“Hey mom!” he yelled from the attic door,
“What’s these old heavy boots and hard hat for?”
With a lump in her throat and a tear stained cheek,
His mother swallowed and started to speak.
“Come here, my son,” his mother said,
“There’s things to tell you when I clear my head.”
The past raced madly through her mind;
She searched her heart, the words to find.
At last she sighed and rubbed his hair,
And the words that followed I’d like to share.
“Those boots and hat,” she said with pride,
“Were worn by a man with grit inside.
He wore them to help people in need,
Though facing danger, would never concede.
Many a time in the dead of the night,
He jumped in those boots and flashed out of sight.
To answer a call and not knowing for sure,
What danger or heartache he may have to endure.
Your father, my son, was not like most dads,
It was mainly because of the job that he had.
His life was devoted to all of mankind,
And just why he chose it, is not clear in my mind.
But your mother is proud to say she was a part
Of a man who possessed such a courageous heart.
Though, for all his discomfort and all of his pain
The time he spent here was never in vain.
So the memories I’ve kept and the love I will save
Are small consolations for the life that he gave.
You father’s days here made other’s seem brighter,
For your father, my son, was a firefighter.”