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It’s been several nights since we’ve shared a bed.

A few long days, all alone in my head.

Errands and bills, taking care of home.

Where others have help, I do it alone.

You’ll see me, taking out the trash.

Chasing the kids and forcing the baths.

Buying the groceries and feeding the cat.

Praying in the bathroom when I don’t know where he’s at.

Fighting and fussing, the kids are wired.

I just want a little quite, I am so tired.

A call cut short by a familiar tone,

not even a minute of his voice on the phone.

Doctor appointments and picking up supplies,

wiping the boo boos and drying the eyes.

Cooking and cleaning, all the laundry too.

It’s almost more than one person should have to do.

Sweeping and mopping, solo family events,

Feeling like a single mother, to an extent.

Tending to the garden, changing a tire,

The life of a wife who is married to fire.

Worry and heartache, there’s another LODD.

I pray day after day, that will never be me.

I stay up late, just to be sure to say goodnight.

I never let a shift be filled with a fight.

I share him with others, so that others may live.

Outsiders don’t know, just how much we give.

I’m not complaining, though through the years I’ve cried,

I say this all today, with nothing but pride.

I’ll stand by him, for the rest of his career,

enjoy the little things and not be consumed by the fear.

It’s a different world, sharing their lives.

It’s how we live as firefighter wives.

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