Pifer, a crisis counselor, has spent the last six years comforting people in the aftermath of death. The woman whose sister killed herself with an electric chainsaw. The 8-year-old girl who found her mother shot to death on their couch. Nearly six months ago, her boyfriend Shannon Johnson was among the 14 killed in the San Bernardino attack.
Grappling with the anguish, she left counseling to mourn, retreating into her Koreatown apartment filled with their photographs. Driving to the LAPD office to meet with her crisis team colleagues, she imagined seeing many friends for the first time since the attack would bring the entire ordeal back. She wanted to return, but she also wondered how she would react. Pifer was one year out of a long-term relationship when she decided to give online dating a try. He had a warm smile and his orange tabby, Jerry, peeked over the side of one shoulder.
For their first date, they decided to meet at Union Station in downtown Los Angeles. Inside its towering, ornate marble halls, they talked about growing up in the South β he in Georgia, she in Tennessee β and moving to California as adults. He had full sleeves of tattoos and had spent 10 years traveling across the country as a truck driver.
At 42, he was also twice divorced. Both, she said, had barriers up. Pifer feared getting hurt, terrified of falling in love with him. Six months later, Pifer was on the hunt for a new apartment. A friend passed along a police bulletin calling for volunteers to respond to homicides, suicides and death notifications. Soon enough, she had graduated from training and was crossing behind the yellow tape at some of the most grisly scenes in Los Angeles.
Her job: To counsel those who have no one β no relatives, no friends β there to console them. There are dozens of calls that linger in her memory. The first time she smelt death. The first time she had to leave a scene and walk around the block to compose herself. The first time she accompanied the police on a death notification.
