Happy Mother's Day !

Like a good boy I called mom today to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. I told her yesterday that I wouldn't call until the afternoon, knowing that I would be at work. I found myself having time early this morning so I called. Usually mom doesn't have a lot to say, but today she seemed happy that I unexpectedly called her earlier versus later. A very pleasant conversation, I am very happy that I had a moment to call. I finished my conversation by telling her that I loved her, I never finish a conversation with my parents where I don't say those magical three words. Something I find very important with those that I love. Including my wife and kids, I never want there to be any doubt if something were to ever happen.

Sometimes being at the firehouse on days like this or other holidays can be quiet, a day of rest. Others we can be busy and running non-stop, emergency after emergency. The worst is when we have to respond to domestic violence calls during a time of celebration or happiness. Some holiday weekends we find ourselves on accident scenes, some outcomes worse than others. The job in itself brings a wide variety of situations that we unseeingly become numb too. Not that we don't care, we have learned to separate ourselves from the situation. We have learned not to take things personal, we do our best, some days like today become the exception.

Our shift normally meets at headquarters on Sunday's, meeting for breakfast. It creates shift harmony between the stations. One station cooks for the others, today's breakfast included 72 eggs, 15 pounds of potatoes. I have no idea of how much chorizo, dump the required amount into a tortilla and breakfast is served. It was quite tasty, however the morning events were swirling through my mind. I could feel the pit in my stomach, I ate even though I didn't much feel like it. Still several hours later, I am still affected by the call that precluded our breakfast.

Driving to headquarters, we received a rescue call, unknown medical, unknown if breathing. Dispatch advised us that the caller refused to do CPR, my computer screen gave me little information. A mid twenties patient with several medical issues is all I knew, however, sometimes you just have a feeling that the situation is not good. The call was in my own subdivision, I did not even have to look up the street in our map system. A squad car was in front of us and quickly disappeared down the street. People staring, wondering what emergency we are responding too. As we turn down the street, the squad car is in front of the home. Neighbor's begin to spill into their lawns, wondering what is going on. Some curious approach us, asking what is going on, something that we never share and quite annoyed with.

The police officer steps out the front door, looking at me with that look. I enter the home to find the mother holding her son, rocking him, knowing that something is wrong. We quickly asses the situation, seeking information, determining if we can make the difference that we have been trained to do. Within a matter of seconds we know that there is nothing that we can do, today someone else has different plans. The police officer continues to talk with the parents, getting much important information. We all know that he is dead, lying on floor, surrounded by helpless firefighters. Respectfully we pick him up off the floor and place him back into bed.

Being the more senior fire officer on the scene, it is now my job to inform the mother that she has lost her son on mother's day. The parents have a slight language barrier, however, they speak English fairly well. The police know what I need to say, no one wants to tell them, so I begin. " Excuse me, we have checked your son's heart. His heart has no activity, he has passed on. I am sorry for your loss."

How does one say to a mother that her son is now dead. Tears now flowed from her eyes, I turn so I do not have to see her face. The other firefighters have covered the body so that we showed respect. Mom comes to his side, pulling the sheet down, kissing her son, holding his hand. Asking me when he is going to breathe again. Again I have to tell her that he is gone. Again she repeats herself, hoping that we were wrong, still holding her son. Meanwhile the father is notifying family, siblings, speaking their native tongue. I finally hear him say the word died!

After the third phone call, the father was now in tears as well. Overwhelmed with the responsibility of calling family. He hands the phone to his wife, distracting her for only a moment. He leaves the room sobbing, falling into a chair, weeping for his loss.

We pack up our stuff and place it back on our trucks. The police are left with the family, awaiting the arrival of the coroner. Again I give the family our condolences, empty I walk away. As we drove away in the fire engine, I looked at my driver, telling him that I hate that part of my job. "It sucks to tell a mother that her son died on mother's day." He looked at me, "I forgot it was mother's day." he said. Now the crew felt my pain as well, the only thing you could hear was the sound of the engine. Silence filled the cab, all of us, reflecting about the call.

As the day goes on, I continue to think about my morning. Wishing I could have said something different. Wishing I could have provided some comfort, wishing that I could spend time with my wife, my mother, those people that mean the world to me.

Never forget those three important words.."I Love You"...