I lost my dad to cancer in September 2004. He had been a career firefighter, beginning his career in his home town of Tucson, Arizona, then serving for nearly forty years with the Los Angeles City Fire Department. The following is the text of a letter I sent to the firefighters who worked with my at the last station at which he served. And Dad, wherever you are, just remember that Attitude is the difference between an Ordeal and an Adventure!
To the fire fighting personnel of Station 112,
As you have no doubt heard, my dad, Bob Aker, has lost his fight with colon cancer. In accordance with his wishes, there will be no public observance of his passing, which leaves it up to those of us left behind to work through our grief in our own way.
As you may or may not know, Bob Aker is not my “biological father.” I was twelve when he and my mother renewed their on-again, off-again romance which started when he was seventeen and she was fourteen. And for many years theirs seemed to be a true “happily ever after.” It was during those good and happy years that I got to know Bob Aker and the Los Angeles Fire Department, and learned to love and respect them both.
Dad was a career firefighter. There were few things he loved more than a good fire, and his time with LAFD was very satisfying to him overall. The last couple of years before Dad was transferred to Station 112, however, it was obvious that something was wrong. For the first time I could recall, Dad seemed bored with his job and was gradually becoming more and more dissatisfied. Partly this was due his inability to make Battalion Chief, partly it was due to personal matters, but the overall effect was that he was unhappy. I began to fear that he would take his retirement, which for some is a good thing, but Dad didn’t really have a life other than his work. Yes, he liked to travel and have fun with his girlfriends, but he didn’t really have any hobbies that would or could occupy his time if he retired.
Then Dad was assigned to your station and everything changed. For the first time in years I saw joy come back into his life. There was the familiar spring in his step and sparkle in his eye that I remembered from my childhood. “Fireman Bob” was back, and it was wonderful to behold.
I know that I only came to visit Dad at Station 112 once, but I still got to hear about his adventures there and I saw the effect that working with you had upon him. Simply put, you did something miraculous. You gave delight and fulfillment back to my dad in a way I never thought possible. For that I will always be grateful, more than I have words to express.
There is one other thing. In keeping with Firehouse Tradition, I am buying you all ice cream. Dad is the first of my parents to go, and while I may not be a firefighter myself, I can’t think of anything more appropriate to do. Please find enclosed three envelopes containing gift certificates to Baskin Robbins, one set for each shift. You are, of course, welcome to get whatever flavors you want, but Dad’s favorites were Jamocha Almond Fudge and Pecan Praline. And, if you like, I’m sure Dad would understand if you told stories about him over dessert. Especially embarrassing ones.
Fondly,
Bronwen Aker
