Faith & Fire

Sunday night was so normal. So normal and I crave normal during fire season. There was a few episodes of the Office, frozen pizza for dinner and sheer, unspoken thankfulness that Ian's work phone hadn't gone off, even though the western United States was ablaze. I'm chattering a mile a minute, making sure I get to inform Ian of every ridiculous thought I'm having because goodness knows, when he's gone I may end up going crazy with all those words unspoken. He's nodding off, I'm still chatting away, asking less questions but still poking him to at least get a small grunt that he's sort of listening to me. And then we hear his text alert go off and suddenly I have no words. Ian groans and reaches for his phone and mutters a few things. I ask if everything is ok and he doesn't respond. He didn't need too because I could tell by his stance that something was very wrong. 

When I heard the words "A whole crew was burned over", I just felt disbelief. The next few instants were a blur as I asked immediately if Ian's former crew, The Sawtooth Hotshot's were ok. In between Ian responding to his friend who had let us know about the tragic loss of Granite Mountain Hotshots, we immediately turned on the TV, grabbed our phones and were intent on finding out the who, what, when and where. We didn't want to know why. 

My world was rattled on a level I had never thought would happen before. As long as I have known my husband, he has been a wildland firefighter, more specifically- an elite wildland firefighter, he was a Sawtooth Hotshot (now, we are more blessed because although he's still in fire, he is a Fire Planner and thus home more than a Hotshot usually is). I've never known anything other than this life for Ian. In the 8 years that I've known him (3 of which I've been his main squeeze, prayer warrior, put on a brave face girl, biggest cheerleader and then some), I've never really worried he wouldn't come home. I can't say I love every time he's walked out the door, pack thrown over his shoulder, not knowing when I'd talk to him next but I can say I always knew he was coming back. To know an entire crew had been lost, made me sick to my stomach. I cried silent, angry tears. Tears full of sadness. Tears of relief that my husband was home and not  battling the orange dragon. I cried because I felt helpless and I cried because I knew he would be heading to some fire the next day. 

(This photo is copyrighted and taken by Conrad Piper-Ruth, great friend of ours, who is also a former Sawtooth Hotshot. 
I do have permission to use his photo)

We let his parents know both he and his brother were safe. We asked our friends for prayers for the families of those who died and for peace for those brave men and women still fighting fires. I received a phone call from a dear friend of mine, also a fire wife, and we wept and prayed some more. I went to bed and cried in my husband's arms, asking him who would come to the door if something were to happen to him. I demanded it be someone that I knew, someone who would not leave me be in my darkest hour, someone who worked with Ian and knew my name in real life and not just on the paperwork. I didn't sleep at all. 

For the next 24 hours, my heart just hurt. I would catch myself holding my breath. Ian did leave for a fire, kissing me goodbye in a parking lot, promising me he would be safe and come home. He was determined to go and fight fire, honoring the memory of those who had heroically died less than a day before. I have never felt such pride to be a wildland firemen's wife. 

It isn't an easy job. It isn't easy to let your better half walk thru the door at any given moment from May to October, not knowing how long he'd be gone. It isn't easy to make plans to have them thwarted by the winds of change demanding that Colorado needed him more than me. It isn't easy to see each other less than 20 days in 5 months. It isn't easy to celebrate most birthday's without the man you love year after year. It isn't easy to answer questions constantly of where is he, how is he and when is he coming home. It isn't easy to watch the news and see the utter bullshit they report, knowing that what my husband and I live is drastically different than what they portray to America. It's not easy to know my husband risks his life for trees and vacation homes. It isn't easy to feel loved and give love. But, goodness gracious, it is worth it. 

(This is also on of CPR's pictures, used with permission)

Fred Rogers said "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You  will always find people who are helping'.". The Wildland Firefighter Foundation is an incredible foundation located in Boise, Idaho that provides immediate and necessary financial assistance to the families whose lives are altered because of something that happens on the fire line. Injury or death, this foundation is a consistent helper. Please take the time to view their webpage to see exactly what they do and how they do it. We are faithful supporters and regular donators to this organization. If the loss of the Granite Mountain Hotshot Crew, your connection to me or just a simple curiosity yearns to be met about what Ian and other Hotshots do, please read  this article 
written by a former hotshot who returned to the line for a journalistic assignment. Keep in mind, this is a glimpse at one specific crew. Each crew is somewhat different because their leaders are individuals with different mindsets and action plans. This article is one of the best representations of the reality these people lead 6 months out of the year. It's a harsh reality our news sources fail to convey. 

(CPR again, his photo's are incredible. His video documentaries are even better. Again, I had his permission to use his photo.) 

I will be a fire wife for life. It won't matter if Ian is on the payroll of the United States Forest Service or not. These men and women and their families are our families. We are united by a brotherhood, a sisterhood of loved ones who sacrifice immeasurable levels for strangers. We are united in being wives who do so much alone. We are united in bravery both as firefighters and homefront protectors. It doesn't matter to me that our government will never recognize Ian and his friends efforts with Medals of Honor and Bravery because in my heart and in my home, they are the cream of the crop. They are the bravest men on earth and I will honor that in them until my dying breath. 

                                          

He's a brave one and I love being his wife.