In Loving Memory of Lieutenant Jeff Huggins
Orlando Fire Department – Last Alarm: 04/16/2024
There are no words strong enough to hold the weight of the grief and pride I feel as I write these words. On April 16, 2024, the world lost a hero—my son, Lieutenant Jeff Huggins of the Orlando Fire Department. He was many things to many people—a first responder, a leader, a son, a friend—but to me, he was simply the best of us. And in the days following our profound loss, a beautiful act of kindness and remembrance emerged from two people with hearts as big as Jeff’s own: my dear friend Valerie and her neighbor. They honored Jeff in a way that words can barely describe—with love, with reverence, and with a deep understanding of what it means to serve and sacrifice.
Their gesture reached into the very core of what it means to be part of a community, to share the weight of sorrow, and to stand in solidarity when words fall short. Valerie, a true friend whose spirit has been a constant light, and her neighbor, who may have never met Jeff personally but still felt the gravity of our loss, reminded me that in mourning, we are never truly alone. Their tribute was not just for my son—it was for every firefighter, every first responder, and every family who bears the silent burden of service.
Jeff was one of the bravest. One of the strongest. A man born not just to serve, but to uplift. He was deeply talented, incredibly resilient, and above all else, filled with grace. Compassion ran through him like lifeblood. He answered every alarm, whether it came from a burning building or a person silently suffering. He didn’t just wear the uniform—he embodied its highest ideals. He saved lives, lifted spirits, and led by example. And yet, even heroes carry wounds we cannot always see.
PTSD is not a weakness. It is not a flaw. It is a wound—every bit as real, as deep, and as devastating as any physical injury sustained in the line of duty. It creeps in slowly, often in silence, and it strikes at those who give everything of themselves to help others. My son fought that unseen battle with the same courage he displayed on the job. But it is a fight no one should face alone.
In the 21st century, we must do better. We must talk louder, act faster, and listen more closely. We must move the needle—now—before another mother, another father, another child has to stand at the front of a room, choking back tears while trying to honor a soul that gave more than most can imagine. Firefighters are trained to run toward danger. We must be trained to run toward them when they are in distress—before it’s too late.
To Valerie and her neighbor—thank you. Thank you for honoring Jeff’s life, his service, and his humanity. Your tribute didn’t just remember him; it validated his pain and his purpose. And to everyone reading this: remember that even the strongest among us need help. It’s time we take mental health in public service as seriously as we take the fire, the smoke, and the peril that come with the job.
Jeff’s story should not end in silence. It should be the spark that ignites a change. My son was a warrior with a gentle soul, a protector of life, and a light in dark places. Now, it’s up to us to carry that light forward.
Much love to you all.
From a grieving mother who will never stop speaking his name—Lieutenant Jeff Huggins.
Gone too soon, but never forgotten.
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