His Last Call
The alarm clock rang as he got out of bed
Put on his clothes, and kissed his wife's head
He said "'I'll see you in the morning when I’m done with my shift."
And toward the front door he began to drift
This firefighter started every evening this way
Leaving his home before dinner each day
Returning the next morning, a little before ten
Just to sleep until five and start it again
He arrived at the station and worked until dawn
And finally punched out at eight in the morning
Just as he packed all his things to go home
A cry for his help came over the intercom phone
"Planes have hit the World Trade Center!", he heard the man say
"We need assistance now! There's no time to wait!"
Without evening thinking, he dropped his bags down
Got back into gear, and then headed out
Although he was off duty and supposed to go home,
He knew this was his job, and couldn't leave it alone
So he hopped on the truck and started for the towers
Expecting to be home in four or five hours
As one of the first trucks to arrive, he was immediately sent in
To rescue the people that were trapped within
The Trade Center still stood, with smoke streaming out
"Please help us! Over here!" he heard people shout
So into the building he ran with his crew
And every other second the cloud of smoke grew
But instead of running out, down, and away
This firefighter knew it was his job to stay
He made his way up without looking back
And thought about this surprising attack
This was his city, and he knew he had to fight
To the very last moment, for everyone's right
The smoke was getting darker, the room getting hot
He wonders to himself just how much time he's got
Debris began to fall, he didn't have much longer
His legs were feeling weak, his heart pounding stronger
His sight was dimmer, his breath was short
The weight of his body was too much to support
He couldn't keep going, as his feet felt like lead
And visions of his life danced in his head
He thought of his childhood and all of his friends
He thought of his family he'd never see again
He thought of his children, his father, and mother
His mind kept skipping from one to the other
He thought of his brothers, he thought of sisters
He thought of his wife and how much he would miss her
He thought of what he would have wanted to say
If he knew that he would be dying today
Words couldn't explain what was going through his mind
And a safe, warm place, was what he was longing to find
His body was shaking, it felt stiff and tight
And eventually all the dark clouds shinned bright
He closed his eyes and clutched his hands
And began to say his one last prayer
"Oh lord, please do your best
To grant me just one last request."
"Tell my mother I'll be her moon
Tell my father, I'll see him soon
Tell my wife I'll be her star
Tell my children Daddy won't be far
Tell my brothers I'll be their shield
Tell my sisters their wounds I'll heal
I died a hero on 9/11
And became your angel here in heaven."
-MaryKate Muldowney-
Age 16
September 15th, 2001
CONTACT ME
E-Mail: mkmuldowney@gmail.com
Twitter:@MsKate1209
September 11th, 2001 marks a day in American history that will never be forgotten. For my family in particular, it is a day in which we lost someone very special to us. My uncle, Richard T. Muldowney JR. was a well-respected FDNY firefighter for Engine 16, Ladder 7 in Manhattan.
He was just coming off duty the morning of September 11th, and should have been going home. When the initial alert came into the station, however, he chose to hop back on the truck and take the call with the rest of his crew. They never returned.
I was 16 years old, a sophomore in high school, and just so happened to stay home sick that day. When I woke up and turned on the television, I couldn't believe my eyes. The footage of smoke coming out of the World Trade Center was enough to make me sick to my stomach. I thought I was watching a "this day in history" special, not knowing the events that were about to unfold in front of my eyes.
When we received notification that Richie was missing, we began planning our trip to New York. All 11 of us. We spent the next two weeks there just waiting for an answer. Waiting for a call, waiting for a sighting.... waiting for SOMETHING. Good news or bad, we just wanted an answer. We would get calls from people saying that they saw Richie and that he's fine, later to learn that it was a mistake. We never found him.
On September 15th, 2001 I began writing a poem. I tried to imagine what this entire experience must have been like for my uncle. What was he thinking? What did he see? What did he hear? Was he afraid? All of these thoughts and images became the inspiration for "His Last Call", and it is a piece that holds a special place in my family's heart.