It's raining. It isn't torrential—in fact right now it's no more than a drizzle—but still the rain falls.
He drives down the road, silence filling the car though he is not alone. The hand comfortingly resting on his leg is proof of the other individual in the car, but to be honest, he is just focusing on the road, because if he focuses on anything else…
They were going to see a friend of his.
Scott McPherson.
Scott was his first engineer, two stations before 51, and he was a fine engineer at that. Hank could always count on him to do his job and go the extra mile. Just like with Mike, he was not only a fine engineer, but also a good friend. He and Scott had even gone fishing together a few times (actually, Scott had done the fishing and Hank had just tagged along as a friend).
For those reasons, leaving that station had been bittersweet. On the one hand, it meant being in a better section of town with less commute; on the other hand, it meant leaving Scott behind at the old station.
Fortunately enough, not long after Hank had transferred to the second station in his career that he would be captain over, Scott had finally taken his captain's exam and passed it on the first try. In a way, it seemed that transferring had freed both of them up to continue onward.
Despite not working together anymore, they still found time to meet up, grab a beer, and talk about how everything had been going. They traded stories and debated who had it "more rough" as a captain.
'Oh, you wouldn't believe what so-and-so did. He…'
'You think that's bad? Well, so-and-so…'
So it went. They'd talk and laugh for hours, and then they would say goodbye and go their separate ways.
It had only been around the time that Hank had transferred to 51 that the meetings became less frequent. It was not solely because of his second transfer. In fact, there was a very different reason that kept the two men from meeting more often.
Scott and his wife Lisa had just had their first child, Cindy, and that kept his former engineer fairly busy. Hank still occasionally missed his friend, but he was happy for him so he didn't mind. Both of them had reached different stages in life. That's just the way it went.
Of course, over the years, Scott had become a very well-respected captain. One of the reasons was that, just as his own captain and friend had done, Scott led his men by example.
When he could, he'd travel with them into the blazing infernos and all the other horrific catastrophes because, if he wasn't willing to do it, how could he look his guys in the eyes and give them the orders? It just wouldn't be right. He operated by the rule of: If I wouldn't do it, I won't order them to do it.
"Hank?" says the quiet voice of his wife, pulling him from his thoughts.
He immediately looks to her.
"What is it?"
"We're here…"
He looks around surprised to find that, not only had they arrived, but he had parked as well, obviously on auto-pilot despite how much heavier the rain had gotten since they left.
At this realization, he lets out a shaky sigh and nods, looking at his hands that still grip the steering wheel.
"So we are," he replies as he relaxes his arms and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Hank…" Emily quietly murmurs and then hesitates. She knows more than anyone that there's nothing else to say. Instead, she simply leans over and kisses him, then rests her head on his shoulder.
Hank smiles if only a little and takes his wife's hand in his own, calloused from years of farm work and firefighting.
In this manner, they sit as the rain pours down onto everything for as far as he can see. He has no idea how long they remain like this. He simply continues to stare out the window until everything blurs together.
It isn't until he feels his wife's hand gently rubbing circles on his back that he realizes why everything has blurred, but neither of the two says a word, allowing the silence to say it all for them.
They sit in the car until he manages to compose himself, the quiet tears drying up on their own, until at last he reaches up and rubs his eyes with his free hand.
"Honey… It's about time for you to go in… Are you ready to go inside?" Emily asks, her blue eyes searching his face for an answer.
He pauses a moment and then he nods.
"Yeah," he replies, taking a deep breath. "Yeah… You stay in the car for a minute. I'll… I'll come around with the umbrella."
Emily gives his hand one last squeeze and then he steps out into the rain, his highly polished shoes catching the vengeance of a puddle that had been disturbed by his arrival.
Pulling the umbrella from beside his seat, he opens it, closes his door, and walks around to the passenger side, holding the umbrella aloft as Emily steps out of the vehicle.
Without further incident, they walk together into the building.
When they walk in, the only people present are those directly involved in the funeral. While Emily goes to sit with Lisa and Cindy, Hank walks over to the others who would be participating in the procedures and they were informed of how everything would transition throughout the process.
The service begins precisely on time, and the crowd is well into the hundreds, a sea of dress uniforms. Firefighters from all over the county and even other places outside of the county, even from outside of the state, had made a point of attending this…
When it is time for him to carry out his duty, Hank stands from where he sits with his wife, and he approaches the podium.
He smiles.
He smiles and to those gathered he talks about his former engineer… He talks to them about his friend…
To be honest, he knows he won't remember later most of what he says now, but the important thing is that he says it. The rescues, the incidents around the station, the times they met once they had both been promoted. He tells them everything with a smile.
And if anyone notices the occasional break in Captain Hank Stanley's voice, normally so calm and even, they kindly ignore it. What he is doing is something they all hope they need never do…
Deliver the eulogy of a fallen firefighter.
Of a fallen friend.
Somehow, someway, he says what he feels led to say, and then he returns to his seat and sits beside his beautiful wife of seventeen years.
Throughout the rest of the service, he is perhaps one of the most composed people in the room. Likely it is because he is beyond listening, but rather remembering the life his friend had lead: the sorrow, the laughter, the failures, and the triumphs. All of what culminated into the life that had been lost.
He is brought back to the reality by the call for all to stand and the chaplain leads a prayer. Once 'Amen' has been spoken, Scott's crew comes forward as pallbearers, and they carry the flag-draped coffin out of the building and to the awaiting engine.
The procession is led by Scott's crew on their engine as it bears the coffin toward the cemetery. Fire engines, squads, and ambulances stretch for miles, sirens silent but lights flashing as the other cars follow behind them.
When finally they reach the cemetery and all have congregated at the graveside, Hank takes in a deep breath, knowing what is to follow.
As all stand, fire personnel at attention, the Final Alarm sounds—three strikes of the ceremonial bell.
The chaplain speaks once more.
"In His infinite wisdom, the Supreme Chief of the Universe has once more sounded the last alarm, and our brother has answered his last call to duty.
"When the hour of death comes, it is faith and knowledge that alleviate our sorrow and that comfort us; faith in God and knowledge that He has called our brother home…
"God sent our brother into our midst so that we might enjoy his love, his friendship, and his loving devotion; so that we might know his virtues, and bury his imperfections…
"Because of these things, we cling to the memory of our pleasant associations with our brother and cherish the hope that when the Supreme Chief sounds that last alarm for us, we shall answer that call to our Father's home and there find our brother waiting to welcome us once more…
"Scott McPherson was born June 15, 1943. He was appointed to the Los Angeles County Fire Department on April 6, 1962. He was promoted to the rank of captain on July 10, 1971.
"He answered his last alarm while performing his duty to his fellow men on September 26, 1977. His departmental record shows 15 years, 5 months, 20 days of faithful service. He leaves to mourn: his wife of ten years, Lisa McPherson; and daughter, Cindy McPherson. We give our love and heartfelt sympathy to the bereaved family and loved ones.
"Let us pray."*
After the prayer, the bell is rung three times more and then silence falls.
Hank and all of those gathered watch two of the Los Angeles County Honor Guard step forward, ceremoniously lifting the flag from the coffin and folding it into the precision tri-corner fold.
One of the two then approaches the commander of the honor guard who stands at attention. The commander inspects the flag to insure that it has been correctly done. Satisfied that it is well, the commander then turns and passes the flag to Chief Houts. He then walks to the funeral tent where the family is seated and stops in front of Lisa. Kneeling, his white-gloved hands securely hold the flag out to her, presenting it flat and straight.
"Lisa McPherson, on behalf of our brother, Captain Scott McPherson of Station 170, it is my honor to present this American flag to you in gratitude of his service to the County of Los Angeles."
Lisa accepts the flag, desperately attempting to hold back the tears that continue to slip down her face. As she cradles the flag, holding it close to her breast, Chief Houts stands once more. He gives a salute and then steps back, turning on his heel and walking to his place at the side, rejoining the company of the other chiefs.
With that, the bugler steps forward and begins to play TAPS as the coffin is lowered into the ground.
As TAPS is concluded, the muddy earth is put over the coffin, and not long afterward, those gathered begin to disperse.
Hank still feels the vacant space that has been left, but he is at peace, as he knows Scott would want him to be. As he knows Scott would want anyone to be who had ever come into contact with him.
Still…
He stands at the graveside for some time after the burial, the umbrella shielding Emily and him from the rain that steadily pours down as if it could wash away the memories and the pain.
Scott had died in the line of duty, protecting his men as he had done since earning the rank of captain. While that knowledge could never bring back his friend, and it would likely not bring much comfort, if any, to his widow and child… Hank knows that Scott wouldn't want anyone to be sad or angry. He wouldn't want anyone to blame him or his boys or his job. Scott loved what he did and he wouldn't have gotten out of it even if he had known this was down the road. It was just who Scott was.
At last, Hank turns his still somewhat teary gaze to his wife before he wraps his arm around her shoulders and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Come on, Em… Let's go home."
This story was a tough one to write for many reasons. I wanted it to be as accurate as I could possibly make it, but as I do not live in LA County, I can't possibly know the exact funeral procedures. What's there is all that I could find in my research. The part of the service that was in italics I got straight out of the firefighter funeral procedure manual and then filled in what I needed to for the story with who had died and whatnot.
As I said, this was a very difficult story to write, but I felt that it needed to be written. It is a tribute, as much for the fallen firefighters as to those who are left behind, be they spouse, child, friend or otherwise. I don't really know where this story came from, but I'm glad that I wrote it and I hope that others will get something from it as well.
Thanks for taking the time to read it.
-KeepMeGoing365