- Earlier this year I wrote a column titled "The year
to be." In it, I made predictions as to what the new year might bring.
It was while considering the medical challenges of Marie Knapp (a fellow
firefighter's mother) that I wrote the last prediction for her.
-
- It went this way: "I predict a gravely ill woman
will turn her head from a hospital bed to recognize her long departed husband
extending his hand from eternity to ask for hers one final time."
A few weeks ago Herman Knapp returned to ask for Marie's hand a final time
- - and as she did so many years ago, Marie accepted.
-
- Marie possessed a quiet, earthy-wisdom accessible only
to those able to hear without ears, feel without fingers, and see without
eyes. Her timeless wisdom was eclipsed solely by her unbridled compassion
for others. And lest you feel these are just words, I'll give you a personal
example.
-
 I had driven to Marie's home to see Carl,
her son. The light shirt I'd worn did little to protect me from the cold,
fall day that ushered me through her door. Shivering, I asked if Carl was
awake just as he strolled into the kitchen. "Lea," said Marie
in a tone of distress, "you're cold. Where is your coat?" I playfully
quipped, "Oh, well . . . I don't have one Marie. I'm saving for one,
but I don't have enough yet, I just wear extra shirts."
-
- Of course I did have coats, plenty of them, but I'd been
in too much of a rush to put one on. My devilish smile was lost on Marie.
She turned to Carl, a script of motherly concern and aid scrolling across
her face. "Carl," she said, "do you still have the lined,
corduroy-coat from the fire department?" "Yes." Said Carl.
"It's around here someplace." "Well go get it and give it
to Lea so he won't catch a cold." So touched was I by her compassion,
I simply waited for Carl to retrieve the coat. Funny, how those who have
the least, often give the most.
-
- But this story does not end here. Nor does the domino
effect started that day by a mother who offered an item of warmth. I had
business in New York City which caused me to go there shortly after she'd
offered that tattered coat.
-
- I wore it to New York fire houses as I passed out framed
copies of a poem I'd written about 911 titled "Calling All Angels."
On one stop at Queens Rescue 7, I handed out the poem and chatted with
the day crew. Throughout my ensuing conversation I noticed the crew calling
me Carl - they'd been reading the shoulder flash which had Carl's name
on it.
-
- "Oh," said I, "I'm not Carl, although
this is Carl's coat. Remember me saying I was from a small fire department?"
The men nodded affirmatively. "Well, we are so small a department
we could only afford one coat - - it's my month to wear it." The men
howled with laughter.
-
- I then went on to explain how I had come to be wearing
that coat . . . how a kind and generous woman from a nondescript township
they'd never heard of, nor would likely ever visit, had noticed me shivering
as I stepped into her home.
-
- So touched were they, that they took a picture of me
standing with them so Marie could see I had visited with America's bravest
while wearing the coat.
-
- I have long since returned the coat to her son, Carl.
As I reflect on that cold, fall day where Marie took notice of the shivering
person who entered her home, I know nature can never present a day cold
enough to eclipse the warmth of Marie.
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