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The firefighters said it was unsafe to re-enter the building until it was secured and until they found what was triggering the alarm.

Finally, the problem was zoomed in on: a hot-water tank several floors above had exploded and water was running down the walls.

And, then, came the firefighter with the axe.

Oh, dear.

When the anticipated all-clear came, I thought the firefighters would pack their equipment and go head back to the hall.

Then, I opened my unit door.

Two inches of water was on the hardwood floor in my den. The pool was being added to by the second.

My wife was out at our grandson’s hockey game. Our neighbour Barb knocked at the door and started mopping.

Then, a heavy knock sounded. “We’re here to help,” one of the firefighters said. He had two industrial mops, one in each hand. He took a few seconds to remove his yellow jacket and neatly left it on our kitchen floor.

And another firefighter came. And then another one. And then another one.

The coat pile on the kitchen floor got taller and taller. At one time we counted 10 firefighters in my den, not just mopping up water.

They moved pictures. They moved furniture away from walls. And the fashion they did it in was remarkable: not rushed, and always asking if there was more they could do.

The firefighters shared an hour of their time, making sure they had every drop of water mopped before they left.

I had never experienced such an event and was overwhelmed by their extraordinary effort and compassion.

It was the second call of the night shift for No. 2 platoon, who work out of Station No. 6.

No flames. No smoke. No fire at all.

It was making sure, and sharing the extra effort to make sure we were safe and secure.

Somehow, saying thank you just doesn’t serve the professionalism of the Edmonton Fire Rescue Services justice.