Stronger than glue.

It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. The kind of day where the sky is so blue it seeps into your soul leaving a trail of warmth and contentment. The cotton-ball clouds moved slowly across the deep blue but stayed out of the rays of the brilliant sun. This is the kind of day you expect to end as perfectly as it started. A day you can actually consider that everything is right with the world. Until you hear the tones followed by the words that get your heart racing - smoke showing.

I hit the repeat as I scurried out of my house avoiding the three steps on the porch and instead just leaping to the driveway. It was a gorgeous day and I was going to a fire to watch the people I respect the most do what they do best. We flipped the switches on the dash and started up the siren all while we all asked each other "is there even a house at that address?" We shrugged it off as we followed behind the first engine. I assigned tasks and got a game plan together. The temperature outside was much warmer than I thought.

We rounded the last corner and were greeted by angry billows of black smoke as it clawed it's way into the sky. The usual prayer passed my lips. "Please God, let everyone be out and keep everyone safe." Strangely, this has been a habit of mine since I was very young. Any time my mom would pass an ambulance or firetruck, she would say a prayer for everyone involved - wisdom for the rescuers and courage and healing for the ones that needed them. At times, I found comfort in the thought that perhaps there was someone out there praying for me as I played both parts. It didn't take much to realize the small patch of trees were hiding a house that was well past it's years and one would have sworn was abandoned. As is the norm for my area, the long gravel drive demanded most of our hose.

As we staged and set up rehab we were stopped in our tracks as two crooked figures shuffled down the long drive, away from everything they knew. A sigh of relief echoed along with the breaking of my heart. The state of the house now made sense. These two people could barely hold themselves up but somehow together, they supported each other making the task ahead of them a bit more manageable. Her white hair swayed in the breeze and I feared anything more than that would knock them both to the ground. Both were cloaked in heavy sweaters and he had a stained knit hat pulled down where only a few strands of greying hair braved the world outside the wool. They were a sight to see - arm in arm, preparing themselves for an outcome that was at best grim.

When they reached the ambulance we wrapped them both in another layer of wool. While I was sweating and begging to shed a layer or two, these two creatures were shivering from the same cool breeze that I was enjoying. Up close, their faces were dirty and the smudges of ash on their cheeks only darkened the blue under their tired eyes. I sat and ran through the medical assessment and found neither of them were hurt, at least not physically. I couldn't tell if the fear in their eyes were for the other's well being or for the future the fire was slowing digesting.

My heart ached for them. In an attempt to distract them as well as myself, I asked them questions unrelated to their health or their home. As it turns out, what I thought was an elderly couple still together after years of marriage, was a brother and a sister lost in the world without any family or any other place to call home. They had lived a long hard life but never had either of them left the other's side. To say that I was moved is an understatement. Here these two fragile beings had spent their lives together as one by one, their family members died or left never to be heard of again. Now, the only meager possessions they had were gone too. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought I was watching a movie playing before me. She laid her weary head on her brothers shoulder and grasped his wrinkled hand in hers. The tears slowly washed a trail down her cheek as she whispered, "at least we still have each other."

It was then I realized I was repeating my prayer.