By Anne Gagliano
It’s a beautiful sunny day, and we’re driving to a dream destination 30 years in the making. It is our anniversary gift to each other: front-row seats at an Eagles concert in Eugene, Oregon, complete with VIP privileges and all that that entails. We’d missed the Eagles the two recent times they’d been to Seattle because of my husband Mike’s loaded firefighter schedule—but this time, nothing was going to stop us, even if we had to drive a fair distance. Celebrating 30 years of marriage doesn’t happen every day; we felt we’d earned the right to do something extravagant. According to the map, it was about a four-hour drive; we gave ourselves six as a worst-case scenario that would jeopardize hotel check-in and much-needed primping time for me but assumed we wouldn’t need it. Check-in time for VIPs was set and nonnegotiable; failure to be prompt could result in missing the very perks we paid top dollar for.
As we drive, we listen to the Eagles in preparation. The familiar songs, beloved as old friends, help us fight the urge to let the dark circumstances of life steal our joy. After 30 years of living in the high-stress world of firefighting, we’ve learned this one harsh reality: The Wolf is always at the door threatening to destroy our peace, our happiness, even our marriage.
Mike was still reeling from shocking news received just the day before: the sudden death of a colleague, Tricia Connely, an administrative assistant for Seattle Fire. He had just seen her the week before at a committee meeting. He kept saying, “She was such a good gal, such a hard worker…” with sadness and disbelief. The Wolf is always at the door.
As we approach downtown Seattle, trying to shift gears from the sorrow of Tricia’s death, we see that the traffic has begun to slow. No need to panic just yet; this is common, even at 10:00 a.m. Slower and slower we crawl until at last we come to a complete stop. No one is moving. Then, in the distance, we begin to hear them, the all-too-familiar wail of emergency sirens. As we sit in bumper to bumper traffic and watch precious time slip away, we turn off the Eagles and turn on the radio to find out what’s going on. Up ahead in the distance, two cars full of teenagers have collided—with possible fatalities. The police have cordoned off three lanes as they begin their investigation, which has already been determined to be a felony. The scene will later be described by one state official as being “the largest response I’ve ever seen,” resulting in traffic delays that will last nearly three hours. The urge to rage and despair at the horrors of life threatens to destroy our already fragile mood. A concert seems so frivolous now. We pray for the kids, for their families, for the firefighters responding; the Wolf is always at the door.
Once through the bottleneck, we gain some time. We turn the Eagles back on. We fight back the Wolf and begin to enjoy our journey. But then we reach Portland, Oregon. Another collision. Another hour lost. Our tempers rise, our patience is waning, and we begin to turn on each other. We’re losing our battle against the Wolf—he’s in the door.
We have 15 minutes to check into our hotel and to change out of our sweats—15 minutes to do my hair and makeup. At my age, this is simply not enough time. We snap at each other, we claw, we growl. Insults fly. Some anniversary. But wait, it gets better. The flu Mike brought back with him from a recent trip to Atlanta (from which he is barely recovered) is now settling full force on me. I can barely breathe as my nose begins to run like a faucet, smearing my makeup. As Mike impatiently waits for me to finish my frantic primping, he gets a text message. A major project for Seattle Fire that he had been slaving over for months just got scuttled. Unbelievable. We race to the car, barely speaking, and head to the venue. The traffic is insane, we can’t find the VIP parking garage, and I misread the map. We are late. And we are now officially enraged at one another. The Wolf attempts to tear us to shreds.
We somehow manage to arrive in time to receive all of our VIP perks, and they exceed our expectations. Then we are personally escorted to our seats; they’re so prime it takes our breath away. We are front row center, with an unobstructed view of Joe Walsh, Glenn Frey, and Don Henley. Seeing those faces up close and in person brings tears to my eyes. They smile at us; they make eye contact with us, even exchange a few friendly words. We laugh and scream and cheer for more. Their powerful performance and sheer talent result in the concert experience of a lifetime.
Exhausted, happy, and spent, we collapse into our luxurious hotel bed and hold each other tight as we drift off to sleep. The Wolf almost got us, but we fought him off tooth and nail to end the day, once again, victorious. Every couple has to be aware of the Wolf, of that which threatens to rip your world apart, but no one more so than the firefighter couple. Because of the perpetual heartbreak firefighters witness, they are particular favorites of the animal called Despair, of the monster known as Anger. Even after 30 years, we veterans still have to fight to keep the predators out and our love intact. Fight tooth and nail. Despite our experience and strength and numerous victories, the Wolf just won’t quit. Therefore, we must be ever vigilant and never let our guard down, even for a minute. To do so would render us as sheep to the slaughter.
Mike and I have many shared Eagles favorites, one of which is entitled, “In a New York Minute.” The words, penned by Don Henley, describe perfectly not only our experience as a firefighter couple of 30 years but of our particular journey to see the Eagles that night. It is the epitome of “art imitating life imitating art.” The words play in my head as I fall asleep in my husband’s loving arms:
In a New York Minute
Everything can change
In a New York Minute
Things can get pretty strange…
Lying here in the darkness
I hear the sirens wail
Somebody going to emergency
Somebody’s going to jail
If you find somebody to love in this world
You better hang on tooth and nail
The Wolf is always at the door.
Anne Gagliano has been married to Captain Mike Gagliano of the Seattle (WA) Fire Department for 29 years. She and her husband lecture together on building and maintaining a strong marriage.
