my husbands hidden words

I recently found this on our computer. It didn't go to anyone, and he never mentioned writing it. I have no idea when he wrote it, however I felt compelled to share it. I hope he doesn't get upset that I'm sharing it because as I'm writing this, he doesn't even know I found it. My gut tells me he wrote it sometime within the last year after he took it to pretty hard and almost offenseful when someone said "I know your job is stressful, but...."

Every 3rd day, this is Jason's life:

I Wish


I Wish you could comprehend a wife’s horror at 6 o’clock in the morning as I check her husband of forty years for a pulse, and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping to bring him back, but knowing intuitively that it is too late. I do it though, wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done to save his life.

I wish you could be in the emergency room as a doctor pronounces the death of a beautiful five-year old girl that I spent the last twenty-five minutes trying to save. The girl who will never go on her first date, or ever again tell her mommy “I Love you”.

I wish you could know my thoughts as I help extricate the lifeless body of a teen-age boy from the remains of his crumpled car. What if this was my son, my brother, or my friend? What will be his parents’ reaction when the Police Officer knocks on the door at 2 o’clock in the morning holding his hat in hand?

I wish you could understand what it feels like to have a little boy tugging at your arm and asking “Is my mommy okay?” Not being able to look him in the eye without tears flowing from your own. How DO you explain the needle hanging out of a pulse-less arm?

I wish you could have the strength to hold back the long-time friend who is fighting to get in the back of the ambulance to help his dying buddy who is being given CPR, all because he wanted to drive home with “the freedom of no seat belts.”

I wish you could feel the hurt as people verbally and sometimes physically abuse us because we are always the first ones there. I wish you could realize the physical, emotional and mental drain; the missed meals, lost sleep and forgone family and social events. I wish you could see the tragedy my eyes have seen.

I wish you could feel the frustration I feel behind the wheel of a fifty-thousand pound fire truck; honking the air horn again and again, pushing the siren tone-change again and again, as a driver fails to yield the right-of-way at an intersection, or in traffic. Yet, when we do arrive, often the first words are: “what took you so long?”

I wish you could know how it feels to come home to my family in the morning and not having the heart to tell them that I may not have come home from that last call.

I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of saving a life, or preserving someone’s beloved home; of being able to be there in a time of crisis, helping to create order in a time of chaos.

I wish you could know what it is like to search a burning second floor bedroom for trapped children at 3 o’clock in the morning, flames rolling above your head, your palms and knees burning as you crawl across the floor which is sagging under the weight of your search team as the kitchen below you freely burns.
I wish you knew the unique smell of burning insulation, or conduit; the taste of soot filled mucous, the feeling of being boiled like a lobster inside your turnout gear. I wish you could hear the crackling of flames as they burn the timber that supports the roof above you; the loneliness of crawling into a black-smoke so thick you can’t see the floor four inches from your face; the feelings that you know no one should ever have to feel.

I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a fire. What type of building is it? Are there any occupants? Where is the closest hydrant? What are the immediate hazards? Which way is the wind blowing? Do I need more resources? What is the weather? Is there enough fire involvement to go defensive? The list goes on…….

Unless you have been in our shoes, you will never know what it feels like to be a firefighter; to understand me, appreciate who I am or what my job means to me. But until then…………………… I wish.

After nights like these, he goes to his 2nd job as if nothing ever happened because he doesn't have a choice. Firefighters do not get paid much more than minimum wage to 12/hr. He comes home from a 24 hour shift, and then an additional 12 hour day of physical labor (with no sleep might I add) and then sometimes I have enough nerve to nag. I'm ashamed of myself!

God Bless my husband. I pray that he can find compassion in his heart for the people that oppress him and his brothers. What an impossible task. I'M SO GLAD I FOUND THIS.
I love you, Jason.