  What a family should be.  

He feels life returning.  Like a splash of green foliage and wild flowers sprouting across a wooded landscape that had been burned and charred by fire. 

It’s an interesting thing about the zombies that J meets now.  He’s connected to them in a way that even though he used to look down on them, get mad at them, call them a waste of time and resources, he’s started to connect.  Zombies are people too.  They didn’t used to be the walking dead.  And if J could turn into one, as he helps them now, he takes just a few minutes to wonder how they became what they are and asks if he could ever help them come back from the dead.  He hopes, maybe, that this story is the start.  

J has taken off the mask.  He never really felt like a fraud, just a zombie.  Now Jason B. is heading in the right direction.  Driven by his growing connection to the One who leads all others and the community that surrounds him, he’s finding his why again.  And even if Jason needs to be reminded of it over and over and over again, he is refreshed every Sunday by his connections to God, life, people, and his very own soul.  He had to come to the end of his rope, so that God could take over, and He’s now leading out in front.  Slowly, for sure, but He’s there.  The future is bright.  Jason’s light has returned, and for that he is forever grateful.  

But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.  Isaiah 40:31

Written by: Chad Campese 

Connect with the story?  Shoot Jason a comment.  Let him know you appreciate him sharing.  And if you’ve read the book, or even if you haven’t, I’d love to talk.  To share your story.  To remove the mask many of us wear as we head in for yet another Sunday service. Or, as some of us purposefully, and feverishly, run the opposite way.   

Chad Campese is a father, husband, police officer, blogger, and author of the book Confession of a Christian Fraud.  He holds a BA in Christian Counseling and psychology, is heavily involved in peer support and recovery when it comes to first responders and is an expert in living his life and faith as a fraud. These days he simply relies on the leading of the Spirit as he tries to slowly and purposefully take life one day at a time.

11 thoughts on “Left To Die While Firemen, Zombies, And God Try To Bring You Back – J.B.

  1. I’m J’s father and retired after 35 yrs.in the fire service. I have suffered as he has and hoped he would come to me with his problems. I actually hoped he wouldn’t have them. I’m thankful he has found you and God to vent to and is working on his issues. I can’t be more proud of him!

  2. I’m J’s brother and I’m thankful he found you and god to help him through his dark days. Love you Jason

  3. Thank you for sharing your story. as the mother of a Marine and now police officer, i feel this pain tremendously. bless you all, and keep the faith/

  4. Thank you for sharing this! I’m a childhood friend of J’s. I’m also a military paramedic and can relate to this story on a unique level. Praise be to God for His unwavering love, mercy and grace!

  5. Thank you so much for opening up and sharing your heart Jason!
    I know so many can empathize with your heart and your path.

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  7. I appreciate this story. When we stumble through life apart from God, we are indeed living like the undead. Being undead does not equate to being alive. At my work, we are learning to assess and cope with the trauma hidden within that we carry as a result of wounds incurred amid the spiritual battles we face daily. Excellent post. Praying for continued healing and renewal. Thank you for your service.

  8. Thanks for the comment Rainer. I appreciate the wise words.

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