9/11.
I mean, how do you write something positive about one of the most horrible days of our generation? It's one of those days that everyone remembers where they were, like the assassination of Kennedy and when the space shuttle blew up.
I was at work, charting at the nurses station when one of the other nurses came out of a patient room and said, "One of the twin towers just got hit by an airplane". The cardiologist in front of me turned around and started watching the television in a patient's room. When he turned back around, his face was ashen.
"My dad's office is in that building".
When the second building fell, I was literally doing CPR. I will forever remember the name of that patient, and remember how silent the room was in a usually chaotic situation. The TV was on in the room, and we watched the skyscraper evaporate as we attempted to save someone's life thousands of miles away. I will always feel sad for the family of that patient, as they will always have to endure remembering a double tragedy on September 11, as we were not successful in his resuscitation.
My mom worked for the government, and she traveled to the Pentagon regularly. A panic phone call to her revealed she was not in Washington, but did not know when she would be able to leave the air force base, as it was locked down.
I have mentioned in the past that my husband is a firefighter. My stepdad was also a firefighter. I also worked on the fire department for a little over five years. And so although I absolutely know that there were all sorts of heroes on that day, the men and women of fire hold a special place in my heart.
Unless you have lived the life of a firefighter, it is very difficult to explain the intimate bond that passes between them. For 24 out of every 72 hours, they are thrown together to eat (hopefully), sleep (hopefully), and work(definitely) in conditions that most of us have never thought of.
Do you remember your college roommate, or the first person you lived with? They knew everything about you, from your snoring to what time of day you take a crap. Same in the firehouse. They are a family and work group all in one, washing dishes and toilets as well as fighting fire or intubating someone who has stopped breathing. They eat like a family, at a table that is many times scarred and has mismatched chairs. They have chores like a family- from kitchen duty to mopping and vacuuming each day to checking off each piece of equipment to ensure it is ready to help someone in need. They support each other like a family, loaning money for dinner when needed or helping landscape a yard on their day off. And of course they tease each other like a family- to put it lightly...
My husband doesn't like to talk about 9/11. In truth, neither do I. It's hard enough knowing that your husband leaves for work every third day and has a job that requires him to run into a burning building when everyone else is running out. Every loved one of a firefighter has had nightmares about opening the front door to the Fire Chief and Chaplain.
These guys see a lot of crazy shit. They also get to witness beautiful miracles at times. And they know all too well that their job has risks. But no one goes to work thinking they will lose their whole crew. Their whole firehouse. Their family.
After 9/11, I cannot imagine what it was like to be a New York City firefighter. Some of them had to actually choose which funeral to go to, as there were so many and some services were overlapping. Can you imagine? How do you make a decision like that? How to you go to more than one funeral of a family member in the same day?
I am sure there were haunts every where they looked. The coffee mug that one of them constantly had in their hand. The bunk beds that still had their fallen hero's blanket and pillow on it. The locker that still had their nickname in permanent marker on the outside. The empty chair at the table where they sat for dinner.
We have a book at our house title, "Brotherhood". It is an entire book of pictures taken of firehouses after 9/11. There are plenty of exterior shots of firehouses, with hundreds of flowers and cards outside each one. Plenty of pictures of firefighters attempting to return to their daily routine, because this is a job that can't shut down for mourning. Along the bottom of each page is a running line of names and firehouse numbers, signifying each of 343 New York firefighters that lost their lives that day.
So where is the positive? Tonight's pic both represents and celebrates the Brotherhood. It is a picture of what I remember the bunk room to be - almost like camp, with beds next to each other and no escape from the one guy who inevitably snores like a freight train. These particular beds never saw their owners again. I am thankful to have had a glimpse at this life, and am forever grateful to those who have chosen to walk into the fire.
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