It all begins on Monday. It sometimes ends on Friday. Some weeks go on and on. Sleep? Sometimes sleep is collected in minutes and seconds; never hours. My job is 300 days a year. Usually 20 hours at a time.

I'm truly trapped in northern Virginia by chaos and uncertainty. Everyday I travel to Washington D.C. Every day I cringe. Each day I return home to the screams of terror, tears, terrified, and generally distraught people who live a luxury I'll never know. A luxury so empty and vast the only excitement they ever sense is when all appears lost.

From home I rush out to find the most vulnerable of humanity; knowing very well this episode will only serve to make them stronger... meetings which most never forget.

Most of my brothers and sisters come by my house once or twice a week. We usually have dinner together between the night terrors and stress of these required visits. It's a family affair.

Very few days are without drama. Most days are without intimacy or love. The bond created by my friends carries me. The trust I lend could easily be my life's very end. I pick my friends wisely. To the contrary my enemy never sleeps and toys with me each day. Thus, the horror of my life suppressing this giant; so that others may again one day smile again continues.

It's a handfull of us. Ordinary, advocates, and smiling strangers... a few miles apart in strict competition to be the first ones to greet death and tear souls out of his crepidous arms.

Death will come to meet us all one day, so I'm told. But each day I'll stand ready and truly prepared to try and rob him of those he tries to capture. I will stand brave as I walk in hell and pull back those which are not yet allowed to go. I will say a prayer when I realize that some must go... even for reasons that are not rational and which I do not fully understand.

As I kneel and look into the eyes of a small young child; teenager, mother, or elder; mine or your's... with a glance into their soul and a soft word in their ear, I will invoke courage, strength, and peace within.

I do this because I have to. I have to see me smile again... I have to honestly look at myself in the mirror and slightly whisper “Good job” to myself. As it echoes... it grows louder and louder until the next blast of noise tears through my body and it's senses... "Box 1700 for a structure fire... an auto accident... a stoppage of breathing... a pedestrian struck... a gas leak... a rescue..." or whatever fate may send.