This I Believe

Little Boy Lost

The first time I met Jaden, I was trying to separate the charred remains of his three-year-old body from the coils of the couch he had died on. Tendrils of smoke still wafted up from the contents of the living room. Water droplets fell from the exposed ceiling joists onto my turnout gear. My nostrils and lungs stung from the thick, acrid stench of burnt wood, plastic, and unfortunately, flesh.

As I watched the coroner place Jaden’s remains in a body bag, I felt a little of my sanity slipping away. This was not the first dead child I had ever seen, but it was the first completely consumed child I have had to deal with. Somewhere inside my brain, I told myself not to think of the body as human, if only to help resist the urge to let the welling tears fall.

The fire crews had done their part by extinguishing the blaze. As a fire marshal, it was now my turn to find out how it happened. In doing so, maybe I’d regain some of my lost sanity.

The usual round of questions that followed helped to fill in the blanks and complete the story. Yes, they did smoke cigarettes in the house but they kept the box of matches on the top of the refrigerator. Later on, after talking to other relatives, I would just shake my head. His family called Jaden (Monkey) because he would climb up on the kitchen cabinets and look for things. This was a completely avoidable tragedy, resulting from the innocent curiosity of a three year old and a box of matches.

The second time I saw Jaden, he was looking up at me from the obituary section of the newspaper. There he was, blonde hair, big blue eyes, and the most beautiful smile that none of us will ever see again. I felt the tears, that I had denied myself the day before, flow down my face. I felt an ache in my heart, as if I had lost my own child. In that face, I saw hope. I saw trust. I saw a love of life.

As adults, we get caught up in the day-to-day hustle and bustle of our lives. We have to work to make money, to buy food, pay our rent, put gas in the car. And then one day we’re awakened with the realization that it’s not the cars we drive or the house we own that matters. It is the people we meet along the way. It is the sharing of love, laughter, and tears with those around us. It is the smile on a little boy’s face.

In his three years of life, Jaden affected many people, including me, whom he had never met. He reminded me just how precious life is. That was Jaden’s gift to the world, and I thank him for it.