In 1995, when the Alexandria Police Department granted me an award for heroism, I did not feel very much like a hero. In fact, I felt miserable because I believed I had ruined someone’s life – not saved it! Two local newspapers also hailed me as a hero, but it just added to my misery. None of the accolades were able to pull me from the fear, depression and desperation I felt that fateful day. Though the events happened in a few hours, they felt like days and left an indelible impression in my mind. 

***

It was a cold and wintry morning when I arrived to work and started my daily routine as a secretary at an accounting firm. It was a typical day and I was alone that morning; the other secretary did not come in that day, one of my supervisors was out of the office on business, and the owner did not usually come in until about 10:00 am – though on this particular day he was further detained.

Not soon after I arrived, a young lady stepped into the office, very distraught, and asked if the owner was in. Because he also worked for the NAACP, my supervisor often advised on community and civic concerns. When I told her that he would arrive later, I noticed that she was weeping. I was troubled by her sadness, but I did not know what to do. I suggested that she write him a note and assured her that I would give it to him immediately upon his arrival. 

The lady sat and wrote a full page letter, wiping the tears from her eyes as she wrote. I kept thinking to myself, what can I say that would make her feel better? When she finished the letter she folded it and handed it to me. As she began to walk out the door, I said to her, “He usually comes in at 10:00 am. Why don’t you call him on the phone before you return?”  She just nodded and walked away.

Back at my desk, I continued with my work. In the back of my mind, however, the stranger’s distress kept gnawing at me. What should I do?  I kept repeating in my mind. The letter, I’ll read the letter – I may be able to help!

As my eyes quickly scanned her letter, a feeling of horror gripped me. I could not believe what I was reading.

…I am going to the Post Office where I work to kill my supervisor and then kill myself. I am so tired of the verbal abuse and sexual advances he made towards me and I don’t know what else to do…

I thought to myself, what an awful time to be alone! I did not know what to do! I couldn’t even think clearly. I called a friend and she told me to call the police immediately. They rushed over (there must have been about ten of them), questioned me repeatedly, dusted for fingerprints and collected the letter as evidence. They used rubber gloves and placed the letter in a plastic bag. I felt like I was in the middle of a television crime drama. The police also sent units to all the post offices in the area trying to locate the woman. 

By the time I’d finished answering all of their questions, only two officers remained.  Just as they were about to leave, the phone rang. It was her! I motioned to the officer and he mouthed to me,  “keep her talking.” They were going to trace the call, but I soon discovered, it was not a quick process. I had to keep her on the phone. 

On the other side of the line I heard the voice of someone very subdued and tired of living. She said she was in a room and was getting ready to commit suicide. She was a perfect stranger to me, yet I had to keep her on the line. I told she had a lot to live for and asked her if she had children.

“Yes, I do,” she said in her deadened voice. “But they don’t really need me.”

I talked endlessly about nothing. The blue sky and the shining sun – anything that would just keep her talking. The hostage negotiator was writing down questions for me to ask her. What was her first and last name? What was her address and her phone number? Where she was right now? I tried to subtly slip them into the conversation.

“My name is Ella,” she told me, but that was the only personal piece of information she shared.

Minutes, which felt like hours, passed.  One of the tensest moments came when she said, in a low voice, “I have to use the bathroom.” 

“Just place the receiver down and return when you finish,” I said to her. “Don’t hang up. Promise me you’ll come back!” I waited what seemed eons. I was so relieved when she finally returned, but I knew we weren’t out of the woods yet.

More time passed until finally, the negotiator told me they had traced the call and were waiting outside the apartment to apprehend her as she walked out. I just had to convince her to return to my office so that she would come out.

“We got her!” the negotiator said to me with relief once they had her in custody. He then congratulated me and left.  I was left alone again. 

***

Alone with my feelings, I began to fall apart. I held my composure while I spoke to the lady, but now, feelings of guilt, fear and shame attacked all at once. I cried hysterically. I called my husband to pick me up and take me home. I stayed in the house for over a week. I did not want to speak to anyone. I betrayed the lady. She is going to hate me forever for betraying her, I cried to myself. I had difficulty eating and sleeping. I had to give a written statement to the Post Office inspectors, and though they assured that she would not be punished, I did not believe them. I’ve ruined this poor woman’s life!

The Alexandria Police Department invited me to a small ceremony in my honor a couple of weeks after the incident. They awarded me with a certificate of appreciation and commended me for my heroism. The local newspapers took pictures and got a story from me. Their words comforted me some, but I was still racked with guilt. 

***

Sitting at my desk two months later, I happened to look out of the window and was instantly filled with shock, horror and surprise. It was the lady! Fear gripped me. I wanted to run. She’s coming back to kill me for betraying her trust, I thought, frozen to my seat as she walked through the door.  

To my great surprise, the woman looked right at me and said, “I just had to come back and thank you.” Her words were filled with so much sincerity, I knew they were true. “You saved my life.” 

I began to cry, except this time they were tears of joy and relief. I apologized for betraying her, but she assured me it wasn’t betrayal at all. I had saved her from doing something desperate. I hugged her and she said that because of me, she was able to get the help she needed. She was doing well and was working again, having gone through some medical treatment. 

I look back now on that event and think about how that incident made an impact on my life. I also think of how devastating it could have turned out. I’m so glad God gave me the opportunity to witness to her. Every life is precious, especially to God.