Well, it’s been a while since I’ve had anything to say… but I’d like to talk about family – or, more properly, the concept of family. I’d like to talk about the honorable men and women of the fire department… specifically the New Hope Volunteer Fire Department of New Hope, Virginia.

Let me preface all this by saying that April and May have been particularly stressful for Sheila and me. A number of incidents happened that really put our coping abilities to the test. For example, on Friday, April 20, Sheila and I had to go to the doctor because we were both suffering from an acute sinus infection. For each of us, he prescribed a single-dose antibiotic called ZMax which worked well, but really knocked us out for a couple of days. Still, by Monday we were pretty much back to normal. Well… for a while.

On the evening of Thursday, April 26, Sheila and I went out for dinner at our local Outback Steakhouse. We had a great meal and thoroughly enjoyed the entire evening. At about 2:00 am Friday morning, Sheila developed severe diarrhea and started to throw up. It went on for about 45 minutes non-stop with waves of searing abdominal pain in between. Remembering how badly it went for Sheila the last time she was really ill and we delayed taking her to the hospital (see blog entry: Dad – Part 5), I packed her up and drove her to the ER at our local hospital. Within about 15 minutes she was in a bed, receiving IV fluids, and had received a dose of strong anti-diarrhea and anti-emetic medicine as well as a dose of narcotics for the pain. The medicine didn’t stop the symptoms though… and about 3 hours later (6:00 am), she received another full dose of each. The hospital could not admit her because our health insurance didn’t allow her to be admitted to any hospital other than the one for which she worked, so at about 7:00 she was discharged and I drove her to the ER at the hospital where she worked – about a 30 minute drive. They admitted her immediately and she stayed there the rest of the day and overnight – and by Saturday morning, she was in much better shape. She still had the occasional bout of diarrhea, but the vomiting had stopped and the pain had diminished.

The doctors (and there were several who saw her), agreed it was a variant of a Norovirus, a particularly nasty bug, and that there was nothing much to do but let the virus run its course – usually about 36 hours worth of misery. Her condition improved enough that by Saturday afternoon, she was discharged home. The doctor had written some prescriptions for her and after I made her comfortable in our bed, I drove to Wal-Mart to get them filled. Sheila slept the rest of the night… and then it was my turn.

At about 2:00 am on Sunday morning (why do these things always happen in the middle of the night?), I was in the bathroom vomiting with severe diarrhea. Fortunately, by this time we knew what was going on and we had the medicine handy. Like Sheila, there was nothing much to do but let the virus run its course… and I came to fully empathize with her and what she had just gone through.

The most stressful part of the past two months, though, was not our being ill, but the tragic loss of our nephew, David Reynolds on April 4, 2007. David was a great guy – a terrific friend, a good father to his two young daughters, a devoted husband, a fire fighter, a metal sculptor, and a man so full of life that living it to the fullest was his passion. David never did anything halfway. If he took on a project, he threw himself into it fully and stayed with it until it was done.

David was on Smith Mountain Lake in Virginia with his boss and two others, in a beautiful boat owned and driven by his boss. They were on their way to his boss’ summer house on a small island in the lake when for some, as yet, unexplained reason, the boat overturned and the four of them went into the water. According to the police reports, they were not speeding and alcohol was not involved. David’s boss and one of the other men managed to hang on to the overturned boat and were eventually rescued by a father and son who were out on the lake to do some fishing. One man died at the scene… and David, the youngest at age 44 and by far the strongest swimmer, was lost. As I write this blog entry, his body has not yet been recovered.

David was a 2^nd Lieutenant with the New Hope Volunteer Fire Department. When they heard the news, every available member of the NHVFD scrambled to the lake to help in search and rescue operations. High winds and cold weather hampered their efforts though, and after 3 days with no results, and in consultation with Melody, David’s wife, the rescue efforts were officially called off. Still, every day, members of the NHVFD were at the lake to search – something which they continued to do throughout the months of April and May… and something which they continue to do to this day.

There wasn’t much that Sheila and I could do other than offer support to Melody, and we felt pretty much helpless despite our best efforts. There was no body, and so there was no closure. After five weeks, Melody resolved to move forward, if only for the sake of their two young daughters. She settled on May 12, 2007 as the date for a memorial service for David – it would have been their 17^th wedding anniversary. Sheila and I drove to Virginia this past weekend to attend the service… and it was during this service, that I discovered a new meaning of the word “family”.

People came to pay their respects. Hundreds of people came! By the time the service started, there were over 350 people in the hall. It was a humbling experience. More humbling though… honor guards from no fewer than 7 fire departments were present… most of whom had never even heard the name “David Reynolds”. It didn’t matter. They were honoring their fallen brother in the only way they knew how… with dignity, and respect, and a sense of duty. I was so taken aback by their presence, I had to catch my breath at times because the intensity of their brotherhood was almost overwhelming.

As the service started, there was a young man – about 25 years old – sitting in the next aisle. While most of the men were nicely dressed, this young fellow was wearing old baggy blue jeans with a jack knife hanging from his belt loop, tennis shoes, a faded cream shirt, and hair that looked as though it hadn’t seen a brush for a week. He also had a tattoo of a scorpion on his right hand with the body and tail on his wrist and the claws extending down his thumb and index finger. He looked totally out of place. As it turned out, my first impressions of him were totally wrong.

At the front of the hall, there stood a framed photo of David in his VFD uniform, and folded neatly below, was his uniform and polished helmet. The hall had 3 ceiling mounted projectors and screens, and a slide show highlighted moments in David’s life… his wedding to Melody, the birth of his daughters, holding a water hose near a burning building, goofy memories of camping, moments with friends, and other good times. All of this was accompanied by Celine Dion singing “My Heart Will Go On” from the movie “Titanic”. Up until this time, most of the group had been able to hold back their tears, but the images were so typically David and the music was so poignant, that you could hear people crying within a few moments of the music starting. Sheila and I both cried a bit… David was a good man. But if anyone was affected by the music and images, it was the young man in the next aisle.

When the service first started, he appeared to struggle to stay awake as though he wished he could be anywhere other than where he was. Soon though, I noticed that he seemed very upset – he was trying not to cry… and his face was filled with pain. When the slide show and music started, he completely broke down and sobbed loudly. His whole body shook with the intensity of his emotions and it took a few moments before I realized that he was sitting with some members of the New Hope VFD… David’s own department. At one point during the music, he stood up straight and with a great sense of deliberateness, he saluted David’s picture. The tears streamed down his face as he stood silently… still saluting and he had to be consoled by a member of his department. As more and more people noticed, their own emotions became more intense… and soon it seemed as though the whole hall was crying.

I never found out who this young man was other than that he worked at the NHVFD and that he knew David… but it didn’t really matter. Perhaps this was his first experience with the loss of a friend… I don’t really know, but his reactions that day were seared into my mind. That young man did the only thing he could do to honor the memory of a man who, apparently, had made quite an impression. His actions spoke volumes about David’s character.

Perhaps the hardest part of the service was Last Call. It lasted only 15 seconds, but it has occupied my thoughts every day since the service. It’s the way in which members of the fire department honor their own. The department dispatcher sent a radio message that was picked up in the hall and patched through the speakers so that everyone could hear. Simultaneously, the message was broadcast through the public address system to every fire department and FD vehicle in the Commonwealth of Virginia. The message was the official “last call” for David, thanking him for his service, and reminding all within earshot that he will not be forgotten.

I have not yet shed a tear for my dad who died last year… but I cried for David. I have to wonder what that says about my concept of family.

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Finally, almost 4 months to the day since he was lost, David’s body was recovered on August 2^nd. For Melody and the girls, it means the opportunity to have a proper burial, a proper gravesite, and some much needed closure.