The fire chief met us in the apparatus bay when we returned, seven hours after being called to the pier, and talked to us calmly.
We stood, Denny, Kasey, Axe, and me, shoulder to shoulder. It already seemed wrong, because for years the guy to my right would have been Logan.
Mike spoke the way a chief would when he wanted us to know he was there for us. “Take as much time as you need. Jace . . . you’re on administrative leave until further notice. The chief is with Aubrey and Brooke right now.”
I sighed and nearly collapsed when my brother caught me. “I got you, buddy. Come on.”
He helped get me inside the lounge, where he sat beside me. “You need to get dressed and get to Brooke. She’s going to need you right now.”
She needed me?
How could I be there for her?
The truth was, I was far from holding up. I was an absolute fucking mess.
Command to Ladder 1, be advised, heavy fire above you. Back out. Back out now.
Command to dispatch, Medic 16 arrived, send all units.
Ladder 1 to command, be advised, first victim removed, request traffic block here. We’re still on four. We found two children.
* * *
Thursday, November 29, 2013
Aubrey
“BROOKE . . . ” WADE turned to her, his eyes glazed over. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t know if you can hear a heart breaking, or how quickly it happens. Does it happen instantly or over the years?
I know it can happen instantly. I know that much to be true.
Right then, I would have sworn I heard the sound in that moment.
Life isn’t fair. I don’t think it’s ever meant to be. For Brooke, there’s nothing that will ever be the same. Nothing is going to happen the way they planned because he’s not there now.
I knew my friend was hurting, and I could offer a certain amount of comfort, but it would never be enough. What she was feeling was a grief all on its own.
As her cries filled my apartment, the kids began to stir. Judie had just gotten there, along with Brooke’s brother, and they kept Amelia busy.
She knew. I could tell by the tears in her eyes that she knew her mommy was weeping for her daddy.
In that moment, as I watched the devastation unfold firsthand, knowing this could have very well been me, I wanted Jace here to comfort me. I wanted to hear him whisper “honey” in my ear with the slow raspy tenor he had with his teasing words and playful touches.
My body jerked at the sound of the door opening again, two hours after Wade arrived, and I gasped when I saw Jace. His breathing was heavy, gasping breaths, and his face was soaked with tears.
He didn’t make it in the door two steps before he broke down at my feet, holding his face to my thighs.
I fell next to him. Drawing me against his chest tightly, he whispered, “I love you.”
Brooke stood there, staring at the wall, held up by her brother, and you could see the tears already forming before Jace said anything.
We both knew when he walked through the door and Logan didn’t, that the outcome was exactly what Wade had said it was. Logan was gone.
What does pain look like when you’re in so much emotional pain that you can barely breathe, let alone speak?
It looked like her. Brooke Jennings.
For her, words were being spoken, but nothing was being heard. Her eyes, so distant, rimmed with tears and bloodshot to the point where their brown was no longer distinct.
Her face was sad and tired but, given she had lost her husband, it was understandable.
Grief had a way of festering.
Anytime you lose someone suddenly, the grieving process is different from that of let’s say, losing someone to an illness you knew they had.
I think it’s because you had a little time to prepare and wrap your mind around the fact that you would lose them someday.
But when it’s sudden, the grieving process is delayed. At first you’re just trying to come to terms with the fact that you’ve lost them. Then comes the anger that they were taken from you.
Imagine this. Let’s say you’re standing on the freeway facing oncoming traffic. And then you’re hit by a car. You’re tensed, ready for it, closing your eyes in hopes you won’t see what’s about to happen, but you know it’s coming.
Now imagine turning your body away from the traffic. You’re never going to see that truck coming at you. Instead, you’re relaxed, thinking life will go on. And then a minivan crushes you.
It’s like a backdraft or flashover — you never see it coming, but when it does, it’s devastating.
When something as tragic as this happened, I wanted to blink and have it not be real. I wanted to believe sorrow like that didn’t exist.
I blinked. It was still there. Image after image of my life with him and how much he’d changed it. I couldn’t imagine how Jace or Brooke must feel.
How do you move on? How do you even walk away from them when you’re told they’re gone?
As the day destroyed the night, we were left with the numbness that this was real. Logan William Jennings was gone. Forever.
I’ll be completely honest, the thought of never feeling what Jace and I had again, in the ways Brooke had, was devastating to me. How she managed to go on was beyond me.
She sat there, unable to look at anything but the wall. When Jace walked up to her, she broke down again. As if his face was a reminder she couldn’t bear.
Without touching her, Jace sat down on the couch, his head in his hands. “This can’t be real. It’s not real.” He shook his head and swallowed, his hands trembling as he tried to compose himself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and Brooke fell into his arms.
Friday, November 30, 2012
I WATCHED Jace that night as he slept. The warmth of his skin against mine. His left hand curled around my calf over his legs, and though there wasn’t much distance between us, I felt like we were miles apart right then. The rise and fall of his chest was only visible against the orange city-lit sky. His callused hands, lips, eyes, all things I would never want to forget . . . and he was right here.
My chest ached as I thought of Brooke constantly that night, her hurt becoming my hurt, for her, for Amelia, and for Jace.
I had no idea what he was feeling right then, and I almost felt like, if I had, it would have been crushing.
I cried into my pillow, imagining the heartache Brooke must be feeling. I’d let Brooke cry alone where she wouldn’t be forced to talk or be comforted. Sometimes, to deal with a loss, it’s better to be alone. It’s better to be in a place where you don’t feel the need to apologize or care that you’re crying like a lunatic or blubbering so badly you can’t breathe.
The early morning light poured through our room. It was a harsh reminder that the day was here, and the pain had returned.
I could hear Jace’s light breathing beside me, and I wondered if he was awake. When I turned over, I saw that he was, and staring at the ceiling. Another reminder.
As he lay on his back, arms resting on his stomach, I studied his measured breathing. His left hand rose to run through his hair and I noticed the cut above his eye, no doubt from the fire last night.
So easily it could have been me who was grieving a loss and not Brooke.
My head fell forward onto the strong chest, and I waited to see what his reaction would be. Would he comfort me? Would he push me away?
His eyes moved back to the ceiling.
And if I knew Jace, which I did, he was going over every detail of last night, trying to wrap his head around it and looking for anything he could have done differently. With anything tragic, you look for the learning experience in it, what you could have, would have, should have done differently. But there wasn’t one.
Turning to me now, he swallowed back tears, his lips finding my forehead.
Unconsciously, we both moved a little more slowly, making the moment last that morning. As he held me, a touch I needed, it was
hard not to cry. We had lost a great friend, and the very real possibility that it could have been us made the loss that much more real.
What hadn’t been said between us was there, and it needed to be said, but it suddenly seemed as if it didn’t matter right now.
“Have you slept?” My question hung in the air, stillness following.
“Yeah.”
“Liar.”
He sighed and looked out the window. “They want to put me on administrative leave.”
“I think that’s for the best.”
“The best for me would be getting back on that engine, doing what he taught me to do.” His tone held a certain amount of defensiveness I could understand. “Saving people. I need to be fighting fires.”
I reached my hand up, pushing away his hair to see his eyes, so tired, so sad, but also lost. “I’m sorry, Jace.”
As we sat there together, I hoped that by being there I was at least giving him some sort of comfort.
He leaned over and rested his forehead on mine. Sorrow took over, and I tried to take a deep breath. “It hurts, but part of me is a little relieved that I’m still here . . . for you . . . for our kids. And I feel guilty for thinking that way.”
I hated to admit it, too, but I felt the same way.
THAT MORNING brought with it doubt and despair. Yesterday lingered like smoke, the remnants and reminders everywhere as the dense clouds hovered.
That afternoon brought with it heavy hearts and loved ones fighting for composure. Everyone had gathered at Brooke’s parents’ house near Elliott Bay.
Solemnly, the boys at Firehouse 10 stood shoulder to shoulder outside.
I sat there in the kitchen, watching the guys in the backyard, noticing how the space where Logan usually stood, next to Jace, was now empty and that no one was standing close to him. As if to say that space next to him when they were together was to be forever empty. There would always be an emptiness there now.
That solidarity was hard to find these days in a firehouse, but they had it. And now that one of their own was gone, it had changed things for them.
Jace and Logan had a connection, that was clear from the day they met when they were eight until Logan’s very last breath — a bond so strong and unbending they felt what the other one was feeling.
It’s poignant because that was the way of life at Firehouse 10. They hurt deeply in the wake of the passing of their friend.
These boys would do anything for their brothers. There wasn’t a single man at the station who wasn’t brought to his knees that day.
Night descended upon us again, the minutes, the hours, all rolling by with the same regretful sorrow the ones before them held.
I found Jace that night in our room. He was sitting at the bed, his back fairly straight with his eyes fixed his high school yearbook.
Gently I sat next to him. We didn’t touch; his eyes moved to mine and then back to the book. His hand flipped the page to the one of him and Logan at prom, their arms wrapped around each other with Brooke in between them. “They want me to prepare the eulogy.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I can.”
“If anyone can, you can,” I said softly. “You knew him better than everyone.”
Jace gave a nod, his hand swiping across his forehead. “Two days ago I was sitting at the firehouse with him at the table, talking about going to a hockey game next week. Now I’m sitting here trying to write his eulogy.” He pointed to the notepad on the nightstand next to the bed. Beside that was pieces of what looked to be a glass he’d broken. I followed the trail of shards of glass to the marks on the wall where it must have hit, no doubt evidence of his festering anger. “So far I have one word.”
“What word?” I looked at the notepad to see what he had written.
“Maybe that’s all you need.”
“I feel like anything I say won’t be good enough. He was so much more than anything I can say.” Tears filled his eyes. A nod caused a couple to spill over, like diamonds dripping from the black silk of his lashes and onto the flushed rose petals of his cheeks. The back of his hand ran over his tired eyes, swiping away the evidence that he was feeling this more than he let on. “I feel like . . . ” He seemed at a loss but tried again to find the words. “I feel like . . . ” His head shook again. For a moment he gave up. “I don’t know how I feel.”
This wasn’t going to be easy. I believe there are times when words can never do a situation justice. If anything, trying to put the hurt into words is pointless, because no matter what you write, only a small fraction of the pain you’re feeling is going to show in them.
If you were able to capture the pain into words, it would be ones you’ve never heard before. They don’t have words for that.
This part of the pain was never spoken to us and held no meaning that could be expressed in words.
They’re not words.
They’re tears and deep breaths.
They’re shaking hands and a slow blink as the devastation unfolds.
They’re sleepless nights of cold sweats and nightmares so real they haunt the darkness around you as you pray for the light.
And that was only a small fraction of it.
Dispatch to command, Engine 2, Truck 2, Engine 4, Engine 5 en route.
Command to dispatch, we are requesting medical personnel on four. Have a child down and cannot evacuate. First child is en route to HMS.
* * *
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Jace
TODAY I would be laying my buddy to rest. Forever a part of the dirt, as Denny so elegantly puts it.
Sometimes I wondered what the hardest part was. I think moving on is, because you’re accepting the fact that they’re gone now.
And that’s what it’s about, right? Acceptance of what happened?
Accepting the fact that they’re gone.
That’s what you were lacking in the beginning. It’s not knowing how it will be without them that’s scary. A change you never wanted, yet here you are forced to accept it.
It’s not easy. No one said it would be.
When I saw what that did to Brooke, it broke me. I cried for her, for him, for Amelia, and the goddamn shitty reality that it should have been me in that fire.
But no. Here I was, with Brooke, comforting her.
And I was sure, had it been me and not Logan, he would have been with Aubrey right now.
The difference?
Well, there’s no fucking chance in hell Logan would have left me on that ship. Had I said to him, “Go ahead, I’m right behind you,” he would have waited and made me go out first.
That’s just who he was. First in, last out.
Always.
And two, Brooke knew how Logan felt about her. There’s never been a question there.
Did Aubrey know how I felt? Did she know that to leave her and the kids would kill me?
As I watched Brooke that night, trying to be strong for friends and family, only inside she was hurting so bad she could barely keep the tremor from her voice and the shaking in her hands under control, I kept thinking about how unfair this was, but also how fucking angry I was.
When you lose someone close to you, the news, while shocking, has a way of festering. Like an infection. It starts out painful, sharp and radiating. Then it takes over, and before you know it, you can’t move or so much as breathe without thinking about it. And then you get medication, because without it, then what?
So let’s say in this case the medication is the funeral. It’s closure. Maybe the only closure you’ll get. An end to it.
Sure, it will never take away the pain of them being gone, but the initial shock, the pain, the redness, it’s fading with time. It may not feel like it, but it is. The pain doesn’t last forever. It can’t.
Brooke knew that very well. She was always such a strong woman, someone I looked up to completely — not just for her will, but her compassion and the understanding she had for the way of life that took her husband.
&nb
sp; I keep having this dream now. It’s one where I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and crying. It’s the one where Logan is in flames and I’m walking away from him.
It’s an image I can’t shake.
To me it’s strange how you can convince yourself that death lurks in every corner, but when it happens, nothing feels like you are prepared for it.
The faces and voices all contained the same stoic tone, one that conveyed their grief, but I didn’t want to hear what everyone said that day, and I knew damn well Brooke didn’t, either. They all offered condolences and shit that didn’t matter. I didn’t want to hear, “We’re sorry for your loss,” or “Everything happens for a reason.”
Fuck that shit. Everything didn’t happen for a reason. Everything was fucked up right now. I wanted none of it.
Inside the church, my mind went blank.
As a firefighter, you never wanted to attend another firefighter’s funeral.
It made the possibility of it happening to you and your family real. You saw it. You saw the family suffering and knew that it could have been you. Death was suddenly right there in your face, taunting you. It reminded you just how precariously you were balancing on the edge of disaster.
There was heartache in this room. It was suffocating. Agony, excruciating agony that wouldn’t be relieved by anything I was about to say. The pain — it was unyielding, a merciless torture that wouldn’t let up, because with every breath, I knew he was no longer taking one.
Nothing would bring him back. Nothing. As devastating as that was, it was reality. Something I knew, understood, and had known would always be a reality of this life. I saw people die every day. Sometimes more than one a day. It never made it easier.
And I was proud to have fought on the line with him; I was a better person for having known him. A benevolent man, undefeated in nearly everything he did.
Soon Logan would be laid to rest. Buried. And soon people would forget him. But not us. We could never forget a guy like him. A man whose memory would always be there.
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