Life on the Line

2,400. That's how many serious injuries were suffered per 100,000 linemen in 2024.

42. The number of deaths per 100,000 linemen. 

As of last year, there were around 120,376 linemen in the United States; and over 60,000 of them traveled for storm work and other dangerous jobs. The industry is growing, no doubt. And, although, there are safety measures and precautions in place, it still doesn't guarantee they'll return home to their loved ones. In this trade, there is no margin for error. 

As a wife, I haven't been a part of this lifestyle for long (7 years or so), but one thing's for sure, I worry about the safety of my husband every. single. day. Not necessarily because I don't believe he is capable of doing his job well, but mainly because of the actions of others whom he has zero control over. 

This year, on October 30th,  a 29 year-old utility worker tragically lost his life. He wasn't being irresponsible. He wasn't distracted. And he wasn't messing around. Instead he was simply doing his job. Some complete, selfish, oblivious stranger, who was not paying attention, drove straight into a low hanging wire across the road, causing a young man to fall resulting in fatal injuries. The driver didn't even stop. He just kept driving. 

As I sat there reading this article, all I could think was, "that's someone's son, brother, spouse..." all the things. It was heartbreaking. 

And, as if that was gut-wrenching enough to read about, I heard the most recent story of a lineman in Louisville, Kentucky who lost his life on November 6th. His name was Kyle Ferree. He had a wife, two kids, and another on the way. The article went on to explain the horrifying reality that his wife would now have to face without him. How she'd have to explain to two little girls why their dad would not be coming home. How she'd have so many financial obstacles to overcome such as daycare, funeral expenses, rent. How she'd be welcoming a new baby, who will never get the chance to meet his/her father. And, how she'd have to come home to an empty house. 

The world stopped. Suddenly, my problems were no longer problems at all. 

Now, I do not know these two young men's stories. I don't know them personally. I don't know their girlfriend or wife personally. And I can't even begin to imagine the nightmare they are currently living in---nor do I ever want to. 

No wife should have to come home without her husband. No kid should have to wonder where their dad is; or why he won't be returning from work. Both had a lot of life left to live. Both deserved to grow old with their loved ones. 

So many milestones to attend. Birthday parties to celebrate. Graduations to cry at. And weddings to be in. Kyle, will never get to grow old with his wife. He will never get to teach his daughters how to drive. Nor, will he get the chance to give them away or dance with them at their weddings. In the blink of an eye, it all came to a sudden halt. I'm sure his wife feels like her world is moving in slow motion, but so fast at the same time. 

And don't even get me started on the emotional last call video. I didn't make it all the way through. I couldn't. In fact, I don't really know anyone that can. There's something so eerily emotional about last calls in the occupations of linemen, firefighters, police officers, etc. I just can't bring myself to watch them anymore. 

Maybe it's because I'm getting old and soft. 

Maybe it's because I look at my beautiful daughter and think how could she ever grow up without her daddy. 

Maybe it's because empathy and sympathy come in waves and it hits me like a hurricane.

Or maybe it's all of the above. 

Either way it absolutely sucks. There's no other way to explain it. These men (and some women) go to work every day regardless of the circumstances...regardless of the uncertainty of what this job site will bring. They show up exhausted. They show up homesick. They may even show up depressed---especially after the loss of one of their own.

No matter if it's 120 degrees in the desert heat, in the midst of a tropical storm, or in the freezing, subzero temps of the frozen tundra---they still show up. Every. Damn. Day. 

If there's one thing I've learned thus far into my journey with a husband in this line of work, is that it is not for the faint of heart and that the brotherhood is really strong. It's a community that, unless you live it, you will never fully understand. I don't just say that because I spend months feeling like a single parent at home, or because I feel sorry for myself (although sometimes I do). 

I say it because lives are lost all too often and far too soon. I say it because my daughter thinks that her daddy's home is in a confined camper while we live our best life in a house. I say it because my daughter goes to bed every night asking "how many sleeps 'til daddy comes home?" (That one can be tough to come to terms with, especially when a new death benefit letter comes to our household every week). I say it because the numerous facetimes still don't compete with in-person quality time. 

I say it because something needs to change. People need to slow down and pay attention. People need to wake up and be aware mental and emotional load placed on these individuals. Everyone needs to slow down and enjoy the life they live with their loved ones because it can be gone in a flash. 

These men are not just linemen, they are heroes. Heroes to their kids. Heroes to their wives. Heroes even to complete strangers. So, please, the next time you want to complain about your power not being restored fast enough; or when you're stuck in traffic wondering why it's taking so long to fix that power line, be patient with them. You have no idea the toll that it takes on them. They are heroes. They are linemen. But above all else, they are still human who deal with things similar to you. They are men and women who deserve to go home safely to their families. Your power/electricity can be replaced. My husband cannot. 

- Sincerely,

The concerned linewife

My family on our wedding day

My husband working at a job he loves.