I love what I do. I love that I dont getvpid for doing it. Its done out of the love of the passion and out of the kindness of my heart. I love to see little kids faces light up when they see the big red fire truck with all the flashing lights. Read this short poem, thank all the men and women who do what I do. Thank the men and women who fight for our freedom everyday. Thank the first responders who risk their lives everyday to save tour family that we dont know. Thank you to all of my brother and sisters and thank you to the men and women who serve our country. 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 destroyed. 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 beneath 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 that it is too late. But wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done. 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 have 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 a
Posted on: Fri, 26 Sep 2014 02:56:00 +0000
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