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 3a.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 or 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.
-author unknown-
Cumberland County Station 18
7010 Fire Dept Rd
Hope Mills, NC 28348
910 425 0571
Emergency 911
Back to Gray's Creek Fire Dept.
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