I felt compelled to find this poem today as there was a post recently on our firewives forum about an article in a paper talking about a couple of MVA’s in a row and then what some people were posting in the comments after the article. Now I know that people will post things online just to start trouble, but it just pushed me to find this poem.

I don’t deal with anyone saying how lazy FF’s are, atleast not them being serious. I know everyone loves to make fun of hubby for his time off. But it’s in jest. Anyway, I thought this was a good one going through so many things they sometimes hit in a single day!

I Wish You Could

I wish you could see the sadness of a businessman as his livelihood goes up
in flames or that of a 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 forty years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping against
hope to bring him back, knowing intuitively it is too late, but wanting his
wife and family to know everything possible was done.

I wish you could know the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of
soot-filled sweat and mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout
gear, the sound of flames crackling, and the eeriness of being able to see
absolutely nothing in dense smoke – sensations I am all too familiar with.

I wish you could understand how it feels to go to work in the morning after
having spent most of a December night cold 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 us? Is anyone trapped? Or to an EMS call: What is wrong with the patient?
Is it minor or life-threatening? Is the person who called for us really in
distress or is he waiting for us with a 2X4, or a gun?

I wish you could be in the emergency room with me as a doctor pronounces
dead the beautiful little four-year old girl I have tried so hard to save during
the past twenty-five minutes, who will never go on her first date or say,
“Mommy, I love you” again.

i wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab of an engine – foot
pressing hard on the siren button, arm tugging again and again at the air horn
lanyard, 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 read my thoughts as I extricate a teenage girl from the
mangled remains of her automobile: What if this were my sister? My daughter?
What will her parents reaction be as they open their front door to find a police
officer standing there, hat in hand?

I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet your
family, not having the heart to tell them that you nearly didn’t come home from
the alarm you were just on.

I wish you could feel my hurt as people verbally (and sometimes physically)
abuse me or belittle what I do, or as they express their attitude of “It will
never happen to me.”

I wish you could realize the physical, emotional, and mental drain of missed
meals, lost sleep, missed or foregone social activities and intimate
moments, in addition to all the tragedy my eyes have viewed.

I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping save
a life or preserving someone’s property, of being there in times of crisis, of
creating order from chaos.

Unless you have lived the life of a firefighter, you will never truly
understand or appreciate who we are, what we do, or what the job we perform really
means to us. I wish you could.

D. Randall Broadwater
Firefighter/EMT
January 31, 1993

Chasing flames and saving lives is a firefighters thrill;
And I’ll do this job, the best I can, with the Lords grace and will.
But even though I love the flames, the excitement, and the roar;
There’s someone waiting back home for me, that I love even more.

My best friend, my soul mate, she is the love of my life.
I am so very grateful that she is my wife.
She understands the job I do, but how she hates it so.
I hear her cries, and see her tears, each time I have to go.

As I race to the fire, to battle the beast, I wonder how she is;
And pray to God, to let me return, to feel her tender kiss.
I know she won’t sleep, with her heart filled with strife,
She knows why I must leave her, to go and risk my life.

She would only have to say the word and I would walk away;
And never fight another fire, or keep the beast at bay.
But I know that’s something she’ll never do, she loves the man I am.
She’s proud of me for the lives I save and for my helping hand.

Though someday soon, the Lord may say, this job will take my life;
And I must leave this happiness, of my family and my wife.
Deep down inside I truly doubt that she would change a thing,
As long as we’re together and wearing her fireman’s wedding ring.

–Author Unknown

I posted this poem because I like how it showed the other side and that they do know how we feel and how those of us true wive’s would never truly want them to walk away. If my husband walked away because he felt I couldn’t handle it anymore, I would feel like a failure. I would know that he quit something that he was called to do and that many people’s lives would be the worse for that decision.

I have never cried as he’s left and I never will. I may cry when he gets home and that is ok. Some days the relief of him getting home after a shift that I know was bad is a lot for a woman to bear. We’re hormonal and no matter what I do to fight that I never will be able to. lol

My father was a fireman.
He drove a big red truck
and when he’d go to work each day
he’d say “Mother wish me luck”.
Then Dad would not come home again
’til some time the next day.
But the thing that bothered me the most
was the thingÕs some folks would say,
“A fireman’s life is easy,
he eats and sleeps and plays,
and sometime’s he won’t fight a fire
for days and days and day’s”.
When I first heard these words
I was to young to understand
but I knew when people had trouble
Dad was there to lend a hand.
Then my father went to work one day
and he kissed us all goodbye
but little did we realize
that night we all would cry.
My father lost his life that night
when the floor gave way below
and I’d wondered why he’d risked his life
for someone he didn’t know.
But now I truly realize
the greatest gift a man can give
is to lay his life upon the line
so that someone else might live.
So as we go from day to day
and we pray to God above
say a prayer for your local Firemen.
He may save the one’s you love.

Carved in stone at the National Monument for
Fallen Firefighters Colorado Springs, Co.

This one hurts a lot as I vividly remember the bawling sobs of our Chief’s daughter from the front of the church at the end of the funeral service.  I also hope that my kids do not have to deal with too much of the usual ribbing about a fireman’s life.  Thankfully they understand and know what he does.  There are very few nights that hubby gets any sleep and they know it because he sleeps for hours on his day off.

This prayer is dedicated to all those who have gone before me and who will follow me in the line

When I am called to duty, God, wherever flames may rage,
Give me the strength to save some life whatever be its age.
Help me embrace a little child before it is too late, or save an
older person from the horror of that fate.
Enable me to be alert and hear the weakest shout, and quickly and efficiently
to put the fire out. I want to fill my calling and to give the best in me,
to guard my every neighbor and protect his property.
And if according to my fate I am to lose my life this day,
Please bless with your protecting hand my family this I pray.

What is a fireman?

He is the guy next door – a man’s man with the memory of a little boy. He has never gotten over the excitement of engines and sirens and danger.

He is a guy like you and me with wants and worries and unfulfilled dreams.

Yet he stands taller than most of us.

He is a fireman.

He puts it all on the line when the bell rings.

A fireman is at once the most fortunate and the least fortunate of men.

He is a man who saves lives because he has seen too much death.

He is a gentle man because he has seen the awesome power of violence out of control.

He is responsive to a child’s laughter because his arms have held too many small bodies that will never laugh again.

He is a man who appreciates the simple pleasures of life – hot coffee held in numb, unbending fingers – a warm bed for bone and muscle compelled beyond feeling – the camaraderie of brave men – the divine peace and selfless service of a job well done in the name of all men.

He doesn’t wear buttons or wave flags or shout obscenities.

When he marches, it is to honor a fallen comrade.

He doesn’t preach the brotherhood of man.

He lives it.

Author unknown

Firefighters love to eat, but away back then,
It was meat and potatoes and eggs from a hen,
And cheeses’ and sauces and tarts and pies,
And bacon and sausage and real French fries,
Or rare red meat, taken from a cow,
With two pork chops, cut from a sow,
Firefighters love to eat, but now they are more wise,
Gone ,the bacon and sausage and high calorie pies,
Now egg whites and yogurt or bran with some oats,
Salads and lean meat and milk from old goats,
Feta with less pasta, an apple with green tea,
Decaf, no cream, with honey from a bee.
All these new diets do make us cheer,
But firefighters all, still like their beer.

by D.M.Bowles February 17, 2009

Well this one I’d definitely love feedback on.  Um, our department still eats like the first part of the poem.  Hubby and I work a lot of the second part in, but it doesn’t last long.  lol  But beer, yes that is a staple.  I heard an oldtimer say it at our chief’s funeral.  They work hard and have to play harder.

The Creation of a firefighter

When the lord was creating fire fighters, he was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared and said, “ you’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.”

And the lord said, “Have you read the specification of this person? Fire fighters have to be able to go for hours fighting fires or tending to a person that the usual every day person would never touch, while putting in the back of their mind the circumstances. They have to be able to move at a second’s notice and not think twice of what they are about to do, no matter what danger. They have to be in top physical condition at all times, running on half-eaten meals, and they must have six pairs of hands.”

The angel shook her head slowly and said, “six pairs of hands…no way.”

“It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” said the lord, “it’s the three pairs of eyes a firefighter has to have.”

“That’s on the standard model?” said the angel.

The lord nodded. “One pair that sees through the fire and where they and their fellow fire-fighters should fight the fire next. Another pair here in the side of the head to see their fellow fire fighters and keep them safe. And another pair of eyes in the front so that they can look for the victims caught in the fire that need their help.”

“Lord” said the angel, touching his sleeve, “ rest and work on this tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” said the lord, “ I already have a model that can carry a 250 pound man down a flight of stairs and to safety from a burning building, and can feed a family on a civil service paycheck.”

The angel circled the model of the fire fighter very slowly, “can it think?”

“You bet,” said the lord. It can tell you the elements of a hundred fires; and can recite procedures in their sleep that are needed to care for a person until they reach the hospital. And all the while they have to keep their wits about themselves. This fire fighter also has phenomenal personal control. They can deal with a scene full of pain and hurt, coaxing a child’s mother into letting go of the child so that they can care for the child in need. And still they rarely get the recognition for a job well done from anybody, other than that from fellow fire fighters.”

Finally the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the fire fighter. “There’s a leak”, she pronounced. “Lord, it’s a tear.”

“What’s the tear for?” asked the angel.

“It’s a tear from bottled-up emotions for fallen comrades. A tear for commitment to that funny piece of cloth called the American flag. It’s a tear for all the pain and suffering they have encountered. And it’s a tear for their commitment to caring for and saving lives of their fellow man!”

“What a wonderful feature lord, you’re a genius” said the angel.

This one is definitely for all the wife’s of volunteers past, present and future. Believe me, I understand this one well At home I wake up much easier than he does and I used to tell him the call and wake him up. lol

BACK HOME AGAIN

The pager makes it’s beeping noise, The scanner comes to life.
You see excitement on his face As he goes off to fight.

No matter what you’re doing Or whatever the current plan,
All you can say is “Later Hon” As he gets those keys in hand.

You say a little prayer That God will keep him safe,
That with all the pride and bravery No one will make a mistake.

You know those men are Brothers And fiercely will protect
The lives of each other and others– They will truly give their best!

You and your “man’s best friend” Are both loyal and true.
You keep each other company Waiting for him to return to you.

And when that front door opens With “Honey I’m home” again,
You thank the Lord he’s back OK, Your brave and strong Fireman.