Married to a fireman

When I was small, I was afraid of the dark. I was afraid of heights. I was afraid of men, and snakes, and guns. Afraid of thunderstorms and lightning strikes. Afraid of kidnappers and intruders. I was even afraid of flashing head lights at oncoming cars that didn’t have their lights on because they were going to hunt you down and kill you as part of a gang initiation ritual (in rural Cass County, Texas). It’s safe to say I was generally afraid. I have theories about why I was so paralyzed by fear, none of which are rational or lucid.

Not sure who, maybe my Aunt Bobbie or maybe my Mom, but someone taught that scared little girl a bible verse that I’ve tucked away in my heart and repeated so so so many times over and over. “What time I am afraid, I will trust in You” Psalms 56:3. I love the simplicity and child-like faith that this verse conveys. It’s proved so useful over my lifetime.

As an adult, I’ve made huge strides to overcome all this fear. Most of the time, I choose not to dwell on scary things, and often times this can be perceived as a general disregard for life and limb, but believe me, everything is calculated. A couple years ago there was a big, beautiful snow in Atlanta and some friends got together to sled down a hill out in the country. While it looked awesome and exhilarating, and I loved being there to take it all in, I couldn’t bring myself to hop on that trash can lid, grab the handle and be pulled by a winch down that frozen hill towards a not-frozen pond. Why? Not because I was afraid, because I was. However, I could have put that fear aside and rode that sled regardless. No, I couldn’t do it because I am a mother. I am needed. Sometimes, I am the only one around to take Porter to school, and change dirty diapers. Sometimes, there is no back up. Sometimes, a sick day is not an option. It’s all part of being married to a fireman.

Married to a fireman. Most people think they understand what that means, and by all accounts, the statement is made in pretty plain English. But, does anyone stop to think about what it really means for the ladies and children who have a fireman (insert police, nurse, and other essential personnel here)? By no means will I attempt to tackle explaining the entire lifestyle that comes with Daddy being a fireman today, but I do have to share what it means for our Christmas season. It’s something I have to get off my chest.

Before I start, I’m not writing this for pity, and I don’t need invitations to join your family for a meal. Although I think that’s kind-hearted and super nice of you, let’s face it, it would be awkward for everyone. Not to mention that I do have my own family outside of Brad to hang out with. No, I’m not writing this so you’ll feel sorry for me, but because I’ve recently learned a valuable lesson that I thought I already knew. Stay tuned, it gets good later.

Back to that sick day. Yesterday I woke up around 2am. Now, accept this as a rule: If I say I woke up at 2am, know that either one of the kids was involved, someone is in serious trouble, or I’m sick. Yesterday, it was the third of those options. Yesterday, a stomach bug straight from the depths of hell took over my body and I literally thought I would rather claw my eyes out with a dull butter knife than wrestle with that particular bug again. It was awful, I was a mess, but lo and behold, Brad had to work. So, he got up, showered and left before the light of day which left me with two very energetic and rather helpless little boys to shepherd. I did my best. I didn’t go to work, but I still had responsibilities: mouths to feed, school commute to complete, diapers to change, and bodies to bathe. My mom is an ANGEL, sent straight from God’s hand, she helped me out a ton and I am so thankful for her, but I say all this to reiterate—sometimes there are no sick days.

For the third year in a row, Brad is working all the holidays this year. When I say all, I really mean every last one of them. He worked Thanksgiving, he will work Christmas, and New Year’s Eve. It doesn’t stop there, this also means he will work Valentine’s Day and even our baby boy’s first birthday in late February (and on my birthday, too, but that’s the least of my worries). Now, when I say he’s “working” I don’t mean that he has to go in and work eight hours and we can expect him home for a late dinner. No, I mean that he has to be at work at 7am and he will work 24 hours, which means by the time he gets off our family and friends and loved ones, and even I will have to go back to work the next day. To say it’s a bummer is an understatement.

Usually, this shift only comes once every three years. Since firemen work 24 on and 48 off, their schedules rotate and his Crew would only work one out of three years on all the holidays. However, Brad was moved around a few times and we’ve had the fortune of catching holidays for three years in a row now. Among other things, I’m so very thankful that our boys are still too young to care what day Christmas falls on, as long as they get to open gifts at some point. I find some comfort in that fact, but waking up alone on Christmas Day still feels a little bit terrible and I still find myself searching for the fairness in the whole deal. Usually, I pack up the boys and we head to my Mom’s for the day. Being with family makes it easier, and I know she enjoys having us around, but as any mother, I still long to celebrate Christmas at home with my little complete family. I still want to snuggle up with the man I love after a long day of playing and giggling and tearing open packages. But I can’t. He’s at a cold, work-driven fire station along with three other guys that we don’t know all that well. I’ll be lucky if I get a phone call that ends with “I love you.”

It would be different if he was going in to a job that was mundane and easy. Maybe my heart would be a little more at rest if deep down I didn’t know there was a chance of some catastrophe. But honestly, I’ve given that to God a long time ago and I try not to dwell on it. Again, not living in fear.  His job is dangerous, but life in general is dangerous. My God is going to watch over and care for Brad and the rest of the people who are serving our community, on Christmas and every other day.  

So how do I deal with it? How do I process and find peace about missing out on all the holidays with him, again? I will tell you that it has not been easy. The first year, I accepted our fate with grace and patience and knew that it wouldn’t be every year. The second year I was a little more perturbed, but I rearranged our schedule, Santa came early and we made the best of it. But this year, this year I had all but pouted about it. I had made up my mind that God must have forgotten our family, because He sure wasn’t making concessions so that we could be together and celebrate the birth of His son. Yes, you read that right, I was bitter about Christmas this year.

Then yesterday, as I laid on my couch freezing and sweating all at the same time, praying I could keep down the Sprite I had taken two sips of, I caught an old rerun of Grey’s Anatomy. Now, before you throw rocks at me, I know it’s not a wholesome, moral show and I know that I wouldn’t watch it if Jesus were lounged in my living room, but yesterday it helped me come to terms with my Christmas plight, and for that I am thankful.

On the show, Meredith (the story’s lead) was working at the hospital on Thanksgiving, not because she had to but because she said there was nothing to be thankful for. At first, I scoffed, thinking…. “psh, I would never act like that!” and the longer I watched the more I realized that this was exactly how I was acting!

You see, Christians have long made a big deal about Jesus being the Reason for the Season, so much so that perhaps we say that without always thinking about it and understanding what it really means. We all know that commercialization and gifts and Elf on a Shelf isn’t what Christmas is really about. We all claim that Christmas is about spending time with loved ones and celebrating Jesus’ birth. That’s the thing though, Jesus is not just the reason for the season, He is THE REASON. For all of it. He is everything. He is the beginning and the end, and the middle. Jesus is it.

So, for me, this Christmas cannot be about spending time with the ones I love, although I will do plenty of that, but it will be about Jesus’ birth and the story of God’s gift to us, which is eternal life. I’m not saying I won’t miss my handsome husband while he’s gone, or that I won’t wish he could be home with us. But I am saying that I won’t be bitter, because I know THE REASON and I will have a Merry Christmas!