I’ve been holding this post for awhile for no particular reason. Today, as the death of Osama bin Laden covers the news, it seems appropriate to post it in honor of the first responders of 9/11 and the first responders everyday who risk their lives to save ours. My deepest appreciation to you all.
My dad has had a scanner ever since I can remember. It’s tones and the voices of the dispatcher have become a strange sort of emergency soundtrack to my life. To be honest, I don’t notice it in any real, conscious manner anymore.
Unless the tones go off in the middle of the night when I’m knee-deep in insomnia once again.
Then I start to think of everyone else who’s awake now.
There’s the volunteer fireman who doesn’t have time to shake off sleep as he reaches for his coat and boots. He leans over to kiss his wife, who is stirring slightly at the sudden activity, and softly says, “Fire down near the Smith’s place. Be home soon. Love ya.”
She murmurs a response, but she’s wide awake by the time the door clicks in place behind him. House fires are dangerous. Walls can collapse. Ceilings can cave in. She stays in bed, but she doesn’t sleep.
The Red Cross volunteer isn’t sleeping either. She reaches in the refrigerator for a Diet Coke as she heads out the door. There’s no time to make coffee, but she’ll need the caffeine to get through the next few hours of caring for the family who is right now watching their home go up in smoke.
And then, there’s the Jones family. One minute they’re asleep in their beds. The next they hear the shrill shriek of the smoke alarm. They escape the house quickly, wearing only their pajamas. They run across the street where Mr. Jones pounds on the door and rings the bell in desperation.
The sudden noise wakes Mr. Smith from a deep sleep. He can tell by the urgent pounding that something’s terribly wrong. As he glances out the bay window on the way to the front door, he sees the glow in the sky and sprints to the door. Of course, you can use my phone. Let me find you some blankets. Here, Joe, take my coat. I can get a new one.
Seconds before and seconds after I hear those tones in the safety of my bed, dozens – maybe up to a hundred or more depending on the severity of the fire – lives turned upside down either temporarily or permanently. I breathe out a prayer for the safety of the firefighters and for the family.
And I thank God my only problem right now is a little lost sleep.
My dad has had a scanner ever since I can remember. It’s tones and the voices of the dispatcher have become a strange sort of emergency soundtrack to my life. To be honest, I don’t notice it in any real, conscious manner anymore.
Unless the tones go off in the middle of the night when I’m knee-deep in insomnia once again.
Then I start to think of everyone else who’s awake now.
There’s the volunteer fireman who doesn’t have time to shake off sleep as he reaches for his coat and boots. He leans over to kiss his wife, who is stirring slightly at the sudden activity, and softly says, “Fire down near the Smith’s place. Be home soon. Love ya.”
She murmurs a response, but she’s wide awake by the time the door clicks in place behind him. House fires are dangerous. Walls can collapse. Ceilings can cave in. She stays in bed, but she doesn’t sleep.
The Red Cross volunteer isn’t sleeping either. She reaches in the refrigerator for a Diet Coke as she heads out the door. There’s no time to make coffee, but she’ll need the caffeine to get through the next few hours of caring for the family who is right now watching their home go up in smoke.
And then, there’s the Jones family. One minute they’re asleep in their beds. The next they hear the shrill shriek of the smoke alarm. They escape the house quickly, wearing only their pajamas. They run across the street where Mr. Jones pounds on the door and rings the bell in desperation.
The sudden noise wakes Mr. Smith from a deep sleep. He can tell by the urgent pounding that something’s terribly wrong. As he glances out the bay window on the way to the front door, he sees the glow in the sky and sprints to the door. Of course, you can use my phone. Let me find you some blankets. Here, Joe, take my coat. I can get a new one.
Seconds before and seconds after I hear those tones in the safety of my bed, dozens – maybe up to a hundred or more depending on the severity of the fire – lives turned upside down either temporarily or permanently. I breathe out a prayer for the safety of the firefighters and for the family.
And I thank God my only problem right now is a little lost sleep.
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