The coolness in the
January night reminds me that it will soon be time to
make that trip to the little grave site again.
The call went out of a structure fire.
We responded code.
I remember the night so vividly.
I remember the house was fully involved.
I remember the smoke.
I remember the heat.
I remember the popping and cracking of the house as it was consumed.
I remember hearing the screams that a child was in the house.
I remember seeing the father with the blackened face and singed hair.
I remember hearing him crying out for his son.
I remember seeing him dart for the back door of the house and prepare to go
into certain death.
I remember running at him and tackling him in the back yard.
I remember holding him down so he wouldn't die in the inferno.
I later wondered if I hurt him more by making sure he lived.
I remember looking at the house and feeling helpless and then hopeless.
I remember when we finally found him.
I remember seeing his charred little body on the floor.
I remember going around the corner into the dark so that nobody would see
the tears.
I remember going home the next morning and sitting and watching my son
sleep, the smoke still strong on my uniform.
I remember thanking God for him.
I now go by and visit the little grave this time every year.
His little headstone reads, "Asleep with the angels".
I know little Johnny can't hear me but as I stand next to his grave I can't
help but wonder out loud....What if?
By Sgt. D.J. Rogers