Last year, there was a terrible accident on the Interstate near our community.
My husband, Brian, a volunteer fireman, was one of the first to respond. A teenager on his way to visit his grandmother had lost control of his car, which careened into a field at 90 miles per hour. The boy had been thrown from the car and his body was ripped in several places by a barbed wire fence. One of the worst injuries was to his leg. His femoral artery was torn and he was bleeding out.
Brian knelt beside him, put pressure on his leg, and talked to him to help prevent him from going into shock. Life flight prepared to land and my husband shielded the boy’s body with his own from flying debris.
The teen expressed that he liked my husband’s sunglasses and the two of them made a deal: if the boy would fight to live Brian would give him the sunglasses.
During the next few days all Brian could think about was the boy. Although he regularly helps many accident victims he and the teen had developed a special rapport. We finally found the boy in a hospital in another town. He faced a year of rehabilitation, but he was alive and his leg had been saved.
My husband walked into the room and asked, “Do you remember me?”
The boy replied, “No, but I remember those glasses.”
Brian handed over the sunglasses, keeping his part of the deal.
The lives my husband touches are not only those he serves as a volunteer fireman. There are countless others—the elderly, homeless, and down trodden—for which he always has a kind word and time to listen, or to fix what needs repaired. I am proud that our children and grandchildren look up to him. They never doubt that he loves them.
My husband, Brian, a volunteer fireman, was one of the first to respond. A teenager on his way to visit his grandmother had lost control of his car, which careened into a field at 90 miles per hour. The boy had been thrown from the car and his body was ripped in several places by a barbed wire fence. One of the worst injuries was to his leg. His femoral artery was torn and he was bleeding out.
Brian knelt beside him, put pressure on his leg, and talked to him to help prevent him from going into shock. Life flight prepared to land and my husband shielded the boy’s body with his own from flying debris.
The teen expressed that he liked my husband’s sunglasses and the two of them made a deal: if the boy would fight to live Brian would give him the sunglasses.
During the next few days all Brian could think about was the boy. Although he regularly helps many accident victims he and the teen had developed a special rapport. We finally found the boy in a hospital in another town. He faced a year of rehabilitation, but he was alive and his leg had been saved.
My husband walked into the room and asked, “Do you remember me?”
The boy replied, “No, but I remember those glasses.”
Brian handed over the sunglasses, keeping his part of the deal.
The lives my husband touches are not only those he serves as a volunteer fireman. There are countless others—the elderly, homeless, and down trodden—for which he always has a kind word and time to listen, or to fix what needs repaired. I am proud that our children and grandchildren look up to him. They never doubt that he loves them.
He is one of a kind.
He is my hero.
He is my hero.
2 comments:
Lori,
When I met you and Brian I could just feel the wonderful spirit about both of you. Thanks for sharing a wonderful story about your special someone. I'm glad we have great men in our lives.
Sincere thanks, Sherry, for your comments. Hope you had a great Christmas!
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