"To A Fallen Brother"

"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 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 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 he had.
His life was devoted to all of mankind,
And just why he chose, it's not clear in my mind.
I've often regretted the life that we led,
When every third night I was alone in our bed.
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.

Your father's days here made others seem brighter,
For your father, my son, was a Fire Fighter."

Gerald R. Williamson

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush
I am the swift, uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.

These pages are dedicated to maintaining the memory of USAF Firefighters killed in the line of duty.