Thank You for the Service that you give

I Wish You Could

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 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 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 that I have becomed too familiar
with."

I wish you could understand how it feels to go to
school 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,
breathing 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 the
doctor pronounces dead the beautiful little five-year
old girl that I have been trying to save during the
past twenty-five 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, 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
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 help
extricate a girl of teenage years from the mangled
remains of her automobile, `What if this were my
sister, my girlfriend, or a friend? What were her
parents' reactions going to be as they open the door
to find a police officer, 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 you nearly did not come
home from this last call.

I wish you could feel my 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 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,
or creating order from total CHAOS.

I wish you could understand what it feels like to
have a little boy tugging on your arm and asking, "Is
my mommy o.k.?" Not even being able to look in his
eyes without tears falling from your own and not
knowing what to say. Or to have held back a long-time
friend who watches his buddy having rescue breathing
done on him as they take him away in the ambulance.
You knowing all along he did not have his seat belt
on--sensations that I have become too familiar.

Unless you have lived this kind of life, you will
never truly understand or appreciate who I am, what we
are, or what our job really means to us.

I WISH YOU COULD!