“…if this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together; watch the flames climb higher into the night…and if we should die tonight, then we should all die together” 

 

GRANITE MOUNTAIN HOTSHOTS – LAST ALARM 6.30.2013

4 years this week. 4 years since our hearts were simply ripped out; 4 years since our breath was stolen from us without warning, along with the will to even live for so many.

19 men. 19 beautiful men, who were sons, brothers, loving husbands and committed fathers, just as they were committed to the duty of protecting their community so selflessly. 1 of those incredible men – OURS. Yet no longer. No longer ours to hold, to claim, to laugh with or enjoy. For some reason we will never know, God needed him more.

JESSE JAMES STEED – 9.28.1976 – 6.30.2013 

This is such an emotional week for so many, and although the dynamic in our home life has changed, I still grieve the same for my lost brother, Jesse James Steed. I still cry for him and all that was sacrificed. I still selfishly and shamelessly wish it were someone else. How could I not? I would give so much for him to trade places with someone else and to still be here. I would be lying to myself (as well as the other families to themselves) to pretend I didn’t wish that. How could God rob us of something so wonderful? Will this ever make sense? I remember again: God needed him more.

4 years ago now and yet it’s still just as fresh, just as raw, just as painful.

I’ve noticed as each day we’ve grown closer to that annual finality, I’ve become more lifeless and emotional without actually realizing why before. It’s such a haunting and sneaky grief. I could never adequately quantify what this feels like for myself, let alone for the other families and loved ones left behind. There are so many layers to this grieving thing, and some days I feel as if we’ve barely pulled back the first one. I’m so grateful for the community built around such tragedy, and that I can partake in honoring these boys with those who are forever my family. Jesse James Steed, you are so exponentially missed. My heart is just heavy. What I wouldn’t do for another one of those crushing bear hugs….

I remember each part leading up to THE moment so vividly. My former husband, Cassidy, and I were having such a great day together as a family out at a log show and then out to dinner. My mom came over to visit. Our favorite neighbor stopped by. A coworker came over to borrow our camping rack and Cassidy was helping them put it on their car while I was visiting with her. It was busy. It was fun. It was perfect for all of us. The (big) kids were down the street playing at the park and I was 6 months pregnant with our daughter. While trying to visit with my coworker, my sister-in-law, Tanya, kept calling me from Arizona. I remember thinking it was odd and that I would just call her back after everyone left.

But she didn’t stop calling. Over and over again. I excused myself to finally answer and did so to the panicked screams and sobs on the other end as she told me what was happening. The Granite Mountain Hotshots were out on the Yarnell Hill fire and they were overrun. She told me they feared the worst with at least 18-19 gone, and even if it hadn’t been confirmed yet, of who the lone survivor of the 20 Granite Mountain Hot Shots would be. We didn’t have any details yet, but we all knew if anyone could survive this, it would have to be Jesse. Families were just barely finding out and starting to gather while they waited for information and for the official meeting in Prescott, Arizona with that dreaded announcement: the names of the fallen.

19 + 1 – that’s how we’ve come to label this tragedy. 19 fallen, plus 1 survivor. I’ve never wanted to be so right in my life that he would be the one. I was so wrong.

My mom and neighbor had left, but my coworker was still there and Cassidy was still blissfully unaware, helping her install the camping rack. I tried so hard to keep a straight face and save it for the privacy we would have in a few more minutes. If I could just hold out a little bit longer so we could get inside. When she left, he bounced right back into mowing the lawn without missing a beat and I had to chase him down and get his attention. He didn’t understand why I wanted to go in the house to talk immediately and begged me to say whatever I needed to right there.

I had the most painful task of telling Cassidy that Jesse, his little brother, was gone. That these 19 beautiful, selfless heroes had been so violently taken from us. These 19 families had been rocked in the worst way: husbands and boyfriends gone; fathers that would never kiss their babies goodnight again or for some never even meet them for the first time; men far too young taken from their parents and loved ones. Never have I been so angry with God, or so doubtful of him. This is a tragedy of such magnitude that makes absolutely no sense. There’s still so many things left unanswered and unsolved, which makes it that much more devastating. I hate that 19 incredible men died and that we will never have all the answers for “why” and what went wrong.

We had to get the big kiddos back from the park to tell them the awful news and then take them to stay at their mom’s. It was too late for a flight out, so we packed our bags in mere minutes and hit the road to be with our family as quickly as possible, for what turned into weeks that seemed to just run together. Some memories of that time are still so vivid, while others have turned to mush or perhaps I’ve blocked out. Most often I remember all of the family meetings – each day at the school – to update of the latest news and findings with our family liaison and everyone in one place to grieve together. It felt like there had to be a mistake and that they would uncover some survivors if we just gave them time. There had to be a chance. There had to be answers. There had to be somewhere else they could have gone. We were told they deployed, which in fire and hotshot terminology, is the worst imaginable scenario. These fire shelters are a last resort and don’t stand a chance in a “real” fire. They are meant to buy them just a smidgen more time as the fire passes over them and moves onto something else. But not with this; Not with a blazing wild land fire that’s already terrorized the entire town of Yarnell and all their homes. They hadn’t stood a chance.

I remember the funerals.  Each family had a smaller, more private funeral service, which still held hundreds of mourners in presence. I remember Cassidy and Levi carrying their brother’s casket – a thing no one should ever have to do! The speeches that honored Jesse, along with the memories shared were incredible. Before becoming a firefighter, Jesse was a Marine. Jesse was the invincible one. Jesse was everything. I’m still in awe over just how many people one man impacted so positively. That’s the kind of life you want to lead; that’s a life of enviable valor. I remember the National Memorial service for all of the men, with thousands of people there and firefighters from around the world in attendance to honor our fallen. Vice President Joe Biden spoke. The lone survivor, Brendan “Donut” McDonough, spoke. We were sitting in one of the very front rows as Cassidy accepted the flag for his fallen little brother.

We chose to hike to the spot where these beautiful men lost their lives and it stirred up so many questions for us when all we wanted was some closure. The eerie feeling of standing right on the ground where someone you love lost their life in such a violent way is unparalelled. I remember how the only time we could smile or laugh, was when we told stories of Jesse and remembered his crushing hugs and goofy, perpetually upbeat and positive personality. The funny thing about grief is that you have no control over it and you find any way you can to cope.  Jesse would have wanted for us to be cracking jokes, and had he been there, he would have fixed it all for us himself. I guess there’s some closure in the thought of that. We can remember, but we can’t dwell.

I remember the 18 other families and how we all clutched to one another for support. Somehow knowing that we weren’t grieving alone made it that much more crucial to get up and show up every single day. It made it possible to be present and not give up, if not for ourselves, then for the rest of the survivors we would otherwise let down.  You CANNOT do this alone. I’ve since watched babies being born without their fathers in this earthly world; children grow and still remember their fathers; widows find love and comfort again, and how this all has procured and strengthened some unflappable bonds with a new dimension of “family.” We are all forever connected to one another because of this heartache.

Andrew Ashcraft, 29
Robert Caldwell, 23
Travis Carter, 31
Dustin Deford, 24
Christopher MacKenzie, 30
Eric Marsh, 43
Grant McKee, 21
Sean Misner, 26
Scott Norris, 28
Wade Parker, 22
John Percin, 24
Anthony Rose, 23
Jesse Steed, 36
Joe Thurston, 32
Travis Turbyfill, 27
William Warneke, 25
Clayton Whitted, 28
Kevin Woyjeck, 21
Garret Zuppiger, 27

4 years ago today, we all learned the importance of never taking any moment with someone you love for granted again with the most painful of life’s lessons. Never letting someone walk out the door without knowing they are loved, and always remembering to give them your time for that quick phone call or visit. The last time we heard Jesse’s beautiful voice was in a voicemail he left for me, telling me happy Mother’s Day after we announced we were expecting baby Jet, and I still listen to it for a good pick-me-up. Jesse tormented me the first time I had met him in 2010 by putting his newborn daughter Cambria’s poopy diapers under my windshield wipers and throwing them at my car, and he said now it would be my turn to get him back next time we would see him. True to form Jesse. Always happy, always loving his family and cheering everyone up. We never got that chance to see him again, though. Baby Jet never got to meet her Uncle Jesse and never had the privilege of knowing such a good and devoted man. So many things feel unfinished and it’s hard finding our way back again to life without these men. May we never forget them, never discount what they sacrificed, may we remember them in all we do and know that we have 19 Angels waiting to greet us when our time has come.

4 years since we said goodbye on God’s terms and not our own. 4 years of empty holes in our lives. 4 years of wishing we could wake up from this awful dream. 4 years with our guardian angels seeing us through.

I love you, Jesse James Steed. We didn’t get enough time together, but the impact you made on my life in the few years I had you as my brother resonates with me eternally. I’m so grateful for you. RIP, Brodder. Until we see you again for one of those famous crushing bear hugs.

Esse Quam Videri