[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”Page Title Section” _builder_version=”4.16″ background_color_gradient_direction=”115deg” background_image=”https:\/\/brendacoulsonauthor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/02\/author_20.jpg” custom_padding=”150px||0px|” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ background_color=”#0a1a2f” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” max_width=”960px” custom_margin=”|||0px” custom_padding=”27px|40px||10%” animation_style=”slide” animation_direction=”left” animation_intensity_slide=”2%” border_radii=”||6px|6px|” border_width_right=”30px” border_color_right=”#bdada0″ use_custom_width=”on” custom_width_px=”960px” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”|||” custom_padding_tablet=”|||10%” custom_padding_last_edited=”off|desktop” global_colors_info=”{}” padding_tablet=”|||10%” padding_last_edited=”off|desktop” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_text admin_label=”Title” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ text_font=”||||||||” header_font=”Abhaya Libre|700|||||||” header_font_size=”70px” header_line_height=”1.2em” header_4_font=”||||||||” background_layout=”dark” custom_margin=”|||” custom_padding=”|||” header_font_size_tablet=”40px” header_font_size_phone=”” header_font_size_last_edited=”on|tablet” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Georgia||||||||” text_text_color=”#444444″ text_font_size=”20px” text_line_height=”1.6em” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n
February 28, 2026<\/p>\n
This journal is where I gather the moments, fragments, and discoveries that shape my work\u2014notes from the road, reflections from museums and archives, and the quiet stories that reveal themselves when you listen closely. It is a living record of the journey behind Fire Line, and a place to honor the people and histories that deserve to be remembered.<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” text_text_color=”#444444″ text_font_size=”20px” text_line_height=”1.6em” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n
March 2, 2026<\/p>\n
\n
This journal is a place to pause, reflect, and honor the stories that shape Fire Line.
Some entries will be field notes from my research, others will be quiet moments of memory, and some will simply be the thoughts that rise while walking through the work of legacy and service.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m grateful for every person who finds their way here.
This space will grow slowly, intentionally, and with the same care I bring to each tribute.
Thank you for walking with me as this archive continues to take shape.<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”3_5,1_5,1_5″ _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”3_5″ _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Georgia||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ text_font_size=”20px” text_line_height=”1.6em” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n
Long before I ever held my first CPR card, long before the Navy, long before I ever stepped into a uniform, there were two people who quietly set my life on its course: Dave and Janet Simpson<\/strong>.<\/p>\n My dream, even as a kid, was to be a firefighter\/Paramedic. I didn\u2019t know how I\u2019d get there \u2014 I just knew that\u2019s where my heart lived. And then, when I was just 14 years old<\/strong>, Janet opened a door that changed everything.<\/p>\n She let me sit in the dispatch room. That was the moment my world shifted. Dave and Janet didn\u2019t just influence me \u2014 they claimed<\/em> me. They treated me like one of their own, folded me into their family, and showed me what service really looks like: compassion, community, and showing up for people when they need you most.<\/p>\n Their son Gary carried that same spirit into his own EMS and military service, and soon I\u2019ll be interviewing him to help preserve their family\u2019s legacy \u2014 a legacy that shaped mine.<\/p>\n Everything I became in EMS started in that house full of love.<\/p>\n And today, I honor them.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_5″ _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/brendacoulsonauthor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/DD5B38CE-20AC-431D-B46A-B628303E1D00_1_201_a.jpeg” title_text=”DD5B38CE-20AC-431D-B46A-B628303E1D00_1_201_a” _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_5″ _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/brendacoulsonauthor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/BF1C05BD-94D1-498B-A383-DCD6CECCFD39.jpeg” title_text=”BF1C05BD-94D1-498B-A383-DCD6CECCFD39″ _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Georgia||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ text_font_size=”20px” text_line_height=”1.6em” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n Carrying Michael Altman\u2019s Name<\/strong><\/p>\n This week has been shaped by the weight of one name: Firefighter\/EMT Michael Altman. Writing his tribute pulled me into that familiar space where the work becomes both an honor and a heaviness \u2014 the quiet responsibility of holding someone\u2019s story with care. Line\u2011of\u2011duty deaths always land hard, but something about Altman\u2019s fall, his young family, and the generations of service behind him stayed with me long after the page was finished. Today, I\u2019m sitting with that. With the courage it takes to walk into a burning building. With the families who wait. With the way a single loss ripples through a department and a city. Some names stay with you longer than others. His is one of them.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” column_structure=”1_2,1_2″][et_pb_column _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” type=”1_2″][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” text_text_color=”#000000″ text_font_size=”20px” text_line_height=”1.6em” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Some days the world feels loud in a way that settles into the bones. I\u2019ve been thinking about the people who carry that weight quietly\u2014service members, medics, firefighters, teachers, parents\u2014those who keep showing up even when the noise is too much.<\/p>\n Today I\u2019m reminding myself that bearing witness is its own form of service. Listening. Remembering. Naming the people who shaped us.<\/p>\n If you\u2019re carrying something heavy, you\u2019re not carrying it alone. This Journal remains a place to set things down, even briefly, and breathe.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” type=”1_2″][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/brendacoulsonauthor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/119CD82C-DBB8-43BD-B879-C00790D0C336_1_102_o.jpeg” _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” title_text=”119CD82C-DBB8-43BD-B879-C00790D0C336_1_102_o” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.27.6″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Fire Line JournalFebruary 28, 2026 This journal is where I gather the moments, fragments, and discoveries that shape my work\u2014notes from the road, reflections from museums and archives, and the quiet stories that reveal themselves when you listen closely. 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She let me listen.
She let me learn.
And eventually, she let me ride along.<\/p>\n
That was the moment EMS stopped being a dream and became a calling.<\/p>\nMarch 20, 2026<\/strong><\/h1>\n