*disclaimer - all opinions in this post are my own, and should not be credited to, or blamed on, anyone else*
I have been part of the firefighting/first responder community for five years now, and before that, I was just like everyone else that will likely read this, your average American citizen, going about my daily life.
I remember where I was on September 11, 2001. I remember what I was doing when I first heard the news. I remember watching the television and being unable to take my eyes off the smoke coming from the World Trade Tower in New York. I remember watching the second plane hit. I remember y my knees buckling when the towers came down. I remember watching the chaos of the smoke and ash and dust. I remember hearing what I know now are PASS alarms, and even though I didn't know what they were knowing that it meant something was terribly wrong. I remember seeing the panicked faces as people ran for their lives. I remember the determination on the faces of the men and women who were running in to save lives. I remember hearing that all air traffic was ordered to the ground. I remember hearing the the Pentagon had been hit. I remember hearing that a plane had crashed in a field in Pennsylvania.
The point is.......I remember. For those of us that lived that day, I don't think that we'll ever truly forget. But, we've become complacent. And I think that somehow, somewhere along the way, we've forgotten to remember some of the things that are really important.
I went to my first memorial stair climb this weekend. I had the honor of watching 343 firefighters, 70 law enforcement officers and 9 emergency medical technicians be memorialized as their sacrificed was memorialized by members of their profession geared up and climbed 110 floors to recognize their sacrifice on the fateful day. It was done to remember those that that went in while others ran out. It was done with honor, with courage, with determination. It was done as a symbol of brotherhood. It was done as a sign that we will never forget what they gave that day. It was done because it should be done, because it will always be done, and because it is right.
It was like having steel wool rubbed over a raw wound. And I will go and honor that sacrifice every year, and re-open that would because they deserve that.
But we're missing something. We're missing half of the whole. We're forgetting to honor the reason they made that sacrifice, and it somehow cheapens the sacrifice they made, and I didn't understand that until today, when the keynote speaker's comments really had a chance to sink it with me.
Yesterday I heard some numbers that I'm sure I had heard before, but had never really sunk into my brain, and it made me start doing some thinking.
On any given day, fifty thousand people worked in the World Trade Center in New York. Think about that, fifty thousand people. I live in a town of 10,000. That's 5 of my entire town. 5. And they evacuated in an hour. 3,000 lives were lost. And that is tragic. It is unimaginable. But 47,000 - forty seven thousand, were saved. Everyone was a first responder that day. Whether they grabbed the person in the cube next to them, whether they wore bunker gear, a bullet proof vest and a gun, whether they wore a stethoscope, or just yanked someone off the street to get them away from the flying glass, they were a first responder. It may have been for a few hours, for a few minutes, for a few second, but for that day, for those moments, they found the courage to do what our heroes do every day. For that moment in time, they were a part of our brotherhood.
In the Pentagon, military and civilian personnel got people out. They went above and beyond to save lives.
At Ground Zero, George W. Bush said on September 14, 2001 "I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you! And the people - the people who knocked down these buildings will hear all of us soon!"
While I hate to disagree with President Bush - the people who knocked down those buildings had already heard from the American people. They heard from the American people when Flight 93 that had been taken over by hijackers was taken back by its passengers who bravely took it back and chose to take it down in a field where no one else could be harmed. They joined the elite of our military that day. They chose the manner of their death, and turned the hijackers' weapon against them and saved an untold number of lives.
On September 11, 2001, our politicians stood hand in hand and sang the National Anthem, regardless of political affiliation, for love of country. People lined up to give blood, for love of country. People flew their flags for love of country. Young men and women enlisted for love of country. A national tragedy brought out the best in us, and somewhere along the way, we've all forgotten that it mattered. Over the past 13 years, we've devolved back to political shenanigans that have stalled our country, people have gotten so mired down in believing that their way is best that we've forgotten the basic lessons that we teach our children - that you have to learn to compromise in order to find the best way to accomplish anything.
And perhaps, most importantly, we've forgotten the most important thing about September 11, 2001. As tragic as it was, it could have been so much worse.
Eventually, people need to stop grieving. Unfortunately, in the first responder community especially, we remember to grieve, but we forget to celebrate. We need to grieve, yes. We need to remember to take the time to grieve and remember the loss every year. Not just of the first responders lost, but of the civilians that couldn't be saved, because, after all, that's what the job is about.
But then, when the moment is over, we need to lift up our heads, throw back our shoulders, lift our fists to the sky, and celebrate all the families that are still whole today because of those men and women that gave it all. 47,000 went home that day. That's 47,000 birthdays, Christmases, Thanksgivings, Father's Days, Mother's Days, weddings, and graduations that still happen because of those that gave it all. I'd call that a reason to celebrate. I'd that call a victory. I'd call that a damned good day.
I'd call that the other half of the story.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Friday, June 27, 2014
It's time to change our national conversation
It's time to make some changes to our national conversation about obesity. We need to stop talking solely about people being overweight as if that is the only cause of poor health. We need to stop reducing the problem to a number on a doctor's chart on the wall, or the number on a scale. The problem is much much larger than that (no pun intended).
We need to begin to change our focus, and look at overall health, rather than focusing simply on weight. Yes, being overweight can lead to many health problems. So can being underweight. Malnutrition can occur at any point on the weight spectrum, and can lead to many of the overall health concerns that people experience when they are overweight.
A child that eats only chicken nuggets, will suffer from malnutrition, for the lack of appropriate calcium, and vitamins that come from dairy products and healthy vegetables. That child is also likely to be overweight.
A child that eats only lettuce will suffer from some of the same problems, but will also suffer from the lack of protein to build healthy muscle tissue and normal growth. They will likely not be overweight though, so it's not a problem, right?
And what about the adult that eats all the right things in all the right portions, but doesn't exercise, so is develops brittle bones, or simply has fat instead of lean muscle mass? But hey, they aren't overweight, so they aren't obese, which means we don't need to worry about them.
Yes, someone who is obese has additional concerns - stress fractures, difficulty breathing, added risk of cardiac issues - but if you really do some research, these aren't limited to the obese, they can be complications of anyone who lives an unhealthy lifestyle and suffers from poor or mal-nutrition.
Ultimately, we need to move away from the scale, and stop reducing the problem to a number. We need to stop telling our young people that their value and their worth comes from the size of their jeans, and teach them that their overall health is what is important. We need to teach them that the better they take care of themselves now, the longer they will have to make their mark on the world, to make their legacy, and to show the world just how special they are. And none of that has anything to do with what they see on the scale.
Just my little thought for the day.
We need to begin to change our focus, and look at overall health, rather than focusing simply on weight. Yes, being overweight can lead to many health problems. So can being underweight. Malnutrition can occur at any point on the weight spectrum, and can lead to many of the overall health concerns that people experience when they are overweight.
A child that eats only chicken nuggets, will suffer from malnutrition, for the lack of appropriate calcium, and vitamins that come from dairy products and healthy vegetables. That child is also likely to be overweight.
A child that eats only lettuce will suffer from some of the same problems, but will also suffer from the lack of protein to build healthy muscle tissue and normal growth. They will likely not be overweight though, so it's not a problem, right?
And what about the adult that eats all the right things in all the right portions, but doesn't exercise, so is develops brittle bones, or simply has fat instead of lean muscle mass? But hey, they aren't overweight, so they aren't obese, which means we don't need to worry about them.
Yes, someone who is obese has additional concerns - stress fractures, difficulty breathing, added risk of cardiac issues - but if you really do some research, these aren't limited to the obese, they can be complications of anyone who lives an unhealthy lifestyle and suffers from poor or mal-nutrition.
Ultimately, we need to move away from the scale, and stop reducing the problem to a number. We need to stop telling our young people that their value and their worth comes from the size of their jeans, and teach them that their overall health is what is important. We need to teach them that the better they take care of themselves now, the longer they will have to make their mark on the world, to make their legacy, and to show the world just how special they are. And none of that has anything to do with what they see on the scale.
Just my little thought for the day.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
The loss of a brother - aren't you scared?
"Your husband's a firefighter? Oh my gosh, doesn't that scare you? Don't you worry?"
Such short questions, with such long answers. The simple answer is yes, I worry. But no, not really. Confusing, right?
I remember when Jason and I first started talking to each other. I worried myself silly. We didn't really "date" since we met online, but we talked for hours every night, and I asked tons of questions about his job, and he told me tons of stories. And, of course, I worried. And I remember what he told me then - "Babe, don't worry, this is why we train."
So, yes, I worry. But, when I worry, I do the same thing he does, I rely on his training. These men and women don't take their jobs lightly. I mean, sure, you see the ones out there that don't stay physically fit, that don't train, and yes, they worry me. Not just for the people that they may not be able to help, but for themselves, because one day, their bodies just might not be up to the task, and it might end up being a very bad day. And in their line of work, a bad day can mean that someone doesn't make it home - ever.
But, for the most part, these folks train their hearts out. They practice every scenario, they test their equipment to make sure it's ready, they test their bodies to make sure they are ready, they test each other to make sure they work together with mechanical precision. They train. And that training saves lives. Not just yours and mine, but their own. So no, I don't worry. I mean, I worry, of course I do, but I don't sit and fret every time he goes out on a call, I live my life, and I rely on his training to bring him home.
So what truly worries me? Those situations that they can't train for. The jokers that see the flashing red lights and the big red trucks, but think that whatever they are hurrying to is too important for them to slow down and move over. The folks that live in 100 year old tinderbox houses and won't spend 40 dollars on a working smoke detector. The people with 5 kids and no escape plan. The person that hoards so many "things" in their house that there's no safe way in or out. The guy with that one piece of memorabilia so important that he'll run back into a burning building to get it, regardless of how dangerous it is. The militant crazy person with explosives or weaponry in his house that isn't kept in a fireproof safe. These are the things that frighten me.
On Monday evening in Dallas, firefighter Scott Tanksley was doing what he was trained to do. When a car lost control on an icy patch of road, he called out to the driver to make sure that the driver was uninjured, and was on his way to secure the scene. He encouraged the driver to stay in the vehicle for his own safety, and in so doing he saved the driver's life....and lost his own. Another driver lost control, struck the first vehicle, and then struck firefighter Tanksley, knocking him off the bridge they were on, and he fell 5 and a half stories to his death. That's what you'll read in the news stories.
Firefighter Tanksley was a husband and the father of three young children, and by all accounts a good and honorable man. He was also a firefighter, which makes him my husband's brother, and mine.
Here's what you won't read in the news. On Monday night, wives all over the country grieved with Mrs. Tanksley. Today, we all grieve with her. We all held our husbands a little closer, clung to our phones a little tighter if our spouse's were on duty, re-read the last text messages we got from them, and cried into our pillows that night. Our hearts are broken. One of our own was lost that night. This is our family. And while the news stories and Facebook posts will slow down after a few days, we won't forget. Those three children, and Mrs. Tanksley will not go through this alone, not ever. They will always have this family by their sides. Someone will always make sure they have what they need. It will be done quietly, and without much fanfare, but that's how family works. We don't need a lot of recognition, we just need to be there. It's what we do.
And what do we do to fight the fear? Well, I'm not sure what other women do. I know what I do. I tell my husband I love him. A lot. A really lot. And I mean it. Every. Single. Time. Even when I'm picking his socks up off the floor, or doing dishes for the third time because it drives me bonkers to have them in the sink, or tripping over his station boots. And especially when he's doing some laundry because he knows I'm tired, or doing dishes because he knows it drives me bonkers to have them in the sink. :)
I try to make our home a haven, a safe place. When he comes home, I want this to be a place of warmth and love, not a place of strife and conflict. He gets enough of that at work. When he's had a bad shift, or a bad call, I listen, or I let him work through it.
I go up to the local station house where he volunteers and I hug the guys so they know I love them, even when I want to pinch some of them because they're stubborn or cocky. Because I love them - even when they're stubborn or cocky.
I get involved. I ask questions. I learn as much as I can about what he does so that what he tells me makes sense, and so that when he needs to talk, he can talk, and not have to stop to explain.
I talk to other women like me, other fire wives. Women who understand what it's like to have your husband do what he does.
I live my life. I work, I play, I keep myself busy.
And I pray. I remember that the Bible isn't just a bunch of pieces of paper with cool leather binding and pretty gold paint on the edges. It's a promise. It's a promise from God that at the end of all this, even when the things of this world don't or haven't made sense, it's going to be ok. It's going to be better than ok. And when I doubt, or when I need reassurance, I hold that promise close to my chest, hit my knees, lift my eyes and my heart to heaven and I call out to the one that can give me peace. And He never ever lets me down.
Tonight my prayers are for the Tanksley family, that He will give them that peace, and for the members of the Dallas Fire Department that I know are hurting so badly right now. Your family stands with you.
Such short questions, with such long answers. The simple answer is yes, I worry. But no, not really. Confusing, right?
I remember when Jason and I first started talking to each other. I worried myself silly. We didn't really "date" since we met online, but we talked for hours every night, and I asked tons of questions about his job, and he told me tons of stories. And, of course, I worried. And I remember what he told me then - "Babe, don't worry, this is why we train."
So, yes, I worry. But, when I worry, I do the same thing he does, I rely on his training. These men and women don't take their jobs lightly. I mean, sure, you see the ones out there that don't stay physically fit, that don't train, and yes, they worry me. Not just for the people that they may not be able to help, but for themselves, because one day, their bodies just might not be up to the task, and it might end up being a very bad day. And in their line of work, a bad day can mean that someone doesn't make it home - ever.
But, for the most part, these folks train their hearts out. They practice every scenario, they test their equipment to make sure it's ready, they test their bodies to make sure they are ready, they test each other to make sure they work together with mechanical precision. They train. And that training saves lives. Not just yours and mine, but their own. So no, I don't worry. I mean, I worry, of course I do, but I don't sit and fret every time he goes out on a call, I live my life, and I rely on his training to bring him home.
So what truly worries me? Those situations that they can't train for. The jokers that see the flashing red lights and the big red trucks, but think that whatever they are hurrying to is too important for them to slow down and move over. The folks that live in 100 year old tinderbox houses and won't spend 40 dollars on a working smoke detector. The people with 5 kids and no escape plan. The person that hoards so many "things" in their house that there's no safe way in or out. The guy with that one piece of memorabilia so important that he'll run back into a burning building to get it, regardless of how dangerous it is. The militant crazy person with explosives or weaponry in his house that isn't kept in a fireproof safe. These are the things that frighten me.
On Monday evening in Dallas, firefighter Scott Tanksley was doing what he was trained to do. When a car lost control on an icy patch of road, he called out to the driver to make sure that the driver was uninjured, and was on his way to secure the scene. He encouraged the driver to stay in the vehicle for his own safety, and in so doing he saved the driver's life....and lost his own. Another driver lost control, struck the first vehicle, and then struck firefighter Tanksley, knocking him off the bridge they were on, and he fell 5 and a half stories to his death. That's what you'll read in the news stories.
Firefighter Tanksley was a husband and the father of three young children, and by all accounts a good and honorable man. He was also a firefighter, which makes him my husband's brother, and mine.
Here's what you won't read in the news. On Monday night, wives all over the country grieved with Mrs. Tanksley. Today, we all grieve with her. We all held our husbands a little closer, clung to our phones a little tighter if our spouse's were on duty, re-read the last text messages we got from them, and cried into our pillows that night. Our hearts are broken. One of our own was lost that night. This is our family. And while the news stories and Facebook posts will slow down after a few days, we won't forget. Those three children, and Mrs. Tanksley will not go through this alone, not ever. They will always have this family by their sides. Someone will always make sure they have what they need. It will be done quietly, and without much fanfare, but that's how family works. We don't need a lot of recognition, we just need to be there. It's what we do.
And what do we do to fight the fear? Well, I'm not sure what other women do. I know what I do. I tell my husband I love him. A lot. A really lot. And I mean it. Every. Single. Time. Even when I'm picking his socks up off the floor, or doing dishes for the third time because it drives me bonkers to have them in the sink, or tripping over his station boots. And especially when he's doing some laundry because he knows I'm tired, or doing dishes because he knows it drives me bonkers to have them in the sink. :)
I try to make our home a haven, a safe place. When he comes home, I want this to be a place of warmth and love, not a place of strife and conflict. He gets enough of that at work. When he's had a bad shift, or a bad call, I listen, or I let him work through it.
I go up to the local station house where he volunteers and I hug the guys so they know I love them, even when I want to pinch some of them because they're stubborn or cocky. Because I love them - even when they're stubborn or cocky.
I get involved. I ask questions. I learn as much as I can about what he does so that what he tells me makes sense, and so that when he needs to talk, he can talk, and not have to stop to explain.
I talk to other women like me, other fire wives. Women who understand what it's like to have your husband do what he does.
I live my life. I work, I play, I keep myself busy.
And I pray. I remember that the Bible isn't just a bunch of pieces of paper with cool leather binding and pretty gold paint on the edges. It's a promise. It's a promise from God that at the end of all this, even when the things of this world don't or haven't made sense, it's going to be ok. It's going to be better than ok. And when I doubt, or when I need reassurance, I hold that promise close to my chest, hit my knees, lift my eyes and my heart to heaven and I call out to the one that can give me peace. And He never ever lets me down.
Tonight my prayers are for the Tanksley family, that He will give them that peace, and for the members of the Dallas Fire Department that I know are hurting so badly right now. Your family stands with you.
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