The Installation Dinner

Talk about the fire service for more than five minutes and one thing becomes crystal clear: these are people who willingly run toward burning buildings while the rest of us are running away.

Volunteer firefighters. Career firefighters. Police officers. Vice presidents of banks. Auto body shop owners. School custodians. Restaurant owners. Electricians. Teachers. Moms. Dads. Every profession imaginable is represented in those firehouse bays. I live with two men who have given their lives to our local department. My husband has served for over 40 years and our son is an Honorary member.

The pager goes off and everything else stops.

Family dinners are left half-eaten. Backyard barbecues suddenly have an empty chair. Birthday parties, holidays, anniversaries, warm beds in the middle of the night—it doesn’t matter. They answer the call because someone, somewhere, needs help.
It’s a life built on selflessness, responsibility, and kindness.

Last night we attended our volunteer fire department’s annual Installation Dinner. It’s an evening where new officers are sworn in, accomplishments are celebrated, medals are awarded to firefighters who went above and beyond the call of duty, and those who made the ultimate sacrifice or have gone on to Heaven are remembered with tremendous respect.

After the speeches, applause, and congratulations settled down, dinner was served. Then, without warning, the sound of chairs scraping across the floor broke through the room.

Silence.

One of the firefighters had begun choking while eating his dinner.

His company member sitting across from him calmly stood up, walked behind him, performed the Heimlich maneuver, and within moments the obstruction was cleared.

About five minutes later?

Everyone—including the firefighter who had just been saved—sat back down and finished dinner.

It was what I like to call a classic “please pass the mashed potatoes” moment.

Business as usual for these everyday heroes.

Last night’s emergency just happened to involve one of their own.

Later in the evening I watched Jake out on the dance floor laughing with his buddies. I looked around the room and couldn’t help but smile. Familiar faces smiled back. Some waved from across the room. Some blew kisses. Others walked over with hugs and stories about vacations, parties, practical jokes, and memories we’ve shared over decades.

I realized once again how incredibly fortunate I am to have landed in this family of heroes.

Then I felt a tap on my right shoulder.

Standing there was a friend I’ve known since grade school.

He joined our volunteer department as a teenager and eventually rose to the rank of Chief, all while serving as a career firefighter with the FDNY.

On September 11, 2001, he was one of the thousands of firefighters who responded to the Twin Towers.

In the days that followed, two of our close friends who were FDNY firefighters were missing. We couldn’t reach them. We were frantic.

Thankfully, Richie and another friend were eventually found alive.

Our friend Brian never came home.

The night after the attacks, I sat down and wrote Richie a letter.

I honestly hadn’t thought much about it over the years.

Last night, nearly twenty-five years later, Richie hugged me and told me he still remembers that letter. He said it reminded him of the overwhelming love and support he felt from our fire department family during the darkest days of his life. Whenever he felt like giving up, those words reminded him that he wasn’t carrying the weight alone.

Even now, retired and living in Florida, he still thinks about that letter and what it represented.

Not just words.

Family.

We clinked our glasses together and toasted the friends we’ve lost, the friends who remain, and the family this fire service creates.

It’s a bond that doesn’t retire. It doesn’t move away. It doesn’t disappear with time.

The next time you hear sirens echoing down your street or see flashing red lights racing toward someone else’s emergency, pause for just a moment. Let it sink in. Inside those trucks are people who have left behind half-finished dinners, sleeping children, quiet conversations, and ordinary moments they may never get back. They go anyway. Every time.

Most of us will never know their names. We won’t hear their stories. We won’t see the weight they carry long after the sirens fade.

They don’t ask us to.

They simply answer the call.

And after witnessing moments like last night—from saving one of their own over dinner to carrying the memories of September 11 nearly a quarter century later—I’m reminded that heroism isn’t loud. It isn’t performed for recognition. It lives in the quiet decisions, the steady hands, the unwavering presence when it matters most.

It lives in family.

In loyalty that never fades.

In love that shows up, again and again, no matter the cost.

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Author: KikiFikar

Kiki Fikar is a native New Yorker who is passionate about taking the day to day life we all experience and sharing it in her tales from Suburbia. She will often be found at the gym, writing snippets each day for future story lines, listening to her two children create their lives, and building the perfect beachfront home and writing retreat in her mind.

36 thoughts on “The Installation Dinner”

  1. This message is so relatable. You’re right, heroism doesn’t always come out loudly; it sometimes comes quietly. My most respect to the unsung heroes. 🫡

    Thank you so much for sharing this reminder ☺️

    Have a great day ahead!

    Liked by 1 person

  8. OMG girl, what a great post. I had friends in Baltimore who were volunteer fire fighters at our local station. I used to hang out there every so often and they made sure to blare the horn when drove past my house…no matter what hour lol.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Thank you! See – you know. It’s a world that you hope you never need but are so glad to be a part of.

    You are so lucky to have lived in Baltimore! One of my fave places.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. What a beautiful tribute to an amazing class of humans! I have so much respect and gratitude for firefighters and EMTs. I am useless in a crisis. It’s so comforting to know there are people who are willing to sacrifice so much for others.

    Liked by 1 person

  18. What a wonderful post and a great reminder of the courage and dedication of the people who serve in some of the hardest jobs–firefighters, police, military, etc. I have a nephew who was a volunteer firefighter. He loved it. But he moved to a larger city and had to give it up. I know that he still misses it after all these years. Thank you for sharing and thanks to all those who serve in these types of jobs.

    Liked by 1 person

  19. What a powerful and deeply moving tribute. It beautifully captures that true heroism isn’t just found in extraordinary moments, but in the everyday decision to answer the call, again and again. Your story about the letter especially touched me—it reminds us that even simple words of love and encouragement can stay with someone for a lifetime. ❤️🚒

    Liked by 1 person

  22. Thank you so much! Believe it or not I found it via one of those Instagram ads that just kept showing up after every friend posts. I thought ok – let’s try this!

    Liked by 1 person

  27. Your 9/11 reflections make me think how, once upon a time, if America was the whole body, New York was its heartbeat. Give your man a pat on the back and a handshake and tell him it’s from some dude down in Philly.

    Liked by 1 person

  28. I will let him know! That day. OMG that day. So much attached to it. Still living it every single day. My husband is a career Corrections Officer (volunteer firefighter) and was with his partner transporting three prisoners to an upstate NY facility that day. He called me screaming. I’ll never forget the squeal in his voice when he told me that he had just looked in the rearview mirror crossing the bridge and saw a plane fly into what he thought was the Twin Towers. I wanted to vomit on the spot. That’s how it started for our chapter. He was stuck upstate overnight with his partner. My parents came over and we all camped out in my living room watching tv and living by the phone for news on Richie and our other guys. Ugh. Thanks my friend! xo

    Liked by 1 person

  32. Kiki, it’ll have to be a helluva big candle. Hal is the complete opposite of George. George cycled through managers like a whimsical teen with an aversion to commitment. Apparently, Hal likes “going steady” as we used to say.

    Liked by 1 person

  35. Awww! Love this! 😎👏 Agree, firefighters are the unsung heroes, quietly doing their thing, saving lives, risking grave bodily injury on our behalf. Great move with the letter… incredibly thoughtful, love that 25 years later it hasn’t lost its touch with the recipient ❤️🙏👌

    Liked by 1 person

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