By Anne Gagliano
When Mike or any other firefighter says that a run was “pretty bad,” that can be interpreted into civilian terms as meaning it was horrific beyond description, the stuff of nightmares, a scene at which human tragedy and devastation occurred. Keep this in mind, because your firefighter does witness these types of events all the time. When he tells you it’s “bad,” believe me, it’s really bad. Although he might not clearly say it or even realize it himself, he has, indeed, been traumatized.
The first step within a firefighter marriage in handling the tough runs is for the firefighter to share this information with his spouse, as I clearly laid out in my last column. Now you know, firefighter mate; the next step is yours.
Over the years, I’ve witnessed the weight of stress and sorrow that has been loaded onto my firefighter husband’s shoulders. They are strong shoulders, stronger than most, but even he occasionally nearly breaks from the pressure. On these really heavy days, he needs a little help—as does any firefighter—and we spouses can either help take the load off or add to it. So what does actually help my firefighter and what does not?
It has been my experience that to be truly helpful is to begin by having an attitude of selflessness or self-sacrifice. This flies in the face of the modern day gurus who chant “Put your needs first, always.” But Mike and I believe the opposite is true for a marriage, any marriage, to be successful. To us, love is being there for each other even when it’s inconvenient. We feel that a firefighter’s ability to be courageous and giving at work begins at home.
Who doesn’t know the lyrics to Simon & Garfunkel’s Bridge over Troubled Water? These are some of the most beautiful words ever put to music, and I believe they should be the theme song for every firefighter marriage when it comes to handling the tough runs. (And no, this song is not about drugs as is commonly believed—“Silver Girl” was the nickname of an actual friend of theirs.):
“When you’re weary, feeling small; when tears are in your eyes I will dry them all. I’m on your side when times get rough, and friends just can’t be found. Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down…When you’re down and out, when darkness comes, and pain is all around…If you need a friend I’m sailing right behind…Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind.”
These words speak of noble friendship, of caring, of committing to someone to be there when they truly need you. We all agree that these are fine sentiments, and we actually tear-up at the thought of someone saying these words to us. But do we really follow through when called on to do so? What does it mean to “lay me down,” to be a “bridge over troubled water” for someone you love?
For me, it means to truly be a source of comfort to my firefighter husband when he’s hurting. I try to be the bridge that takes him from the side of pain to the side of healing, thus helping him get “over” the tough runs.
My idea of comfort may be different than his, so I’ve carefully learned over the years what he wants, not what I think he wants. Learn what makes your firefighter feel better, then make an effort to do just that.
For example, Mike does, on occasion, actually want to talk about the “tough run.” It’s then my job to stop everything and really listen, uninterrupted. I’ll admit that some of the stuff I hear is pretty horrible and upsetting; even though I know he has screened out the worst details. I’ve learned to be thick-skinned and not “freak out” if I find he’s willing to open up and vent. I gently ask questions, I do not give him a forced interrogation. I let him put voice to his fears and try to say kind things in response to cheer and encourage him. In this way I “ease his mind.” If he wants to talk, I listen; if he doesn’t, I don’t force it out of him.
Usually, however, Mike doesn’t really want to talk about the tough runs at all. I then must let go of my curiosity and choose not to feel ‘shut out.’ He’ll let me know he’s had a particularly bad night, say briefly why, and that’s all I get. So what do I do? He’s clearly hurting but doesn’t really want to talk, so I find other ways to offer support. Mainly, I simply cut him some slack for that day. I lighten his load where I can by taking something off his plate. Or I’ll let him be irritable without retaliating because I know where it’s coming from, and it will soon pass. Maybe I’ll prepare his favorite meal, suggest he take a nice long hot bath, or let him out of a family obligation so he can simply rest. These are the gestures he treasures when he needs a break; my needs are different, and he in turn reciprocates comfort in my way when I need a break. That’s what love is for, as Amy Grant sings, “To round off the edges, talk us down from the ledges, to give us strength to try once more.”
Giving comfort means to make someone feel better when they’re “down and out…when darkness comes…when pain is all around.” This could mean a neck rub, a back rub, a foot massage, or really great sex. It can mean no pressure to perform today, just relax; “I’m on your side.”
Firefighters risk themselves for strangers all the time, they lay themselves down as a bridge from danger to safety. How much more should we spouses be willing to do the same for them once in a while?
