Brian O'Keefe: After my dad died came a deeper understanding of serving those left behind

Brian O'Keefe as told to Mackenzie Ryan
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Editor's note: Brian O’Keefe first told this story on stage at the Des Moines Storytellers Project: Busted event. The Des Moines Storytellers Project is a series of storytelling events in which community members work with Register journalists to tell true, first-person stories live on stage. An edited version of O’Keefe's story appears below. 


I walked into the fire station that day hoping that the busy routine and fire calls would keep me distracted from the conversation I'd just had with my brother Jim.

He'd called me in the middle of the night to tell me that Dad was in the hospital, they think he'd had a heart attack. 

I was like, "Come on, he's as tough as an ox. He’s never been sick a day in his life. I’m sure it’s nothing but heart burn."

I promised that I'd call and check on him later that day.

At the fire station, you get busy. You check your schedule, your assignment, what truck you'll be riding.

You get your gear, you check your mask, your tank. You stay busy, cleaning the rigs, washing and drying them. Inspecting and maintaining all the first aid equipment. You do a little house keeping around the fire station.

If everything goes well, you have a little free time, typically you go into the kitchen, get a cup of coffee, read through the paper. But that morning I was compelled to go sit in the TV room by myself in the dark. 

It started to weigh heavy, thinking about my father, not really knowing what was going on with him.

The phone call 

Suddenly the fire phone rang, which is in the captain’s office. It's a loud, distinctive bell you can hear, day or night, throughout the fire station, typically for emergency calls.

Soon after that I heard my name called, "O'Keefe, fire phone."

That was typical for me. I was the new guy, I’d been with this group for just over two years since I joined the fire department.

If you're the boot, if there's something to be done, you're going to end up in the captain's office.

Unsuspectingly, I went there. I reached for the phone and identified myself. "Firefighter O’Keefe.”

It was my brother Jimmy, to tell me: "Dad had died and Mom wanted you home."

So I explained myself to my officer, grabbed my keys and headed out.

I have a wife that's seven months pregnant with our first son, and I have to explain to a 3-year-old and a 7-year-old daughter why Dad is so upset and why he had to leave.


Saying goodbye

I caught the next plane to Portland, Oregon, where I grew up. I was greeted by my three brothers and sisters.

We’re all in our 30s, married with kids, hadn't seen each other for a while. It wasn’t the best situation. but we were making the best of it.

My older brother, my sister and I volunteer to go to the funeral home, to check on things and make sure everything was set up nice.

After we arrived there the funeral director asked if we wanted to view my dad.

My sister said, "Why don't you go in there, Brian?" 

I was like, "Why just me?" 

"We'll, you've been with the fire department for a couple years, with the military for 15," she said. "You tell a lot of stories. This should be nothing for you." 

So I thought, "OK, I can handle this." It hadn't really sunk in at the time.

I grew up, Irish Catholic kid, I’d been to wakes as a toddler, peeking over the tops of caskets in people's homes not even knowing who I was looking at. 

I attended a Catholic elementary school and by the time I was in seventh grade, I was being pulled out of class to participate in funerals.

I'd be standing there with the priest, with the incense and holy water.

But, of course, it's different now.

I see the open casket and see my father in his suit. It struck me. 

It took me quite a while to regain my composure. I still struggle with that today.

The next call

The funeral went well, and the next thing you know I'm back home.

First day back at the fire station, I thank the guys and let them know my mom appreciated the flowers they had sent.

On a typical day, you get a health and welfare check, which is common for us on the fire department.

Single person, typically elderly, lives alone. Family or friends wants us to check on them. 

I was getting back into the routine, was feeling pretty good about stuff, wasn't too concerned until I popped that door open on this house.

And there was a woman who had clearly been deceased for several days.

I was grateful that her face was not facing me, so I didn't have to see that image that I was still thinking of just recently with my dad's funeral.

After that, I confirmed the woman had died and that I was going to step out.

Things were starting to change for me on the fire department.

It was no longer just a person or a victim, I was really understanding as someone who had just lost a family member.

Investigating a fire 

After about six years, I took a promotion as an inspector. I wanted to pursue being a fire investigator.

You start with trash fires, car fires, dumpster fires, house fires, but ultimately, the most challenging, a fatality fire.

You're documenting the scene, taking photos, the next day or two you're going to end up at the mortician's office, or the coroner's office to witness the autopsy.

I developed that skill and built up that tolerance. After about five years, I was able to investigate fires on my own. 

It's a hot August day, around fair time and I hear on the radio that we have a house fire. 

Then I hear that there's a victim that had been removed and CPR was in progress. 

I grabbed my camera, my notebook, I was ready for this. I visited with the incident commander.

There was a gentleman in the house. They had put water on the fire and searched the house and found him on the floor.

Knowing that, I went into the home. It's still hot and steamy, the smoke is still heavy in the room.

As I worked through the area or origin, I stopped abruptly.

You could still see the silhouette where the gentleman had crawled from his bed and made it out into the hallway.

When you apply water to a fire, it converts to steam so everyone gets a soot cover over it. When the firefighters removed him, there was a very distinct outline in the ground.

The impact to family

I went into the room and I was distracted by an elderly gentleman I saw out the window, pacing.

He was the grandfather, and that was his son in the hospital, and those two grandsons that were still sitting over on the neighbor's porch waiting for me to visit with him. It was one big family.

The dad worked night shifts, he was taking a nap, and the boys had set a fire in one of the rooms playing with a lighter.

The grandfather was terribly apologetic and said he'd done everything possible to keep the matches and lighter from the boys.

It was at that moment that things started to hit me again.

It was that "gotcha" moment when I was standing there, trying to regain my composure, knowing I was going to go visit with these boys.

Looking at them sitting over on the porch, knowing that they don't know how their father is right now.

And at that moment, I knew they were like me. 

I just wanted to be with the person that I cared for so much.

About the storyteller: Brian O’Keefe is a husband, father, grandfather and follower of Christ. He joined the Army 35 years ago, and the fire department 23 years ago. He met his wife Wendy in high school. They live in Des Moines, but Brian’s military service has taken him to five continents. 


The next show

"Blended: Cultures mixing, changing and thriving in Iowa" will feature two shows, 5:30 p.m. and 8:30 p.m., June 7 at Curate, 322 E. Court Ave. Register journalist Rekha Basu is hosting, and the storytellers will be coached by a variety of Register journalists.


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