I wish you could see the
sadness of a business man as his livelihood goes up in flames,
or that family returning home, only to find their house and
belongings damaged or lost for good.
I wish you could know what it
is like to search a burning bedroom for trapped children, flames
rolling above your head, your palms and knees burning as you
crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen below
you burns.
I wish you could comprehend a
wife's horror at 3 a.m. as I check her husband of 40 years for a
pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping to bring him
back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting his wife
and family to know everything possible was done to try to save
his life.
I wish you knew the unique
smell of burning insulation, the taste of soot-filled mucus, the
feeling of intense heat through your turnout gear, the sound of
flames crackling, the eeriness of being able to see absolutely
nothing in dense smoke-sensations that I've become too familiar
with.
I wish you could understand how
it feels to go to work in the morning after having spent most of
the night, hot and soaking wet at a multiple alarm fire.
I wish you could read my mind
as I respond to a building fire "Is this a false alarm or a
working fire? How is the building constructed? What hazards
await me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to an EMS call, "What is wrong
with the patient? Is it minor or life-threatening? Is the caller
really in distress or is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?"
I wish you could be in the
emergency room as a doctor pronounces dead the beautiful
five-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the
past 25 minutes. Who will never go on her first date or say the
words, "I love you Mommy" again.
I wish you could know the
frustration I feel in the cab of the engine or my personal
vehicle, the driver with his foot pressing down hard on the
pedal, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as
you fail to yield the right-of-way at an intersection or in
traffic. When you need us however, your first comment upon our
arrival will be, "It took you forever to get here!"
I wish you could know my
thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years from the
remains of her automobile. "What if this was my sister, my
girlfriend or a friend? What were her parents reaction going to
be when they opened the door to find a police officer with hat
in hand?"
I wish you could know how it
feels to walk in the back door and greet my parents and family,
not having the heart to tell them that I nearly did not come
back from the last call.
I wish you could feel the hurt
as people verbally, and sometimes physically, abuse us or
belittle what I do, or as they express their attitudes of "It
will never happen to me."
I wish you could realize the
physical, emotional and mental drain of missed meals, lost sleep
and forgone social activities, in addition to all the tragedy my
eyes have seen.
I wish you could know the
brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping save a life or of
preserving someone's property, or being able to be there in time
of crisis, or creating order from total chaos.
I wish you could understand
what it feels like to have a little boy tugging at your arm and
asking, "Is Mommy okay?" Not even being able to look in his eyes
without tears from your own and not knowing what to say. Or to
have to hold back a long time friend who watches his buddy
having rescue breathing done on him as they take him away in the
ambulance. You know all along he did not have his seat belt on.
A sensation that I have become too familiar with.
Unless you have lived with this
kind of life, you will never truly understand or appreciate who
I am, who we are, or what our job really means to us...
I wish you could though.
