Lights Without The Siren

The funeral of Rudolfo Cardona A year and a half ago a small group of people in the small village of Copan Ruinas, Honduras banded together. They had one dream and a hand full of promises from a little known charity. But, they had heart, and they had faith, and the desire to make some changes for their neighbors and families. They recruited more people, and sold them on an idea that was then, totally foreign in Honduras. I don't think they really knew what they were getting into. But they leapt with both feet, and met every demand and challenge. Against all odds they organized Honduras' first volunteer ambulance service. I have never, in all my years in EMS seen a group of men and women more dedicated to anything as they were, and still are to this rescue squad, the residents they protect, and mostly each other. This dedication to their fellow rescuers and the pride that these volunteers feel has never been more evident than it was on the late afternoon of April 29, 2001. That was the day they said goodbye to Rudolfo Cardona, Paramedic. Rudolfo became sick a few months earlier, and rapidly deteriorated before our eyes. An incredible feeling of helplessness washed through Paramedics For Children, Copan Ruinas and Paramedics For Children, International, alike. Rudolfo was always one of the first volunteers to get involved in anything. He came from a very poor family and was most proud of two things, his beautiful baby boy and being a Paramedic. The funeral arrangements were made well in advance because we all knew Rudolfo was going to die. I knew that we were all supposed to wear our uniforms to the funeral because, after all, he was a fellow Paramedic. This was the one way we had to show everyone how we felt about Rudolfo. What I didn't know, was that he had requested to be buried in his uniform. The day of his funeral, I arrived at his house. What I saw overwhelmed me. I stood, once again, listening to his wife talk about him. But, what will remain with me for the rest of my life was the look on the face of his infant son, Hector. He was no more than 9 or 10 months old, and I knew that he could never understand the life changing events taking place that day. But, I know that he felt, and he hurt, because I have known Hector since his birth and in those deep black diamonds that are his eyes, and the dimples that envelope his face when he smiles, were missing that day. This would be the day he would have to kiss his Daddy Adios. I watched with pride and pain as the casket was gently placed in the back of the ambulance, the other members solemnly marching along behind in two straight columns. The emergency lights blinking as if to wave goodbye. The silence was almost deafening, because the siren was silent that day as we all filed down the mountain and into town. Rudolfo was laid to rest with all of the pomp and circumstance you would expect at a Paramedic's funeral. Poems were read, people cried and the priest said a few words. But, the emotions I witnessed that day and the solidarity that swept through the rescue squad is something I won't soon forget. I have been fortunate enough to have seen this group of men and women evolve into a first rate rescue squad. I have wanted them to experience the best and the worst of EMS so that they could grow strong and learn. My new wish for them however, is something much more close to my heart, I wish for them never to see lights without the sirens again.

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