Saying Goodbye: Carrying a Brother Home

A few days ago, I got a message from an old friend—one of those voices you haven’t heard in a while but instantly recognize. It wasn’t good news. A co-worker from the department where I first got my start had passed away. The kind of news that lands heavy, the kind you feel in your chest before your mind even catches up.

When you’ve been a firefighter long enough, you’re going to have to say goodbye to some friends. It’s a truth no one really warns you about in the beginning. We’re taught how to force a door, how to read smoke, how to keep our heads when things go sideways—but not how to carry this particular kind of weight. Losing a co-worker feels different. It’s not just a person you knew; it’s someone who shared the same calls, the same weariness at 3 a.m., the same dark humor that only people who’ve seen what we’ve seen understand.

He and I were from very different places. I was a transplant from Michigan, still getting used to the pace and the rhythm of life down there, and he was North Carolina born and raised. We looked past each other’s strange accents and became fast friends when I got transferred to the Truck Company. We fought fire together, cut some folks out of wrecks, and generally had a pretty good time at the station. The kind of friendship you don’t plan, it just forms—quietly, naturally, in the in-between moments of the job.

Grief in the fire service has its own shape. It doesn’t announce itself. It slides into the quiet moments—on the drive home, during morning coffee, or when you catch your reflection and remember how young you were when you first put that helmet on. And when someone from those early days leaves this world, it pulls you back to who you were then, the things you learned, the people who shaped you.

In times like this, I find myself reaching for Scripture—not because it erases the pain, but because it reminds us that God sits with us in it.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18

That verse has followed me through more than one loss. It reminds me that God doesn’t stand far off, waiting for us to gather ourselves. He steps into the heaviness with us.

Another that brings steadying comfort is:
“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.” – Revelation 21:4

It’s a promise that our brothers and sisters who’ve gone before us are not lost—they are held. Their suffering is over. Their race, run. Their watch, complete.

Coping When the Fire Goes Quiet

1. Talk about them. Say their name.

Stories are sacred. Share the good ones—the pranks, the early mistakes you both laughed about years later, the calls where you learned something new together. Memory is a kind of honor.

2. Lean into prayer, even when words fail.

Short, simple prayers matter more than perfect ones.
“Lord, hold him close. Grant him eternal rest. Bring comfort to all of us who loved him.”
Sometimes that’s all a heart can manage, and God receives it all the same.

3. Ask the saints for intercession.

Saint Florian, patron of firefighters, is familiar with courage, service, and sacrifice.
Saint Florian, stand beside our fallen brother. Carry him safely into the arms of Christ. Pray for us, that we may find peace and strength in our sorrow.

Saint Joseph—pray for him.

Saint Michael the Archangel—stand guard over his family.

Our Blessed Mother—wrap us in your mantle of comfort.

4. Let yourself feel it.

This job teaches us to be hard when necessary, but grief asks something different of us. It asks for honesty. For vulnerability. For letting ourselves be human.

5. Remember that faith doesn’t erase pain—it gives it purpose.

Christ Himself wept at the tomb of Lazarus. There is no shame in tears. The cross teaches us that love and sorrow always walk close together.

A Prayer for a Fallen Brother

“Lord Jesus, look kindly on our brother who has finished his earthly shift.

Bless him for every life he touched, every act of service, every sacrifice unseen by others.

Grant him the peace we all long for and welcome him into Your eternal firehouse,

where no alarms ring, no danger threatens, and Your light shines without end.

Strengthen us who remain. Give us courage to carry on,

to serve with honor, and to love as generously as You have loved us.

Amen.”

Losing a co-worker—especially one from your earliest days—changes you. It reminds you that this life is fragile, and each alarm we answer is a gift, not a guarantee. But it also binds us together. Our brother’s legacy doesn’t end with his passing; it continues in every life he influenced, every lesson he shared, every moment of wisdom or humor that still echoes when his name comes up.

May he rest in God’s peace, and may all of us who mourn him find strength, comfort, and hope in Christ, who conquered death and walks with us still.

Pro Dio et Populo – For God and the People.