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forward as the chaplain begins to speak.
    “Losing a brother is never easy.  Bonds that are so tightly woven in this profession are hard to break, if ever really broken.  Three years ago, an unfortunate accident happened and one of our own paid the ultimate price.  Timothy Yaris wasn’t just our brother, he was a father and a friend.  A well loved member of our community.  And a true hero.”
    Tears well in my eyes as memories of that day come back to me.  I stopped suppressing them after I began therapy, but it’s been a while since the past—all my past—was so up close and personal.
    “Get him on the gurney,” I screamed to Nick as he carried Yaris out of the house, both of them covered in soot and dirt.  Nick did exactly as I asked, wasting no time stripping Yaris of his coat.  I grabbed the scissors and frantically cut at his shirt, needing all the access I could get.
    “Save him, Tina.  You have to save him,” Nick begged, holding tight to his brother and best friend’s hand.  “You got this, man.  You fucking hang on.  Don’t you dare let go,” he whispered in his ear.
    “Nick, baby, I need you to back up.  Give me room to work, okay?”
    He looked up at me with sad, worst case scenario eyes, silently pleading with me to perform a miracle.  Because that’s what it was … a miracle.  Letting go of Yaris’s hand, he backed away until he reached the curb, where he sat with his hands in his disheveled hair, waiting for his act of God.
    With everything in me, I tried.  I spared no measure.  I hooked leads to his chest, pulled out the portable defibrillator and gave the shock that should have pulled Yaris from wherever he was.  Nothing happened.
    I ran drugs through the IV and stopped to say a prayer or five, begging for a heartbeat to show on the monitor.  It never happened.
    “Tina?” Nick called from the curb, unshed tears filled his eyes.
    I couldn’t speak.  It wasn’t the end.  I couldn’t call a time of death, therefore he wasn’t dead.  With my partner at my side, we loaded Yaris in the ambulance and sped off toward the hospital, Nick in the back of the rig next to me, gripping my hand so tight I thought I’d lose circulation.  But I didn’t pull away.  I didn’t flinch.  He needed my strength, so I willingly gave it.
    Lights and sirens blared the entire drive that took less than five minutes.  Hospital staff were waiting the moment we pulled into the bay, opening the doors and taking Yaris into the emergency room.  Nick and I waited together with bated breath for a doctor to give us good news.
    But that never came, either.
    I was beyond impatient and Nick’s patience was wearing quickly.  I left him in the waiting room with the rest of the guys at 75 and walked through the ER like I owned the place.  They all knew me and didn’t think twice about me going in areas a family member or a friend shouldn’t be.  I paused outside Yaris’s room and watched the nurses and doctor move around the bed and do everything I couldn’t do in the field.
    But it wasn’t enough.
    “Time of death: 14:38,” the attending said, bowing his head, removing his gloves and scrubbing at his defeated face.
    My knees hit the floor first, followed by my hands.  With my head hung low and my shoulders violently shaking, I remembered being picked up and carried back to the waiting room.  I remained in Nick’s lap until everyone else had cleared out and Lacy arrived with a sleeping Dakota across her chest.
    I lost it again.  That wonderful little girl had just lost her father and she’d never remember him.  Being just a year old, she’d have no memories of what an amazing person Timothy Yaris actually was.  There’d be pictures, sure, but nothing she could hold on to in her heart.
    Together, Nick, Lacy and I sat in the waiting room, with Dakota curled up and sleeping in the chair next to us, and cried for the loss of an amazing man whose life was cut short … way too