It has taken me over three years to be able to write about this. A firefighter died while fighting a fire on my national forest; on my watch.  It took two days to be able to safely remove his body from the mountain.  This is about when one of my engine crews escorted the hearse to the funeral home.  Names are changed to protect privacy.  

My cell phone rang at about 11:00 pm, a bit earlier than I had expected.  It was John, the engine captain.             

   “We just turned onto Hwy XX.” 

            “OK, John, thanks.  I’ll see you soon,” I said.

First I called Andy. He was one of Paul's best friends and the first who had arrived after the burn over.  

            “They’re about 10 minutes out,” I told Andy. 

            “OK, we’ll see you there.”

Then I called Bill. 

            “John just called me, they’re about 10 minutes out,” I said.  “Do you remember how to get to the funeral home?”  I asked.

            “Yeah, I made sure I found it before I went to my hotel.”

            “OK, I’ll see you there.”  I was so glad Bill would be there.  I didn’t want to do this without a good friend by my side.  I kissed my husband good-bye and walked out the door to another of the many responsiblities I had to fulfill regarding a line of duty death. 

I pulled into the nearly empty parking lot at the funeral home.  Bill soon drove in and parked next to me.  We heard vehicles on the other side so walked around the building.  Engine 26 was there along with a sheriff’s deputy vehicle.  The hearse had already pulled in.  Andy, Mike, and Carl stood near the hearse.  I walked up to them and shook their hands.  Then I walked over to John and his engine crew.  I shook their hands and quietly thanked them for bringing Paul in.   John was stoic, standing with his hands clasped in front of him.  All were quiet and reserved except Peter.  He was the youngest. He commented that it was pretty hairy bringing Paul’s body out of the woods.  Dead trees falling all around them.  He was jacked up on adrenaline and tragedy; fidgety.  I hadn’t wanted anyone else to get hurt, but I was so relieved Paul was off the mountain. His body had already lain up there two nights.  I don’t know that I could’ve handled him up there for another night. 

Andy spoke with the funeral director. 

            “We’d like to carry him in.”

            “That will be fine,” said the man. 

An American flag was draped around the body bag.  (I would later find out that John “borrowed” it from the flagpole at the helibase.  He didn’t want to bring Paul out without that honor.)  One of them, probably Mike, had placed a cap from Paul's fire department on top of the body bag. Mike and Andy got on one side of the gurney, the funeral director and Carl on the other side.  The sheriff’s deputy, the engine guys, Bill, and I watched.  They slid the gurney out, folded the wheeled legs down, and slowly rolled it into the building.  Bill and I walked behind them.  The deputy followed us in.  The engine crew stayed outside. 

They wheeled him into a small room.  I squinted against the bright lights.  The funeral director set the brake on the gurney.  We all stood there.  Then, without speaking, all of us placed our hands on the body and stood quietly like that for a few moments.  Mike spoke with the funeral director about paperwork, personal items, the autopsy and reminded him that he would be present for the autopsy.  It seemed like the three of them didn’t want to leave, but finally we all walked back out into the dark night. 

The engine guys were still there.  I walked over to them and told them which hotel they were all in.  Didn’t want them driving almost two hours back to quarters that late, especially after the day they’d had. 

            “Sleep in, have a good breakfast in the morning before you head in.  Call dispatch when you hit the road,” I said.  They nodded and walked back to their engine. “Thanks again,” I said. 

I walked back to Andy, Mike, Carl, and Bill.  We all just stood there in the light of the street lamp.  

            “Where can we have a drink?” asked Mike.

            “Well,” I said, “it’s Sunday night, so you’re limited.  Small town.”

            “Then where can we buy a bottle of whiskey and some beer?” Andy said. 

I gave them some options, but at that hour it was looking like the gas station across from their hotel. 

            “You guys want to join us?” he said to Bill and me.  Bob and I were still in our uniforms. 

            “Man, I’m beat,” said Bill.  “I’m gonna head back to my hotel.  Not that I’ll sleep much.”

            “Thanks,” I said, “but I’ll pass, too.”  A part of me really wanted to go with them.  To slowly lower myself into a bottle of some sweet liquid.  But I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to climb out once I started.  So I didn’t go.  “We’ll see you guys tomorrow,” I said. 

The three of them thanked Bill and me.  We all hugged each other.  These three men, my brothers, I had just met the night before, now bound to me as only people sharing tragedy can be. 

Bill and I walked around the building to where our vehicles were parked.  “Thanks so much for coming out here with me,” I said to Bill.  “I can’t imagine doing this alone.” 

            “That’s what I’m here for,” he said. 

He wrapped me in his arms, then, and we just stood like that for a while in the dark parking lot of the funeral home.  For a brief moment I considered asking him if I could go back to his hotel with him.  We were good friends who enjoyed a little attraction to each other but which we had never even gotten close to acting upon.  But I knew if I asked he would say yes.  Part of me wanted us to use our bodies to remind us we were alive.   To not only push away what had happened over the past two days but to hold at bay the horror show still to come.  Gladiator sex, some call it.  We both survived the “battle” while another did not.  My husband was waiting for me at home. 

            “OK,” I said, sighing deeply and pulling away from him.  “I’m headed home.” 

            “Try to get some sleep,” said Bill.

            “I doubt that,” I said.

            “Yeah, me too.” 

I got in the car and sat there for a minute.  I called my boss.  “He’s here,” I told her.  “The engine crew is bedded down for the night.” 

            “Good,” she said.  She sounded as exhausted as I felt, and her relief was palpable. “Thanks.  See you tomorrow,” she said.   And then I drove home.