I wish you could know what it is like to search a burning bedroom for trapped children at 3 AM, flames rolling above your head, your palms and knees burning as you crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen below you burns.
I wish you could comprehend a wife's horror at 6 in the morning as I check her husband of 40 years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping to bring him back, knowing intuitively that it is too late, but wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done to save his life.

I wish you knew the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout gear. the sound of flames crackling, the eeriness of being able to see absolutely nothing in dese smoke, sensations with which I've become too familiar.

I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a fire; "Is this a false alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed? What hazzards await me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to a call for help; "What is wrong with the patient? Is it minor or life-threatening? Is the caller really in distress, or are they waiting for us with a 2x4 or gun?"

I wish you could be in the emergency room as a doctor pronounces dead the beautiful five-year old girl that I have trying to save during the past 25 minutes, the girl who will never go on her first date or say the words "I love you, Mommy" again.

I wish you could feel the frustration I feel in the cab of the fire engine, squad, or ambulance, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as a driver fails to yield the right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. Yet, when we are needed, the first comment heard on our arrival will be, "It took you forever to get here!"

I wish you could know my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teen-age years from the remains of her automobile. "What if this was my daughter, sister, or friend? What is going to be her parents' reaction when they open the door to find a police officer with hat in hand?"

I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet my family, not having the heart to tell them that I nearly did not come back from the last call.

I wish you could know how it feels dispatching officers, firefighters, EMT's and paramedics out, and when we call for them our hearts drop because no one answers back, or to hear a bone chilling 911 call of a desperate child or spouse in need of help.

I wish you could feel the hurt as people verbally, and sometimes physically, abuse us or belittle what we do, or as they express the attitude of "it will never happen to me."

I wish you could realize the physical, emotional and mental drain, the missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, not to mention all the tragedy my eyes have seen.

I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping save a life or preserve someone's property, of being able to be there in time of crisis, helping create order from total chaos.

I wish you could understand what it feels like to have a little boy tugging at your arm and asking, "Is Mommy okay?", not even being able to look in his eyes without tears from your own and not knowing what to say. Or to have to hold back a long time friend who watches his buddy having CPR done on him as they take him away in the back of the Medic Unit, knowing all along that he did not have his seat belt on.

Unless you have lived this kind of life, you will never truly understand or appreciate who I am, we are, or what our job really means to us...

I wish you could, though.

This is why I say a daily prayer for you for I have experienced the fire and medical emergency and had to tell someone that I couldn't save the one they loved, and I am so sorry.

PLEASE KEEP SENDING THIS ON. LET'S SHOW THAT WE APPRECIATE AND SUPPORT OUR LOCAL EMS WORKERS, 911 DISPATCHERS, FIREFIGHTERS, & LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS. ONE DAY THEY MIGHT BE SAVING YOUR LIFE OR YOUR PROPERTY. WHEN YOU SEE THEM COMING WITH LIGHTS FLASHING, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY QUICKLY, & SAY A PRAYER FOR THEM.