Michael the Fireman

"I am not going," she yells.

"Yes, you are," he yells back. "It's Michael's funeral."

Ten days ago, was the day of the Summer City Festival mass shooting. Ten people were killed including Michael Bridge Langley. He was a brother, and a husband, and a fireman who used his body as a human shield before succumbing to his wounds.

"Michael would understand," Michael's wife argues.

"I am not doing this alone," Michael's brother finally pleads. "Our parents are dead. I am burying my little brother. Please? As my sister and the only family that I have left."

Ten days ago, Michael and his volunteer fire station rented a booth at the Summer City Festival. They were selling cheesy calendars. They were all taking photos to raise money for new appliances for the fire station. Michael didn't realize it, but he was never going to make it home.

"I'll go, but I'm not speaking. I have already told Michael everything and that's all that matters," Michael's wife compromises.

"I'll take it."

Michael's brother let's out a heavy sigh.

Ten days ago, a very broken and bitter person decided to use a weapon on people who were simply at the right place at the worst moment of someone's life. Michael jumped in front of two of his buddies, saving them and dooming himself.

Michael's wife and brother meet later in the day to walk into the church hosting Michael's very Catholic and very Irish funeral. They sat in the front, with the other firemen and wives.

Ten days ago, Michael landed on the ground and realized that something didn't feel right. When his buddies looked down and saw Michael – Michael of all people, their team leader, they gasped. He was bleeding from somewhere in his chest and no one knew what happened. In true Michael fashion he was trying to calm everyone else, but it was no use.

The funeral was long. They quoted the Bible often. They prayed even more. There were many tears from strangers who just wanted a chance to be on TV. There were cameras who were under strict instructions to stay outside. Michael's wife simply stared at his casket, her husband lying there. It still didn't feel real.

Ten days ago, she was married to the sweetest, golden retriever spirited, dork of a husband. He sang in the shower. He snored loudly when he was really tired. He never went to bed without kissing his wife goodnight, even via text. Ten days ago, Michael was waking her up with back scratches and telling her about the crazy dream he had the night before. Ten days ago, she was married. Today she is a widow.

They had plans. They had such big plans.

Now what?

Michael's brother couldn't look at his casket, so he looked at whoever was on the podium. The priest. The fire chief. The guys that Michael saved.

Ten days ago, Michael's brother got a phone call from his sister-in-law that he still can recite word for word.

“Wayne?”

“Pen?”

“Wayne?”

“What Pen? What?”

“Michael's dead.”

“What?”

“Michael is dead.”

“Silence.”

“Wayne?”

“H... ho... How?”

“He volunteered at the festival. He was there.”

Wayne dropped everything and flew halfway across the country for her. He got the rest of the story then. He got to say goodbye.

Ten days ago, Michael died, outside, in the summer sun, holding his buddies’ hand. They tried to revive him but there was nothing anyone could do. The fire station has a giant hole in it now.

Michael was a normal guy - a decent guy. He prayed before every meal. He sang out loud a lot. He loved to run. He would have been the best dad. He was a great help to his community. But instead, due to gun violence and tattered metal health, lack of education and a whole bunch of freaking arrogance he is being buried.

How many children do we have to say goodbye to before someone decides that enough is enough?

How many more teachers, principals, and coaches must throw their bodies into bullets to protect kids that aren't theirs but might as well be?

How many more people must sacrifice it all for people to finally see that there's an issue here?

Michael deserved to live, and so do I, and so do you.

Michael's brother and wife went home after the funeral, and they cried for a long time. They both felt so lonely without Michael. Then his brother finally broke the silence.

"I'm angry with him," he admits.

His wife nods in agreement.

"I love that I was right about him though," she smiles as she cries. "He was so good. There will never be anyone like him."

His brother nods, fresh tears falling down his face.

Michael was the best guy. He spoke perfect Spanish. He loved to drink beer. His only dance move was a sidestep. He was looking forward to the future. Michael was optimism personified. He deserved to live until he was one hundred.

"When he met you, he called me."

Michael's wife laughs and looks at her brother-in-law.

"He said that you were going to be his wife and he was going to do everything he could to make it happen."

“He made it happen.”

Michael's wife thinks back to the beginning of their relationship. He made every date special. He had the best stories. She wanted to be with him all day long. He was so flirty and funny and respectful. He never let her walk on the side closest to the street and always made sure that he had a backup sweater wherever they went in case she got cold.

"I'm sorry. I wish you got to have more time."

Yeah...

 Me too.

Ten days ago, Michael was a normal guy, with a normal life. Today he is a name on a bill that will probably take years and years to sign into action. Today he is another fallen hero, another person who gave up their life so someone else might live.