Going home

It has been said that you can’t go home again.

I disagree.

Today I was sent to my first Firehouse, the one where I “grew up” in this Department. It’s still here and so are a few of the guys I had lost touch with.

My morning chores were easier when my mind raced with memories from seeing the familiar pictures on the wall, familiar names on the lockers and that good old big dinner table.

All my troubles fell away. I was reminded when we would go out on warm evenings and check for road closures and fire hazards in the night club district. I remembered when we frequented the local coffee shop when the new girl got hired. Playing cards late into the night and declaring a winner when the bells rang.

This is where my probationary boss retired. 32 years in the Department and a smile on his face every morning.

So here I am for the day, smile bigger than usual seeing the old engine barely fit into the house.

And my young daughter’s face in a picture on the wall, thanking the crew for taking up a collection when she was born.

It’s going to be a good day. I’m home.

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