My Honor Guard just helped out with a funeral for a firefighter from a neighboring agency. It really affected me, I think that I'm just starting to get old and emotional. A few of my guys knew the fallen firefighter. I felt like I needed to do something more, so I put fingers to keyboard and I wrote a little synapsis of what a firefighter funeral is like. Just something that civilians might be able to read and relate to.

I wanted to share it with my brothers and sisters here.

I'm sure more then a few of you out there are firefighters, so you know what a firefighter funeral is all about. I just participated in a funeral for a young firefighter who was killed in a neighboring jurisdiction. For the past two days, I've been thinking about what I can do to find my own closure and maybe offer just a little more to family and friends.

My gifts in life are centered around writing, so I think that offering an explaination of the funeral and the bond that brings all firefighters together might be an appropriate gift. This is going to a journal of sorts that documents the things that I experienced from last Tuesday to Saturday.

The fire service is a very special entity. It is one enormous family, bound together by the common thread of dedication and the willingness to sacrifice. Not one of us claims to be a hero because of what we do. It is simply what all of us are drawn to; some people are drawn to writing, or banking, or computers. We are sucked in by the big truck with flashing lights and the opportunity to make things just a little bit better when all the chips are down. I believe that is why we are all so close. The color of the patch makes no difference, the same blood runs through all of our veins.

On Tuesday afternoon, we were doing our daily routine in the station when one of our chief officers came rushing over. He asked if any of our people were attending training at one of the local training facilities. It wasn't one of those business kind of questions;it was a lot more like the semi-panicked father trying to find his kid who is two hours late. We knew right away that something had happened. We later found out that a firefighter had been killed in training. Right away, those of us who had been around for a while started doing a mental inventory, trying to remember where friends that we hadn't talked to for a while were stationed. Initially, we thought it had been a trainee at the fire academy. We were wrong, it was a young firefighter with less then a year on the job.

During the day, my officer and I were pretty quiet. I think we both were thinking about how it could have been someone that we knew. I can say that I was glad that my friends were okay, and that I felt guilty for it. I couldn't help but feel terrible for the firefighters that had been there when it happened, for the officer who lost one of his people, for the wife who had no idea that morning would be the last time she would see her husband.

The younger guys kind of had a "life goes on" mentality and quite frankly it pissed me off. It isn't that they were wrong, but I guess I expected some more empathy. I don't know. I've been in this field for ten years, perhaps I'm just getting old.

The next two days, I spent on the phone trying to get a hold of that department's Honor Guard. A few years ago, I became the head of our Honor Guard unit and I knew that they would need help. It was rough, waiting to find out what was needed. All I wanted to do was help these guys out, but each second I was so thankful that it wasn't for one of my guys.

By the third day, we had been asked for help with the viewing and the funeral. Viewings are rough. Personally, I don't like them one bit. Its terrible to see a family member struggling with saying that last goodbye. The Honor Guard will post two members, one on either side of the coffin, during the viewing. We are protecting our fallen brother, showing the family that we hold their loved on in the highest regard. It is a terrible duty, but it is also one of the greatest honors. This viewing saw Honor Guard members from all over the area coming together to say farewell to a brother they had never met. Every ten minutes, we would change the casket watch. Every ten minutes for a little over four hours we would come together and salute a fallen brother. Not because we had to, no one had ordered us to attend. We came out of love for our family. And we all stood together to show the wife and our brother's family that we cared and we shared their sorrow. The vigil over our fallen brother lasted all night, he was never alone.

The next morning, feet swollen and backs aching, we all came back together for the funeral. My unit was among some of the first to arrive and we were there when the casket arrived at the church. We gathered outside to receive the casket and carry our brother into the church. We all wanted to everything to be perfect. Over a thousand people attended the service and over twenty different Honor Guards and bagpipe bands came together. One Honor Guard unit from several hours away had found out at 9:00 PM the previous night and had scrammbled to get members to the service in time. This is the dedication we have to one another.

After the service, the fallen firefighter was gently placed on top of the fire engine stationed in his home town. The Honor Guards lined up around the engine and the rest of the fire service lined up behind. We walked, surrounding a brother on his final ride. As we walked down the streets to the cemetary, people lined the streets. Some cried, some just watched the sad procession. The most vivid image was that of a middle aged man who removed his hat and had his two small boys do the same as the engine slowly rolled by. As we marched under a giant American flag flown between two ladder trucks, I felt a huge knot in my throat. It was almost over, and I felt that I had not done enough.

The procession ended and the casket detail gently removed our brother from the engine. As we gathered around, a breeze blew across our faces. That has happened at almost every firefighter funeral that I've attended. Its almost like someone is just trying to give us that last push to make it through, that little acknowlegement that we did the right thing.

The graveside service was brief. Once outside the church, the remeberance really belongs to the fire service. Its our last chance to say goodbye. The casket is led to the grave to the tones of bagpipes playing "Going Home". Once the prayer is over, a detail performs the Flag Folding Ceremony. Great care is given to folding the flag properly, each fold is symbolic and in the end, no red can be showing. While the flag is being folded, it can not touch the casket. This ceremony is done in complete silence and when it is complete, the team leader presents the flag to the department chief who then performs one of the most difficult tasks anyone could. He (or she) must then present the flag to the family of the fallen firefighter. There are prepared speechs for this occassion. But, it is mostly a private moment, the last chance the chief has to take care of his lost soul. The family offered a life and how horrible it must be for the chief to only be able to return a folded flag and a brightly polished helmet.

The service ends with the ringing of a bell. It is symbolic of the end of the firefighter's tour of duty. The ceremony hails back to the early days of firefighting, when a bell signaled the start and end of the day. There is a reading that details the ceremony and basically relieves the fallen firefighter from duty. It is tense and emotional, but the worst part of the entire experience crackles across the department radios. The firefighter's station is toned out over the radio, and the firefighter is called out of service. Even though we all know its coming, the final tone out is still a shock, jarring tears out of all involved from the newest firefighter to the oldest chief. Its then that is sinks in that its done, over. We will never see our firefighter again. It is then that we all remember that it could have been us. I think every firefighter secretly wonders if the funeral that they attend will be anything like theirs. We all wonder how many people will attend. Me, I want something simple. Get together and pull up a chair, because I know how much dress shoes hurt when you are standing in them for hours.

I've said before that the color of the patch doesn't matter. We are all bound together, drawn into a huge family the instant that we decide to put on the uniform. It doesn't make us special or heros or anything. It makes us family, all of us. I'll say that I hope to never have to attend one of these again. I know different.