Last night, my husband and I attended a retirement party for four members of his Local 400. It was a beautiful display of brotherhood, honor, and compassion. The banquet hall was full of firefighters, old and new, their wives, and families. Pride ran thick through every one's glasses as toast after toast was shared. Stories of love, laughter, and loss. Grown men shed tears, of love and appreciation. It was a great night.
Wally, as everyone calls him, gave some gifts before he said his goodbyes. To JB, he left him his "official" firehouse lunch box. The one handed out to fire recruits, over 30 years ago. To Eric, he left the necessary supplies needed to make his famous dinner, the one he made every night for over 20 years. Dave, shared a napkin he kept in his lunch box for over 15 years, an IOU for a can of soda (the way firemen make bets). Plaques were awarded and helmets and shields honored.
Two toasts in particular stood out for me. One was given by Dave's 3 daughters. It was a compilation of memories, thoughts, and ideas- all that made them, A Firefighters Daughter. They beautifully shared their hearts as they fought back tears of the pride they had for their dad, a firefighter. Even though he missed some soccer games and Christmas dinners, they would never have asked for their dad to do anything else.
After this, Dave, shared a reading from a prominent Chicago Fire Chief. In this reading, this proud firefighter, brother, and hero, expressed what it meant to be... just a firefighter.
Am I just a firefighter when I leave my wife and children, without hesitation, to save my fellow man?
Am I just a firefighter when only I can feel the sorrow of seeing my fallen man?
Am I just a firefighter when I hold the limp body of a child in my arms?
Am I just a firefighter when I enter danger, no matter the cost?
Am I just a firefighter when I help to save a family, and their memories?
Am I just a firefighter?
Everyday is just another day. Garth's alarm goes off, and up he goes. Never thinking twice. When we are driving on the highway and pass an accident, he stops. No matter if we are late already. On the day our children were baptized, he was ready and willing to go and serve with his fellow brothers- a cold day in March, no one will soon forget. The night St. Louis church burned, he awoke to a phone call and left us with a quick kiss and promise to return. He is not just a firefighter, he is a brother- a hero. And I am not just his wife. I am his partner, supporter, and friend. I love him. For who he is, what he does, and what he stands for. And our kids think he is pretty cool too.
To the Local 400, retired and serving, go forth with pride. You are firefighters.
Stay Safe. God Bless.
Beautiful! Great post.
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