This ‘Chicago Fire’ Moment Broke My Heart

No offense to Chicago Med or Chicago P.D., but Chicago Fire is the best at connecting with the viewer on a personal, emotional level. The men and women of Firehouse 51 don’t have all the professional diplomas and certificates, and they aren’t always dealing with Chicago’s dark side with a gun in one hand and a badge in the other. These are good, likable, and, dare I say, relatable people, firefighters who put their lives on the line for the rich and the poor, the young and the old alike. The series has provided some of the franchise’s funniest moments and most heartbreaking as well (but a shoutout to Jessy Schram‘s Dr. Hannah Asher for one of Med‘s most gut-punching moments in Season 10, Episode 3). But it’s a Season 1 episode that serves as Chicago Fire‘s – and the One Chicago franchise’s – most devastating.

“A Coffin That Small” Should Never Be in ‘Chicago Fire’

“A Coffin That Small” sees the squad flushing fire hydrants when a neighborhood kid calls them to his apartment complex. He leads them to an old laundry chute, where his brother is stuck. The team cuts the boy out of the wall, alive but severely injured. He’s sent to the hospital, pausing his story as Fire carries on with storylines involving a stolen ambulance, Shay (Lauren German) and Severide (Taylor Kinney) making plans for a pregnancy, and gunfire hitting the station as a result of a gang being angered after losing drugs, stashed in fire hydrants, being flushed away inadvertently at the start of the episode.

It all takes a backseat when the team learns that the boy from the laundry chute died at the hospital. The boy’s mother had said earlier that her son idolized firefighters and even gave the station a photo of her son in firefighter gear. A grieving Herrmann (David Eigenberg) looks at the photo, which they’ve pinned to the notice board, and walks away with purpose. The camera cuts away to the funeral procession for the boy, his small coffin in the hearse leading the procession, his mother and brother in the car just behind. As they drive down the road, something catches the mother’s attention on the sidewalk. She rolls down the window, looking through the snow, and her eyes swell. There, assembled in formal uniform, stand the team at Station 51, standing at attention to pay their respects to a boy they didn’t even know, a boy gone too soon.

What Makes ‘Chicago Fire’s “A Coffin That Small” So Heartrending

What is it about “A Coffin That Small” that is so heartrending? There’s no single definitive answer as to why, but a mixture of elements creates the “perfect storm,” if you will. The most obvious is the tragic loss of a child. Children’s deaths on television aren’t necessarily taboo, but they are rare, and rarer still are those that actually have related events on-screen, be it the death itself or, as in this case, a funeral procession. You don’t even need to have a child of your own to understand just how tragic that loss would be. Then, there’s David Eigenberg’s Herrmann. I’ve long contended that Herrmann is the beating heart of Chicago Fire, a man who wears his emotions on his sleeve, and when he turns around after looking at the picture, the look on his face, a mix of grief and determination, is right there, setting the scene for the funeral procession to follow (it’s a sin that Eigenberg hasn’t been recognized for his work on the show). And anytime that Station 51 comes out to support the community en masse, another element that separates Fire from Med and P.D., it’s a stirring reminder of why we feel so strongly about them.

It’s fair to say that what one person finds to be the most heartbreaking may not be the same as another, so what makes “A Coffin That Small” wrenching for me is at a deeper, personal level. I have been to the funeral of a child, a sweet girl by the name of Hope, who died shortly after her first birthday. Her whole, brief life was a fight to the end, a literal medical miracle that she lived as long as she did, and her story was followed by hundreds. Still, nothing can prepare you for seeing a “coffin that small” in real life. It was one of the most difficult things I have ever witnessed, and I think it’s safe to say I wasn’t alone in that sentiment. Your story is different, and that’s what makes Chicago Fire so engaging. No matter where you are in life or what you’re feeling, Fire seems to hit them all, even the most tragic.