We are not guaranteed tomorrow

My friend passed away early yesterday morning.

While they believe the cause to be a brain aneurysm, the family has requested an autopsy to confirm cause of death.

Please hold her family in your prayers. I am particularly concerned about her daughter. She is roughly 10 yrs old, and to the best of my knowledge the father is not in the picture at all.

Enjoy yourself. It's later than you think. -- Chinese proverb

There are no winners here

source

There are no words.

At the same time, there is something to say.

What do you say when there are no words?

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When I heard the news, I cried. Then I wanted to get my Jena, before realizing my parents were watching her yesterday. Safe, visiting a Christmas display in Cincinnati, they may not even know the  news. I refrained from calling. No need to destroy their afternoon.

My mind wandered to the children. A freakin' KINDERGARTEN classroom, for pete's sake. Four- and five- year olds. WHY?!?

And then I realize, there is no reason. There cannot be any reason. I've heard people mention insanity. Mental Illness. Demon possession. And I understand why. Because there cannot be any reason for anyone to do this. Ever.

I pictured Jena's preschool. Thank goodness her classroom is towards the end of the hallway. Thank goodness for security measures taken at the school. And then I feel guilty for being glad her class isn't at the front of the school. Because what about those kids? And I also realize that Sandy Hook Elementary had security measures in place as well. Similar to many schools. And I realize that if someone wants to commit that kind of carnage, there is little that a security system will do to stop them.

I thought about the teachers at Sandy Hook. Those brave teachers and administrators, doing what they could to protect the children. We don't give our teachers enough credit for the work they do, but rarely do we also realize what they would do, should tragedy strike. Thank your child's teacher next time you see them.

And then I dared to think about the parents. The panicked parents. I cannot truly grasp the kind of terror that must have gripped each and every parent as they rushed to their babies. A terror that is either relieved when your child is in your arms, and immediately replaced with survivors' guilt, or is replaced by a grief no person should ever experience. There are no winners here.

And the children. The poor, terrified children. To think that the last few moments of your child's life were filled with such horror... and then the surviving students. What an impact this will have on their lives. Their view of school, of humanity in general, forever changed by this day.

Now to the first responders: police, SWAT, fire, EMTs/medics, probably more. I imagine my own Jason responding to the scene. I have to think it would change him, maybe forever. There will be some that will not return to this career. They all will forever carry those heinous images in their minds. Thank a first responder at your next opportunity. They do what the rest of us could or would not. They go in when the rest of us are trying desperately to get out.

Lastly, my mind turns to the shooter. I cannot rejoice at a life lost, any life lost. But I can be grateful that he cannot do it again. His family must be devastated. To deal with the grief of losing mother & son in one day is difficult enough, but to deal with it in this fashion, facing interrogations, media speculations, public scrutiny, all while trying to make sense of it yourself... I cannot imagine how difficult this is for them.

Last night Jena got a little bit spoiled. She doesn't know it, doesn't know why. In exchange for doing one tiny little chore she should have done anyway, I let her stay up "as late as Mommy". I let her play on the computer for hours. And then I let her sleep in my bed. Three things I never let her do. As much for me as it was for her.

Tonight we will take her to see the Elves at a local Christmas display. We will have dinner with family, then enjoy a little holiday spirit. I will do my best to pretend nothing bad happened. Not because I have become "desensitized to violence", as one of my friends suggested of anyone who moves on quickly from such a day, but I will do it for my child. At four years old my daughter has no need to know what happened today. And so I will go thru the next few days as if nothing happened, as if nothing is wrong, as if my mind weren't wandering to that horrific incident time and time again. I will hold back the tears as best I can. I will be forever grateful for my daughter.

And should she overhear anything, from anyone, about what happened, I pray that God would give me the words.

****************************

Dear God,

Lord, we come to You today and ask that You be with the people of Newtown. We ask that You comfort all those directly and indirectly involved with the shooting. We don't understand why these things happen, nor how anyone could ever be comforted in such tragedy, but we do trust in You to do the impossible. Hold them close in their time of need.
Lord I also ask that You guide all of our minds, especially those in law enforcement and education, to find in this a way to protect our children in the future. Let this be used as a learning experience, let some tiny bit of good come from this.
Father, there are not enough words, not the right words, to express what we are all feeling, even thinking. But You know our minds and our hearts. Hear our unspoken.

Amen

A Little Close for Comfort

And then there was the time my husband scared me to death.

During our talk, our really good talk, it came out that Jason had been having chest pains. For three weeks.

There was an incident about three weeks ago when he had severe chest pains that lasted about a minute. Ever since then, he would feel pressure in his chest whenever he took a deep breath.

Considering his father, who passed away recently from a massive heart attack, had is first massive heart attack at a relatively young age (52), I was immediately worried, scared, and yes, angry that he hadn't told me. Upset that he didn't seem to be taking it seriously.

It's possibly I may have over-reacted, simultaneously sobbing & raising my voice, accused him of being selfish & stupid & prideful.

It's possible this is a little close for comfort.

So the next chance I had I scheduled an appointment with our family doctor. We got in same day. I left work to go with him.

They checked him out. Listened to his story. Did an EKG.

Everything appears normal. They believe it was an anxiety attack.

Now that he's been checked out, I will concur. The entire family has been under an enormous amount of stress since his father's passing, with both his mother & brother showing signs of depression. Jason was the only one who seemed unaffected.

But I knew it was all for show.

We did get a talk about Jason getting more fit. He has a strong family history of heart issues, and needs to take precaution.

The truth is that I do as well.

Our doctor recommended more physical activity to be the priority, with eating better a close second. He said when it comes to heart health it's much more important to be fit than to be thin. Will you lose weight if you do those things? Probably. Is that what you should focus on? Not so much.

Get more fit. Get your body in shape. Healthy. Strong. That is the focus.

The truth is, the whole situation scared the crap out of me. Holding-back-the-tears scared. Terrified.

Because the truth is, good or bad, hurt or healed, when it comes right down to it, I want him next to me. He's the one I want. Forever. And I'm not ready to let go of him just yet.

Visiting Papaw's Graveside

Jena asked to visit Papaw's grave. I obliged.

FireGirl Update

So you know what's been going on with Jason, so what about Jena?

Well, she's awesome as always.

She finished her swimming lessons about a month ago. After 6 short weeks she can float on her back unassisted, swim on her back unassisted (the entire length of the pool!), swim on her belly assisted, and flip from front to back unassisted.

She took private lessons thru our local YMCA, and we couldn't be more pleased. For her first lessons, we really wanted the survival stuff down, and that's exactly what happened.

Now we're trying to figure out what class she'll take next.

Preschool is going wonderfully. During the summer they have water play days as well as ice cream days, and they try to spend extra time outside, which I love. Especially since I've been busy at work lately, and sometimes am not getting home until time to start the bedtime routine. So at least I know she's getting a good amount of outdoor play, even if it's not with me.

They recently did her first real evaluation, using the Devereux Early Childhood Assessment (DECA), which is what the State of Kentucky uses as its standard. She did well, and scored above her current age in all areas. Which raises questions I'll address in another post.

Her writing is much clearer (ie. strangers can tell what the letters are, not just me), her picture drawing has suddenly improved by leaps & bounds, and she's beginning to read short words (some phonetically, some by sight). I anticipate she'll be reading no later than age 4.

She's really wowed us with her love of math & numbers. Something she surely didn't get from either of us, but maybe from one of her uncles (sales, sales, engineer), or her grandma (statistics major in college).

She's dealt with the death of her Papaw as well as you can expect a three-year-old. She's not talking about death as much as she had been, although she mentions her dead kitty almost daily. I imagine that's part of her processing it, and may possibly be a projection of her emotions about losing her grandfather. But overall... she's doing well with it.

We do think she's gearing up for another growth spurt. Although I would really appreciate if she would wait until cooler weather. Jena's growth has never really slowed down, and the result is that she gets an entire new wardrobe ever 3 - 6 months, and has since birth. I've already had to throw out some of the shorts I got her in the Spring, because she moved up a size. And now her belly is hanging out of the bottom of some of her shirts. And she's been eating like crazy the past week or so. But I am really gonna push it to try not to have to buy her 2 summer wardrobes this year. Please?!?

What Jena wants to be when she grows up changes frequently, but most often lands on "diver" or "firefighter". Other top favorites are "water rescuer", animal rescuer, and doctor.

Her favorite game is now to pretend to be the mom, while I'm the kid. Mostly because she gets to make the rules and boss me around. Three going on thirteen, I tell ya!

Anyway, in a nutshell she's awesome as ever and growing like a weed. Thanks for checking in!

Randoms

It dawned on me as I was writing one of the latest posts about my nephew, that this blog will be a good chronicle of his journey. No, I'm not at the hospital every day like his family is. But I am the only person writing about it on a near-daily experience.

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You guys know I pre-write most of my posts, right? Well, I do. Most of them. I write them, then schedule for them to be published at 12noon each day.
It works really well for me because I tend to have bursts of writing mojo, followed by writer's block. So if I pre-write them and schedule them out, there's no gap on my blog.
Right now I have the next 3 weeks scheduled out.
99% of the reason behind that is because updates on my nephew kept pushing other posts out further.

***********************

Sometimes I think it'll be weird if I die suddenly (okay, I guess that would always be weird in some way), but in relation to my blog it would be weird because my posts would keep showing up every day at 12noon, even though I was already dead.

Spooky.

********************

The other day Jena told me Tootsie had a week or less before she died.

Mostly I'm writing this down in case it happens.

She is old...

*******************

I guess that's all for now.
As always, thanks for checking in!

Where do you draw the line?

So, following my father-in-law's passing, my mother-in-law didn't want to be alone.

Perfectly understandable for someone who has never lived alone. As did many women in generations past, she went straight from her family's home to her husband's home. At 58 years of age, she has never lived alone.

She did not spend the night alone for 3 weeks after he passed.

Totally understandable. I cannot imagine what an adjustment that will be.

She's also starting asking her sons, mostly Jason, for assistance around the house. Again, perfectly understandable.

The middle son (who lives out of town) has paid for someone to mow the lawn for the next 6 weeks. He also took care of some minor home repairs while he was in town.

The Monday after he left, my MIL asked FireMan to come over to take the garbage out that night. He did. The next morning, as she was leaving for work, she called to ask him when he was bringing the empty cans back in. He went over & did it.

You know, the brand new, easy-to-roll cans that the boys chipped in to purchase to make the task easier for her.

I'm not gonna lie, without some deeper explanation that she has not been willing (or is unable) to provide, I think this is excessive.

I cannot accept "because a man as always done this for me" as a good reason to ask someone, anyone, to drive over to your house and perform such a simple task for you.

My 91-year-old grandma with arthritis takes out her own trash & brings the can back in the house.

When I was 8 months pregnant, with a history of a bad back, I would drag our no-wheels garbage cans across our bumpy driveway to put out the trash.

She is only 58-years-old, works a full time job (ie. is capable of working), has a short, smooth driveway, and brand new easy-to-roll trash cans.

So, we struggle.

How much is adequate support for a widow? your mother-in-law? whose loss occurred less than a month ago?

How much becomes a hindrance to her? holding her back from becoming stronger? enabling her to be helpless?

I'm really struggling with this. I want to be respectful, and helpful, and sympathetic. I do not want to "help" her in a way that both holds her back, and put an unnecessary strain on my husband & family. But how do you find that balance?

Eulogizing my Father-in-Law

as we remember him - smiling, laughing, and  videotaping EVERYTHING so we would have memories to look back on. Yep, that's him.

He was a great man. Something we all knew, but didn't quite realize the extent of until we were forced to think about his life all at once.

Here is the biography his sons & wife wrote for his funeral service.
********************************

Bill's family is blessed with enough memories to fill the pages of an entire library of books that will be passed down from generation to generation at family reunions large enough to fill a city. Bill blessed his family with moments and experiences they will forever cherish. As written by those closest to his heart to share the highlights of his life by sharing his memory, this is Bill's story.

Bill was born in 1949  and raised on a farm in Kentucky, with 4 brothers and 2 sisters. He grew up as a Roman Catholic. At the age of 23, he was drawn to a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. He had a very personal and dramatic salvation experience. A co-worker witnessed to him on the job and invited him to a Pentecostal Church, where he was baptized in the Holy Spirit. This was where he met his wife of 38 years, Delores.

Bill was a skilled brick and stone mason, which God has used to build schools, churches, playgrounds, and orphanages in the United States as well as Romania, Haiti, Dominican Republic, Jamaica, Grenada, and Mexico. God has been able to use Bill's talents and abilities to help numerous missionaries in those countries through his physical labor and his large zest to share joy with everyone he came in contact.

In 1990-2000, Bill served, with his wife, in the Royal Rangers Ministry. He was a commander and taught young boys about Christ and the outdoors. He had a very strong passion for the boys in this ministry. Through this ministry, he became very skilled in the Tomahawk Throw, Knife Throw, and Muzzleloader Shooting. He saw many boys come to the Lord through this ministry and built up in God's Word. Bill, through the Royal Rangers, displayed Godly character and principles that the kids could see and emulate.

In addition to being a brother and husband, Bill was the father of three sons, and grandfather to 3 grandsons and 1 granddaughter, who were all the loves of his life. He enjoyed spending time with them, camping, sharing the outdoors, going to the park, and attending their sporting events.

Bill was very helpful to his sons with building and remodeling projects with their houses. He was always eager to help them get the job done. He also enjoyed sharing recreational activities with them such as boating, skiing, scuba diving, jet skiing, and cliff jumping. All the boys can share stories about their dad's crazy antics, zest for life, and love of adventure. Bill always gave his boys lasting memories when it came to having fun.

As part of Bill's helpful personality, he worked for his wife at a chain of local gas stations. He went out his way to help make the stores and the employees proud of their work. Store managers were always glad to see him walk in the door because it meant he would get those things done that were often overlooked.

Eight years ago, Bill survived a massive heart attack, which began to limit his activities, but it didn't limit his love for his family, zest for life, and his desire to spread joy. Unfortunately, a second heart attack took his life, but his smile, love for his family, and dedication to God will always be remembered by everyone who knew him. Bill's laugh and encouraging words will be missed by all.

**********************

The night of his visitation, four sheriff's deputies had to be dispatched to help control the traffic flow around the funeral home. The funeral director said it might possibly have been the largest visitation service they have ever had in that location. For most of the night, people waited in line for over an hour to pay their respects. Instead of the scheduled 3 hour visitation, we were there for nearly 5 hours.

This isn't to brag, but to testify to what an awesome man he was, and the number of lives he touched.

Quite frankly, I think it has all of us left behind wondering if we are living up to what we can be in this life. What kind of testimony will we leave behind?

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As always, thanks for checking in.

Explaining Death to a Three-Year-Old

Well, if you've followed me for long, you might gather that we prefer the open & honest path to difficult subjects with Jena. Of course, we attempt to word things on her level, but we've never shielded her from difficult topics. Death is no exception.

Jena has attended every funeral we've gone to since she was born. She went to her first one when she was about 6 months old.

And of course, you may remember when her kitten met an untimely death.

So our daughter is no stranger to the topic. But still, she's only 3 yrs old. And... this is the first close person to her to have passed.

****************

When I got the phone call the night Papaw went into the hospital, Jena was with me. I told her Papaw (my FIL) was very sick and was at the hospital. His heart was very sick. But only adults could go where he was, so she would spend the night with Grandpa (my dad). We had to go fast, and please cooperate and do what I say, because this is an emergency.

Then I had to explain what "emergency" meant. She was proud of her new big word, and insisted on telling everyone that we had an e-mer-gency.

She told me Papaw needed to drink some more water (he always used to say that drinking water makes you better). She also told me that the doctor needed to take his "thing" and listen to Papaw's heart go "ba-boom, ba-boom". Smart kid.

I knew he had passed before we got to the hospital, but chose not to tell her that night. I knew there would be questions, and I knew she wouldn't want to leave me. So I met my dad in the parking lot of the hospital and handed her off, before heading in to be with Jason and the rest of the family (he had been on shift & so drove straight there).

****************

The next day my dad brought Jena to my mother-in-law's house, where we were. We intercepted them in the driveway, so she wouldn't come in & see all the other people, and the crying. My dad chose to leave immediately.

Our conversation went something like this (Jason & I did this together, but I don't remember who said what, so words in blue are both of ours):

Mommy & Daddy need to talk to you about something really serious, okay?
Remember last night when I told you Papaw was really sick? His heart was really sick?

nods

Well, he died. Papaw died.

Papaw died?

Yes, Papaw died.

Where he die?

(we knew this was coming, and Jason had prepared for it)

We walked her to the back yard, where Papaw had collapsed while working on the fence he was installing.

We showed her the spot.

Right here. Papaw was putting in a new fence, and he collapsed right here. The ambulance came to get him, but he was too sick, and he died on the way to the hospital.

long pause

If your heart no go ba-boom ba-boom no more, you die.

Yes, baby. If your heart stops going ba-boom, ba-boom, you die.
So Papaw's dead. He's in Heaven now, with God. He won't be here anymore.
Do you have any questions?

shakes head 'no'

Okay, well you let us know if you have any questions, or want to talk about anything, okay?

We went inside, where everyone immediately fell silent. Someone mouthed to me "does she know?", and I shook my head yes. Jena got down & started playing.

*********************

A couple of hours later, we were eating dinner (yummy church lady food), on the back deck.

Jena asked her first question.

Papaw died...

Yes, hunny, Papaw's dead.

Will Daddy finish the fence?

Of course, baby. Of course, Daddy will finish Papaw's fence for him.

**********************

Later that night, I was giving her a bath at my mother-in-law's house. Finally in a room alone, relaxed, the questions started coming. And then she asked for Jason, wanting to talk to Daddy about "dead" and "deading".

We talked a long time that night. I don't remember all of the conversation, but I do remember preparing her for the visitation & funeral, explaining that we would see Papaw one more time.

How we see Papaw? Papaw's in Heaven.

crap

Well, hunny, when you go to Heaven, you get a new body, that's not sick anymore, not hurt anymore, it's just perfect! So Papaw's in Heaven with his new body, but his old body is still here. When we go to the funeral we'll see his old body one more time.

She thought for a minute.

I think Papaw's in his new body dancing in Heaven.

Yes, baby, I bet he is.

At one point, I could tell she was conflicted. She looked as if she wanted to cry, but was holding it back.

And so, I explained.

It's okay to be sad, hunny. We can be happy for Papaw that he's in Heaven now, we can be happy for him that he got his new body and isn't sick anymore, but we can still be sad for us, because we miss him so much. That's okay.

I was crying before I finished. And so was she.

********************

Over the next few days, we talked a lot about Papaw in Heaven, in his new body, talked about his old body. Talked about being happy for him, being sad for us. I swear, I think she gets it better than any of us.

********************

We took her to preschool two days after Papaw died. I informed the teachers, and told them that we were open & honest with her, that we were Christians, so that is the direction our conversations come from, and that if Jena had any questions or wanted to talk, they were welcome to talk with her, as much as they were comfortable.

She went to her old babysitter's twice (three times? I don't remember), and we also informed them that they were welcome to talk to her if she wanted. We are very familiar with the family, and knew their beliefs were the same as ours, so just told them to be honest with her if she wanted to talk.

Same at church on Sunday. She went to her class as usual, and we informed the teacher.

She talked with the babysitter a little, but not with anyone else. And that's okay too.

**********************

I could go on & on about the conversations we had with her the past few weeks. I really could. It's amazing to hear a three year old who seems to get it better than most adults.

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As always, thanks for checking in.

What to do when someone dies

Not you. Not your immediate family. The family or close friend of someone else, and you are wanting to pay your respects.

I also want to say that I understand that a lot of times people just aren't sure what to do. So here's some advice from a family that just went thru it.

I have at least one story for each of these. But for the sake of others' privacy, I won't share.

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- remember it's not about you
Like, at all. Offering to do a tribute at the visitation or funeral is nice. But don't push it. And stop putting your name on everything. Repeatedly. It's not about you.

- send a card
Cards are great because those mourning can open them when they are ready, and they don't require any face-to-face reaction.

- stop asking how everyone is doing
The thought is nice, but pretty much everyone is grieving and sad. I know it's habit more than anything, but a better questions is "do you need anything?"
That and trying to contort my face into a sad one when I was actually having a pretty good moment, just so I'll seem sincere... well, it gets old. Just let me enjoy my good moment, 'kay?

- offer to bring food (this would also apply for births, hospitalizations, etc)
But ask first. Hopefully someone is coordinating. If not, the fact that you even asked will be appreciated by the family. Especially when they receive 3 lasagnas on the same day. The family will remember that you asked before showing up. They really will. (I could seriously write a whole post on the food thing. Maybe I will).

- don't stay more than 15 minutes
Exception for close family members and friends. But staying for 7 hours to visit with the family? Excessive. Not only are they tired of entertaining you, there's also a good chance there's work they need to get done to prepare for the visitation / funeral, and you being there hinders that. And stop eating the free food that others have brought for the family. Especially if you didn't bring any.

- if the immediate family includes a small child, offer to babysit
Depending on how much work needs to be done to prepare for the visitation / funeral, a babysitter can be a God-send. And even if they don't need it, the offer will be appreciated.

- don't overestimate how close you are to the family
This requires you to be others-focused and humble, but seriously, don't think you're more important than you are. If they didn't call you when the deceased went into the hospital, chances are you aren't as close to them as you think you are.

- do something
Even if you feel awkward. Whether you bring food, send a card, stop by (for a few minutes), or call to see if they need anything, the family will take notice of who does these things, and who doesn't.

- go to the visitation / funeral
If you are able, go. If for some reason you cannot attend, send flowers. The family does notice. Even if you can't stay long. Even if you don't say a word, show up. It is appreciated.

- if you do attend the visitation / funeral, don't wander into the private family room
Even if you're (extended) family. And for crying-out-loud, don't eat the food in there. This is a private area for the grieving family to escape to if they need it, and to grab a bite if they need it after being on their feet for 3+ hours. This is not for you. If no one in the immediate family escorted you there, then it is not for you.
*side note* I didn't even know there were such things as private family rooms in funeral homes until 2 weeks ago...

- if you send flowers, put your address on the back of the card
This is seriously a very small detail, but I just finished writing out 'thank you' cards, so...
If the flower shop offers it, write it. The fact is that even though the funeral is over, the family is still grieving, tired, and stressed. But they will still likely send you a "thank you" card. Make it easier for them. (I could probably do a post on flowers too. Maybe I should)

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In fact, the whole point of this post, is to help you make it easier on the grieving family. Nothing can change the fact that they are mourning the loss of a loved one. Nothing can make them happy before they are ready. But you can take some steps to make their lives a little bit easier in the days & weeks to come. And especially in these situations, every little bit helps.

What about you guys? Any other suggestions?

Because they're mourning too

This past week has been, understandably, difficult.

And I have been reflective.

And I have learned something about myself.

Apparently, I can get a little mean when I'm sad.

I didn't realize it at first. See, this friend, I worked with him. So I dealt with the loss every time I came into work.

The information flow was lacking, at best. Management did not manage. Work (including mine) did not get done. People were snarky for no apparent reason. People seemed selfish at times.

And for my people, well, I'm their person. I'm the one they can talk to without judgement. The one who understands. And yes, being one of only (now) two women in our division, I'm the softer side. I'm the one they trust to not have to be big tough men all the time, and be understood, and not judged.

Which means I have to be there for them.

And all of this led up to an enormous amount of stress.

But I digress...

The end of the day we got the news, I realized that I had been not very nice during the day. I had been uncharacterisically judgy of those around me, snarky even. More importantly, I realized why.

If I were mad, I wouldn't be sad.

It seemed the minute I let my wall down, I crumbled.

Somehow, being angry helped me to keep going, helped me to be there.

The (unfortunate?) thing was there wasn't anything to be angry at. Nothing big. So I found myself being angry & snarky & judgy about little stupid things. Definitely at work. Probably at home too (sorry FireMan & FireGirl).

After that realization, I tried to keep my anger to myself (except for the occasional vent to FireMan), because I realized I wasn't really angry. I was hurting.
And I kept reminding myself that they're mourning too.

The lack of information flow?
Well, some of that I think was an inability for people to face what happened. Even if they're a manager & it's their job to distribute that info. I also think there were huge gaps because people didn't know exactly how to handle the situation. Not even those in HR. Our company, huge as it is, deals with several deaths of employees each year. Illness, natural causes, and accidents. In my seven years here, this is the first suicide. And I think they struggled with how & what to tell who & when.
Grief counsellors were scheduled, moved, brought in, rescheduled, moved again, extended.
They just didn't know what to do.

People were snarky & selfish & didn't manage & didn't work...
for the same reasons I did all of those things. They were mourning too.

And so I let myself be angry. I honor my coping mechanisms. But I did my best not to show it. Because that's just not nice.

But I grew patience, and grew understanding.

And I was their person.

They came to my desk and talked. They asked me to come to their desk and talk. Co-workers who had left our division years ago,... they came to me, and they talked. And I listened. And I nodded knowingly, because I understood everything they said. And when they asked me, I talked to them too.

Even when I just wanted everyone to go away and stop talking about it.

I broke down last Thursday night in bed. FireMan rubbed my back as I sobbed for my friend. I really wanted to call in on Friday. And the reason I wanted to call in was the very reason I couldn't.

See, my people travel during the week. Most of them were gone when we got the news. But on Friday? Everyone would be back. And everyone would want to talk. And the sore would be new for me, again.

And when they asked me to go buy a card for the family for everyone to sign, I did so. And I came back in & threw the card on my managers desk, and loudly sucked in air as I tried to hold back the tears on my way to the bathroom. And I sobbed in the bathroom stall for a while.

Then I composed myself, stormed back into the office, stiffened my jaw, and went about my work in an angry-ish silence. I'm sure anyone who might have seen me who didn't know me might have thought I was the biggest bitch that ever lived.

But my people? They just let me be. Because they knew. How? Because they're mourning too.

My reaction to the news of Bin Laden's death

I cannot celebrate death. It just seems wrong to me.

I cringed at the sight of parties in the streets, but at the same time, I understood them.

I understand the psychological impact on Americans, and their allies, at his death.

But it's still death.

I did find some satisfaction in watching video of a fire truck in New York City pull up to a crowd of revellers. I watched as the firefighters climbed atop the truck, taking pictures of the crowds. They seemed happy, although definitely not in the same rambunctious manner as those below them. People gave them high-fives, they waved.

But mostly, it seemed, they just took it all in. Watched.

I think I get it.

See, they lost 343 brothers on 9/11.

Bin Laden was the self-proclaimed mastermind behind those deaths.

There is some reconciliation in knowing he is gone, but I imagine it is difficult to be rambunctiously joyous in the face of something that reminds them of the 343.

343.

I find that not many people know that number. Not the way the fire family does.

I was not a fire wife in 2001. Not only had I not met FireMan yet, he wasn't a firefighter yet. Not in 2001.

I can only imagine what I would have felt had the now "us" been around back then.

I read today that the news of Bin Laden's death is actually triggering PTSD-type flashbacks among survivors of 9/11.

I can only imagine.

And so I met the news in a kind of emotionless way. I took it in. I watched as others revelled.

And although I can rejoice in the delivering of an enemy into our hands, I cannot rejoice in a soul that has been lost forever.

There has been too much death. Yes, maybe I'm in a different frame of mind because of my friend. But reflecting on what started this to begin with... thousands of innocents killed. 343 firefighters never to return home. Soldiers dying overseas.

There has been too much death already. One more, whomever it may be... well, I just cannot celebrate death.

Focus on the amazing

I've been thinking a lot since last week. A lot.
Some might say my thoughts are morbid.
I suppose "morbid" is the word. Although I don't feel that it's so.

It makes me think of my own death mostly. What preparations maybe I should make now. What can I do to ease the burden for my family.

See, I came to terms with my mortality when I was a teenager. I began planning my funeral / memorial service when I was 15 (as if I have a say), and although some things have evolved, it's still basically the same.

While other people's deaths can shake me to the core, my own... I am at peace with.

No, not in a oh-my-goodness-call-the-suicide-watch kinda way. Not at all.

In the way of I've-accepted-that-as-part-of-life-I-will-die. Someday.

See, when I was 15, my grandma died. Ten days later my uncle died.

It was a difficult summer.

And that's when I began planning. I think in a way it's a coping mechanism for me. A way to take my mind off of the sad, off of the loss, and to focus on more practical things, things related to what happened, but that I have some control over. Or pretend that I do.

As a teenager, and even into my early 20's, I had my plans all mapped out, written down on notebook paper that had crinkled over the years.

Where I wanted the service to take place, what quotes I wanted read, what music I wanted played.

That all has changed, but one thing has remained.

I know it's not my decision, and as my mom has pointed out, memorials are for those left behind, not those who have passed - but... I hope the focus is on my life, and not my death.

I have led, by my own judgement, an amazing life. Trials? Sure. Heartache? Absolutely. But wonderful, awe-inspiring moments? You better freakin' believe it.

I hope amidst what sadness is there, there is greater joy in a life that was lived fully. I want happy music played, my favorite songs sung, trumpets must be blaring a rich melody somewhere.

No boring quiet service, please, full of folks in their Sunday best whispering condolences. I am not (in my opinion) leading a boring, quiet life.

Wear what you wear. Be who you are. I certainly will be being who I am, right?

Tell funny stories, laugh, and smile, and sing. Yes... a music-lover should have singing there, right?

I think I would prefer to be cremated, though this thought horrifies my mother. Just seems like a coffin buried in the ground is such a waste to hold a now empty shell.

But my mother is right, it's not for me, it's for those left behind to mourn, right?

Which leads to a greater (than me) idea:

What if, instead of all the tradition that encompasses our rites of mourning, what if we started mourning in ways that celebrated the person that has passed?

I don't know, but somehow I think this might just ease our mourning, make the passing a little easier on those left behind to know that they paid their final respects in a way that their loved one would have appreciated.

So much of what we do is decided by tradition, instead of being defined by who we are.

Yes, there is a place for tradition, I love tradition in its time & place, and have been called by some, very "traditional". And if tradition & rites are your thing, then by all means, have that be your thing.

I don't know. I guess in some ways it just seems like an injustice to those who have passed to ignore the amazing life they lived and fill it with plain flowers, and dressy clothes, and whispered words.

Because we all live amazing lives in some way, right?

This is kind of rambling, I know. Just some of my thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head.

Mostly, to stop focusing on that one moment, on that moment of death, and start focusing on the amazing life that preceded that one final moment.

Yes, focus on the amazing, on the good, awe-inspiring, beautiful life that was.

Focus on the amazing.

My friend? He killed himself.

It sounds so harsh, doesn't it?

But it is harsh. "committed suicide" just doesn't sound right in this case.

Perhaps because it was such a violent death.

I will not go into details, for privacy's sake, but the method he chose, is an excruciating, painful manner of death. Perhaps one of the worst ways to die I can think of.

And it was not quick.

His attempt occurred in the middle of the night last Sunday night. He died Wednesday afternoon. His last three days being spent in the ICU.

He did it at home. I do not know what, if anything, his family saw.

I do know the first responders who responded to the 9-1-1 call (I do not know who placed the call), witnessed the entire incident, and for reasons I will not go into here, were helpless to intervene. I don't know what happened to those first responders, but honestly, I could see this as one of those career-ending calls. The ones that haunt you the rest of your life. The one that could make them not return to the job.

The astounding thing to me? There were no warning signs. None.

I spoke with him about 10 days prior. He was his normal, happy, jovial self. He had posted new pics of his kids on his Facebook page just a couple of days prior to that. Through the network of loved ones that has evolved since this occurred, I have been in touch with friends, family, and co-workers. All proclaim that there were no warning signs.

In the days & weeks leading up to it, he appeared to be his normal self. We have all racked our brains trying to think of anything we might have missed. It just wasn't there. No indications that anything was amiss, that he was struggling with anything at all.

And what is so devestating to me, is that whatever it was, whatever pain or struggle he was having within himself, the idea that that distress was so great that he decided that ending his life, and ending it in what he certainly knew was a most painful manner, was better than continuing on.

That thought... it is that thought that haunts me.

I hurt for him. For the internal pain he was in that led up to his decision. It breaks my heart to think of my friend struggling so.

My mind swirls with thoughts. I have thought of little else for days. I could fill volumes with what my mind is speaking.

I might write more on the matter later. But for now, this is it.

My friend died this week. My friend killed himself his self.

My friend died yesterday

The circumstances surrounding his death are heartbreaking.

He leaves behind a wife and three young children.

I feel as if I should say more, and perhaps I will at a later date.

But right now... I just desire to be... quiet.

I only ask that you please pray for his family. They most certainly need comfort at this time.

Till next time.

*****************

"When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."    -- Kahlil Gibran

Did you hear the one about the husband who handled everything perfectly?

No, really.

Last week, you know, the night of the horror scene, he handled it perfectly.

I mean, perfectly for me.

When we were still trying to find the cats, he firmly ordered me around, forcing me to get out of my hysterics and get into action.

After everything was discovered, he took care of all of the... stuff.

You know:
    - burying FireKitty
    - cleaning up the blood
    - burning things that had blood on them
    - throwing away FireKitty's collar & bed, and random other items I asked him to because they reminded me of her

He watched me be hysterical, helped me up off the ground, gave me light hugs, but didn't force me to be all cuddly with him. Which is good.

He let me take a shower. A long, hot shower and when I came out he had swept and mopped all the floors in the house, and done quite a bit of tidying up.

I think, in his world, where he had to fix it, but he couldn't fix it, so he had to do something, so... he cleaned. Not sure why he cleaned, but I suspect it had something to do with making sure I didn't accidentally come across any random miniscule drops of blood anywhere else in the house, even if we didn't know they were there.

And when my mom called me back with perfect timing about 10 minutes after I got out of the shower (I had called her on the drive home, before we knew anything had happened), and we talked, and it was so good.
And I found out later that he called her while I was in the shower, and told her what happened, and that she needed to call me back, and gave her a timeframe.

And he didn't say a word about the fact that I used up all the hot water.

Or that I didn't do a darn thing the rest of the night, but sit on the couch in my flannel PJs, staring off into space.

And he didn't say a word when I turned on Netflix, and pulled up Gray's Anatomy Season 3, and started watching it, to distract myself.

And he didn't insist that I come to bed. He let me stay up, not even mentioning the fact that it was already really late and I was supposed to be at work early the next morning.

And two days later, when we had our next trainer appointment, he didn't even ask if I were going.
Because somehow he knows, that there's a tiny part of my mind that thinks "First time back to the trainer since August, and this is what happens. I didn't even want to go. I could've put in some laundry, and sat on the couch watching FireGirl dance to her "shows", and everything would've been fine. Stupid gym".*note* as silly as I know that thought process is, it's there. And even if those thoughts aren't there, it's gonna be hard to remove that association. I still get anxious every time I drive home, let alone trying to go back to the place I was when it happened. You understand?

Yes, he handled it perfectly. For me. He handled me perfectly.

And I remembered. That is why I married him.

Well, one of many reasons. But yes, that is why I married my FireMan. Because he gets me. When it really, really counts - he gets me.

So What About the Dog ??

Well, right now it looks like we are keeping Tootsie.

Against my wishes.

My feeling is that having her in our household, on our property, is now a known threat to Tucker's safety.

We took steps to keep her separate from the cats, but something happened (we still don't know what), and the first chance she got she killed Tess, and went after Tucker.

To me, the best decision is to:
    - fulfill my responsibility to Tucker to take every step possible to keep him safe, by finding Hydrant a new home
    - fulfill my responsibility to Tootsie to take every step possible to make sure her new home is a good, loving, responsible one. With no cats. Ever.
    - for several reasons, acclimate Buddy & Flopsy to living primarily inside the home, but crated when we are not home

Jason disagrees. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You see, Tootsie is his dog. He's had her the longest, for eight years.
So I don't know that it's so much that he disagrees with my reasoning, as much as he can't bring himself to get rid of her.

I understand. I disagree, but I understand.

We talked argued about it last night. In short order our mature, reasonable discussion of possible solutions degraded into a childish exchange, just using big words to mask the immaturity. And just to be clear, we both fell into that.

His idea is to use our underground fence system to fence off all openings to the house, except one: the laundry room, which is where the dogs currently used to stay on nights it's too cold for them to be outside.
It's actually been cold enough (single digits) for me to bring them in the past two nights, but I can't bring myself to do it. The "what-ifs" won't stop running thru my mind.

He feels this will not only prevent Tootsie from getting into the house unexpectedly, but also keep gun-shy Buddy from damaging the doors trying to get in, come hunting season.

I agree that it is a good idea, and possibly still worth doing, even if we get rid of Tootsie, but the biggest problem is that we already had taken steps to separate the dogs from the cats, and while we were out, something had happened, and they got together. Something beyond our control. So what happens if the fence shorts out? Or we miss the battery on her collar running low? or there's some other malfunction?

I don't feel that it's worth the risk.

The risk of reliving that scene again. Or of that scene happening at a time when Jena comes home with us. Or that scene repeating itself (God forbid) in a time & place where we see it unfold, and maybe Jena sees something so... awful.

Or Jena gets a little older and decides that Tootsie wants to play with Tucker so brings Tootsie in the house, thru the laundry room. Or takes Tucker out into the yard so they can play. And then not only witnesses what happens, but lives with knowing that she did it.

Yeah. To me, that's not worth the risk.

To him, it is.

To him, those are all random "what ifs" that are very unlikely to happen. But after what Tootsie did to Tess the first time she had the opportunity, I see it more as a matter of time before the opportunity presents itself again. We can't be there all the time, we can't be everywhere, see everything.

He also thinks getting rid of another pet so soon after losing Tess would be too traumatic for Jena.

I think we need to remove the known risk from the household, to prevent the likelihood of an even greater trauma in the future.

But not only is it his dog, he is also the head of the household, so he will most likely "win". Although I decided from the beginning this is one of those things that no one "wins". It definitely feels like one of those situations where there is no "right" decision, where every possible solution, is a bad one.

As we went to bed, I asked him if he'd made a decision. He said he had not. I told him if he planned on keeping Tootsie, then I expected to see additional locks installed on the French doors, and the additional fencing installed around the house, like yesterday.
My husband & I are both world-class procrastinators, but I told him there would be no "next time I'm off, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year". Not with this. That if he decided to keep her, then his next day off I expect to come home from work to see the new locks in place and the supplies for the fencing purchased and the installation at least under very good progress, if not completed. And that if it couldn't all be completed in one day, it would be completed his very next day off.

Period.

I guess we'll see what his final decision is. But I think I already know. {{ sigh }}

How is Jena Handling the Loss?

Thankfully, Jena was not with us when we discovered that Tootsie had killed Tess. Jason & I had a late appointment with our physical trainer, and his mom had offered to keep Jena overnight. I really didn't want her to, but reluctantly agreed around 5pm that night. So glad I did.

I picked her up from the in-laws' house after work the next day. As soon as we left their driveway, I turned off her CD of children's worship songs and told her I needed to talk to her about something important, as I adjusted the rearview mirror so I could see her face.

I told her that the night before, while she was spending the night with Mamaw & Papaw, when Mommy & Daddy got home, we found out that while we were gone, something had happened and Tess had died. Tess was dead.

I asked her if she knew what "dead" meant, and she just stared at me. I told her that when someone dies, it means they are gone. Forever.

She paused.

Then began repeating:

"I spend night at Papaw's. Mom & Dad come home. Sumfing happen. Tess diiiieeeeeevvvvvvv"Over, and over, and over again. All the way to McDonald's (because Lord knows the child was getting whatever she wanted that night). I suppose repeating it was her way of processing the information.

At McDonald's, when I saw that our food was dwindling and we would be leaving shortly, I told her I just wanted to make sure she understood that Tess had died, and was gone. That when we got home, Tess would not be there.

She repeated the phrase again.

"I spend night at Papaw's. Mom & Dad come home. Sumfing happen. Tess diiiieeeeeevvvvvvv"

Then she looked up at me, with a twinkle in her eye.

"Mommy! Ask Tess what happen!"
{{ insert heartbreak here }}

Just the way she said it. Like she had just thought of the most brilliant idea. We'll just ask Tess  what happened.
So I explained that we can't ask Tess, because, remember, she's gone. She's not going to be at the house. Ever again.

Jena seemed to ignore me, and went on playing with her toy that she had gotten with her Happy Meal. And then it was time to leave. And she threw a world class tantrum. Throwing things, lying on the floor, the whole bit. And I was by myself. So gathering food, throwing away a tray, collecting things that had been thrown, getting a coat on a flailing toddler... well, these things take time.
So I really didn't appreciate the glares I started getting from other customers. And then from the manager. I mean really?!? Can't you see I'm by myself here, trying to get her out of the restaurant. I suppose I could have left our food on the table, but I'm sure that would have drawn a glare or nasty comment as well. Or left the things she'd thrown on the floor, but again, another glare or comment. Or not taken the time to try to get her coat on. But it was 18 degrees out, and she's two, so... yeah, I'm gonna take the time. Geez! Cut a mother a break.

Anywhoo, I digress. I told her again a few minutes into the drive home. I just really wanted her to understand that Tess was not going to be at the house. As much as she could understand.

And so, we pulled into the driveway and I turned off the engine and turned to look at her.

"I just want to make sure you understand that Tess died. She's not here anymore. She's gone. We only have one cat now. Just Tucker. Okay?"

"Mommy, Tess hidin'"

"No, Jena, Tess isn't hiding. She's gone. She's just not here anymore, not here anywhere, okay? Just Tucker now. No more Tess."

"Tess sum-wer (somewhere)"

I paused. There was one way to handle pet death that I hadn't wanted to go, but Jason had (he was working, so I won by virtue of being the one who had to do it). But maybe I should say it now. Now that she had said "somewhere".

"Jena, Tess is in Heaven. When pets die, that's where they go, they go to Heaven. Do you know where Heaven is? Heaven is where God lives. So since Tess died, she's living with God now. And He's gonna keep her, okay? She's gonna live with Him, and He's not bringing her back. She lives with God now."

 No response.
We got out of the car, and went into the house. She started walking around, mumbling something. I couldn't really make it out, although I did hear "God" repeatedly.

And then... she became obsessed with Tucker. She wanted him to play kitchen with her. She tried to read books to him. She wanted him to sleep in her bed. And she talked about taking him to the sitter's house the next day.

Sweet girl.

A couple of hours later, while eating her snack, she looked at me and very matter-of-factly said:

"Mommy! Go pick Tess up now! She hidin'."
"Hunny, she's not hiding. I can't pick her up, because she's gone, remember? She's not here anymore. Ever."
 
And that was it for that night. When I tucked her in, and we were saying our prayers, I said a special prayer thanking God for the time we had with Tess, and for what a blessing she had been in our lives the short time she was with us.

The next morning, no mention of Tess at all. Until we were leaving. We have a habit of saying goodbye to the cats when walking out the door.

"Goodbye Tucker! Have a nice day! We'll see ya later!"
"Bye-bye Tucker! Bye-bye Tess!" {pause} "Nope. No Tess."
 
She continued walking out the door. I, however, started bawling. I have taken very strong efforts to not cry about this in front of Jena. I don't want her to feed off of my emotion, I want her to have her own reactions to this event in her life. But this time, I lost it. We got in the car, and drove to the sitter's.

And that was that. That evening, we cut our nails before bathtime. First Jena, then mommy, then Tucker's claws.

"Do Tess nails!" she exlaimed excitedly.

"I can't, hunny, remember? Tess's gone."

She mentioned her again this morning. She was singing, and kept saying Tess's name over and over. I couldn't really make out the rest of the words.

And that's the last time she's mentioned her. I keep waiting for her to start looking for Tess. Or to call for her. Or to ask me questions. I keep waiting for it, but so far it hasn't happened.

She seems to be handling it very well. Much better than I am, anyway. I'm still a mess.

Scenes from a Horror Film

**WARNING** this post contains content that some readers may find disturbing. Read at your own risk.

Do you ever feel like you're living a scene from a movie? And even after it's over, it seems like it couldn't have really happened? Like it must have been a movie? And you can actually almost see yourself from the outside, like you're watching the movie?

*********************************

Like when you come home at night, and you're gathering some items from the car to bring in while your husband goes inside, and then he comes back out and yells to you that the dogs were in the house?

And you're confused, and you're like "What do you mean the dogs were in the house? How'd they get in?", and you actually chuckle, because it's not like your dogs grew opposable thumbs the two hours you were gone.

But he yells back "I don't know, but all three dogs were in the house".

And you shake your head and walk toward the house, confused, puzzled at how this could have happened, when all at once that confusion just doesn't matter any more and the how doesn't matter any more as the realization of what this really means sinks in.

It means that your cat-agressive dog has been loose in the house, unsupervised. With the cats.

 You push thru the front door and drop the items you'd gathered from the car on the floor and scream to your husband "Where are my cats?!?"And he looks at you and says plainly "I don't know"

And then you begin hyper-ventilating, and repeating over and over again "where are my cats? where are my cats? where are my cats?" and you nearly collapse on the floor, but do manage to get your feet under you in time to stumble to the garbage can to vomit.

And by this time your husband has locked the dogs in the laundry room, and informed you that the back door was wide open when he came in, and that you need to get it together to find the cats, because you're the only one they'll come to, and they could be fine, they could be hiding in the house, or could be outside somewhere, but you have to find them, because you are the one they trust.

And you remember that your male cat, when he got out at your old house, would hide under your deck, so you go out the back door, and look around, and down the steps, and around to the front of the deck so you can bend down to look under it.

And then you see an unusual... shape... a few feet away.

And you don't want to look, but it could be anything, and you have to get it together because you have a responsibility to these cats to find them. They could be fine. Or they could be injured, and need help. So you cannot not look.

But it's really dark out, living out in the country like you do, and so you have to take a few steps closer, and still your eyes are struggling to adjust, and then you see...

And you hear yourself let out a wail as you stumble a few feet away, and then you sink onto the snowy ground and you know you are yelling something, but you don't know what.

But your husband does hear you and comes running out the back door and yells "What?!?" and you look up at him, and point to the lifeless body of your female cat, your daughter's kitten, as you cry out "They killed her!"

And he says "You have to get up. You have to find the other cat". And you know he's right, so that's it, you're composed, you're on a mission.

You meet your husband on the deck. He hugs you. He asks if you want him to bury her. You tell him yes, but make sure it's somewhere the dogs can't dig her up. He tells you to check the spare room for the male cat, because that's the room the cat-aggressive dog walked out of when he came in.

Then you walk past him to go inside, and you see it for the first time. How you didn't see it before, you don't know, but there it is.

Blood.

On the floor of your fireplace room, just a few feet from the back door.

It happened in the house.

You pause for only a second before moving thru the house, calling out to your male cat.

You push open the door to the spare room, and there he is, sitting, frozen, staring at you wide-eyed, filthy, having just crawled out of a vent in the floor.

As you go to move toward him, he moves toward the vent. He's still scared terrified.

You leave him alone, shutting the door so you'll know where he is and he can feel some security.

You go back to the deck to find your husband, walking past the blood once again.

You can barely see him, he's so far away, almost in the woods. With a shovel in his hand.

You stare at him, frozen at the scene. He yells to you "Did you find him?!?"

At first it's all you can do is to nod, then you yell back "He's okay, I think he's okay"

And then, now that your mission is complete, and your adrenalin is beginning to subside, the emotions come flooding back, and you collapse in the snow on the back deck, sobbing so hard you can't breathe, your chest hurts.

You're not there long, as your  husband comes as soon as he finishes his task, and pulls you up from the snow, he gives you a light hug, then turns to direct you in the house, telling you to find your cat, go hold your cat.

You go, pointing to the blood as you walk past it once again and mumble something about how you really need him to take care of that please.

And the rest of the night is spent in shock and mourning, over-reaching grief, confusion, disgust, sadness, and... heartache.

The kind of heartache where your chest actually hurts.

Not only because your beloved pet has died...

    ... but also because you now have to explain to your two-year-old that her cat is gone, forever.
    ... and because you know that this night sealed the fate on at least one of your dogs


*********************************

My God, I wish I didn't know that scene either. Lord, do I wish that.

The Fire Chief is Not Welcome at My Home

At least not pulling up in his department vehicle unannounced, in his dress uniform, accompanied by FireMan's captain, during or shortly after FireMan's shift.

FireMom's recent post reminded me of one of the hardest parts of being a FireWife. Which is why I never talk about it. I rarely think about it.

FireMan's job could kill him.And not in that anyone-could-die-doing-anything-at-any-moment sorta way. In the no-really-any-time-the-tones-go-off-he's-putting-himself-in-harm's-way kinda way.

I remember, shortly after he got his job as a full-time firefighter, so excited after so many years as a volunteer, so excited to be getting paid to fulfill his dream... one day he called me at work, so non-chalantly.

He said he was filling out paperwork for his personnel file, routine stuff, and began asking me questions. Name, date of birth, social security number, etc. Routine stuff.
Cell phone, work phone, alternate phone, physical work address (not mailing address, physical location)

Wait, what?

I laughed. Why do they need the actual physical location of my work?

It's so the chief knows where to go.

See, it's just like you may have seen in the movies.
If a firefighter dies in the line of duty, in most departments (all that I know of, really), the chief puts on his dress uniform, at least one other fire officer joins him, they get in the chief's department vehicle, and notify the next of kin in person.

Thanks for calling me at work, hunny (as I start crying at my desk). Timing is not always FireMan's strong suit, that's for sure.

I managed to compose myself to get thru the conversation.

We got thru that, and moved on to the rest of the "routine" personnel questions.

Choose another firefighter to accompany the chief to notify your wife of your death.
If you choose, please name your religion, place of worship, and any clergy you wish to be present in the hospital, or to preside over your funeral.
Would you like a formal firefighter's funeral & burial, or a citizen's?
Would you like to be buried in the firefighter's memorial cemetery?
Please select up to eight (8) men to act as pall bearers at your funeral

There were more. I know there were, but they escape me now.

We finished the conversation, as if it were nothing, I hung up, went to the bathroom, and bawled.

I don't know that every department does things that way. I'm certain that many husbands answer those questions without telling their wives.

But I'm glad that FireMan's department does. And I'm glad he included me in the answering of those questions.

Even if the memory of that conversation is a stark reminder of the danger he faces every day. Even if it means that a little, itsy bitsy party of me resents the Fire Chief, just because I know that if the God-forbid ever happened, he would be the one to tell me.

And no, Chief, you are not welcome at my home. Or at my work. At least not in your dress uniform. Not accompanied by another fire officer. Not in your department vehicle. Not unannounced. Not during or shortly after FireMan's shift.



LORD, Father, Abba - may that day never come