Remembering a Car Fire

I looked into his eyes as he sat across from me. I noticed the glossy gaze as he was fighting tears. It's amazing what people go through that you don't even realize. For 20 years he's been blaming himself. What if he'd just done something different? What if he could have saved them? But after 20 years, he's finally coming to the realization that there was nothing he could do differently and he did the best he could.

My father is a fire fighter and was once a Paramedic. But after this event, he asked to be reassigned. The images in his brain just wouldn't go away. It was early July. Independence Day was right around the corner. Two girls in an SUV had some fireworks in the back. Someone thought they'd be funny and through a firecracker in the SUV. The rest of the fireworks ignited in a display of bright colors of which instantly set the inside of the vehicle ablaze. They didn't stand a chance.

He was the first to the scene. What he came across haunts him to this days. Two girls, nearly his oldest daughter's age, screaming in the front seat, the damage already done. There was no definition to differintiate flesh from clothing. There was no moving them as they're backs were adhered to the leather seats. The only thing a Paramedic could do in this situation was to get an IV in anywhere he/she could and pump pain meds. But there was no where to stick without removing clothing which would have put the girls in more excruciating pain then they already were. 

Knowing that he could do nothing left him feeling helpless. He crawled into the SUV from the back seat and sat between them. He spoke in words most delicate, telling him what he knew was a lie. Everything was going to be ok. His voice shaking as he spoke and as they continued to scream. He broke protocol and broke down. He cried along with these girls continuing to comfort them between the sobs as he knew they weren't going to make it. He was completely helpless.

And this is what has haunted him all these years. He still hears their cries. He can still smell the stench of burnt flesh and leather. He can still see the charred limbs and looks of terror in their eyes. As he spoke, my cheeks soaked, I realized something I never thought of before. We all have events that change who we are. We all have seen things we wished we could erase. Maybe not to this extent but we all have a story. The key to surviving is not to supress these stories, but to give them their space. Allow them to change us. Experience can be a great motivator towards compassion if you let it. My dad is a better person having had to go through that agony. It has made him softer and more caring about those he is charged to care for. And though I wish he would have never had to experience such atrocities, I know that he is doing the best that he can. I know that although broken, he has not given up. That encourages me to move on one more day, one more hour, one more minute. When it all is said and done, the only thing that matters is how you helped just one person by being present. How you showed them that you were there for them. How you cared.