The house fire took his parents, killed them while they lay sleeping in the bedroom of their ranch-style home. His sister died of cancer and his son was born with a genetic disorder that is affecting the young boy's sight, hearing and, worst of all, his heart. Then there was the accident that could have taken Albert Butler or, at the very least, left him broken and uncaring; a shell of what he once was.

But no misfortune - not the fire, his son's troubles nor nearly bleeding to death - has gotten the best of Albert Joseph Butler, the uncommon commoner who is about to shine like the flame he will bring to Doyle's Road and the southern outskirts of St. John's.

"I don't care if I have to splint my arm," Butler says, referring to his left forearm and the frightening scar that snakes its way from his wrist to his elbow. "I'm going to carry that torch in my left hand over my head and it will be unbelievable."

Of the 12,000 Canadians who will carry the Olympic torch 45,000 kilometres from our eastern edges to Vancouver's B.C. Place, none will have a story to tell like Butler. While he thinks of himself as "just an average guy, good old Albert," he is more than that. He is the man who turned his parents' tragedy into a career as a full-time firefighter so he could help others. He is the fireman who had his left arm chain-sawed to bits and was told his days of rescuing were done.

Butler heard those words and ignored them. He pushed himself through the pain and rehabilitation, through the numbness in three fingers, to return as a full-time member of the Conception Bay South Fire Department. And now, at 47, he gets to be Olympic torchbearer OTR015-007. He gets to experience what many believe the Olympics are still about - excellence and hope, friendship and tradition. The Olympic torch offers idealism aplenty: Butler embodies perseverance. It's why his five to 10 minutes with the torch will be so meaningful.

"To carry the Olympic torch is to be part of history, part of something bigger than you," he says. "I wasn't a bad athlete when I was younger. I think I could have made the Olympics in whatever sport I picked because I had the desire. But after mom and dad died, I decided to be a firefighter and I've spent much time around less fortunate people and seen many things through my job.

"Every day I am reminded of how things could be ripped away in a second so I live life to the fullest. ... The torch is going in my left hand, for sure."

THE FIRE

It was October of 1987 when Butler's parents were ripped from his life. He was in the second week of a three-week hitch aboard Sedco 710, a semi-submersible oil rig located 180 nautical miles into the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. His title was assistant derrick manager and he worked high above the deck, up where the winds blew hardest and it was easy to tell when trouble was coming.

In the early hours of the 23rd, a storm had pounded St. John's and cut power lines before heading out to sea towards Butler's rig. Thirty minutes into his midnight-to-noon shift, Butler was ordered down from the derrick. He figured he'd done something wrong and was about to be fired but it was worse than that - a phone call from Fire Chief Richard Murphy.

There had been a fire. No one had gotten out.

Butler immediately thought of his wife and two daughters. No, said Murphy, it was Butler's parents who had perished (Joseph, 56, and Mary, 55). When the fire crew arrived there was nothing it could do. Butler had to wait until 4 p.m. before the weather subsided and a helicopter could fly him 2½ hours back to St. John's. He immediately went to his brother Terry's house to grab a flashlight and sift through the ruins of his family home.

"My parents, being traditional Newfoundlanders, had all kinds of knick-knacks," Butler says. "My mom had a fishnet on the wall and in it was a lobster craw, some driftwood and things. It was a heavy fire load. The power was out so my mom lit a candle. She loved candles. She went to bed and left one going. They figured the candle burned to the wick, tipped over and started a fire in the family room.

"By the time the neighbours saw the flames coming out the windows it was too late. The autopsy showed [his parents] died of smoke inhalation."

Joseph had worked in the oil business driving a trailer. Mary had stayed home and raised four children. Their deaths would spur their youngest son's interest in fire prevention, a decision that enabled Butler to overcome both his grief and the loss of his job when world oil prices dropped and layoffs began.

By June of 1990, the Conception Bay South Fire Department announced it would hire seven full-time firefighters. Athletic and committed, Butler was one of the hires. His boss was the man who called him to say his parents had died in a fire.

"I knew Albert and I knew he'd be a loyal employee," says Murphy. "He's been resilient, that's for sure."

THE ACCIDENT

It was the July 1 weekend of 1992 when Butler's arm was nearly ripped from his body. He had gone to his brother Terry's house to help cut firewood. Somehow, Terry had tried to free a running chainsaw caught in a tree branch only to turn the blade on his brother's left arm. There was an immediate explosion of flesh, blood and bone. The arm was hanging by shreds of skin.

Ever the fireman, Butler took charge and tied his T-shirt around the upper part of his arm to keep from bleeding to death.

"My brother-in-law Leo was there. He got sick and threw up," says Butler. "Terry got hysterical. I kept saying, ‘I'm in trouble here guys.' I knew we were 1.5 kilometres from the ambulance department. Leo called and Terry and I drove to meet the ambulance.

"Terry was driving like it was the Indy 500. I told him, ‘Don't kill me before I get to the ambulance.' The pain was like someone slapped you; it was numb."

Because he'd just eaten, Butler had to wait several hours before being put under and operated on at the local hospital. Through six hours of surgery, the doctor did his best to piece together Butler's ravaged arm but the feeling in three fingers of his left hand was gone due to nerve damage. Warned he might never again be a firefighter, Butler told everyone he was going back to the fire department. All it took to make that happen was two years of additional surgeries, stretching and dexterity exercises, unremitting determination, two positive assessments by occupational therapists and a steely tolerance to pain.

"As fire chief, we had to make sure he could do the work," says Murphy. "We put him through some physical testing (hauling hoses, carrying ladders, working the Jaws of Life, even chainsaws). He passed with flying colours."

Not that Butler was free of misfortune. A year after returning to the fire department, his sister Carrie died of cancer. She was 51. Two years after that, his son William was born with Noonan syndrome and a congenital heart defect. Butler has been told his son may need a heart transplant to live beyond 25.

Now 10, William lives with his mother following his parents' divorce. It was yet another hurtful time for Butler, who has joint custody of his son and has carried on the only way he knows how, with his head held high. And that's what caught the eye of Krista Parsons. She was from nearby Mount Pearl; a former competitive swimmer, lifeguard and a volunteer firefighter. They first met on a fire call. They began dating little more than a year later. In July, 2007, they were married.

And then last year Krista got an idea: why not enter the 2010 Olympic torch contest to carry the flame in their community? "I remember the 1988 Olympic Torch Relay," says Parsons-Butler. "It came through my hometown. I was in high school and I remember saying, ‘The next time it comes to Canada I'm going to be part of that.' I figured if Albert and I both entered, one of us might win."

They both won. Parsons-Butler will get her run with the torch roughly an hour after Butler finishes his. And he won't slow down from there. Along with fishing, jogging and alpine skiing, Butler is learning to swim so he can compete in his first triathlon next summer.

"Everything he's been through is so gut wrenching but then you think, ‘Look at how he's turned out,'." Parsons-Butler says. "Anyone who has gone through all that and is still such a positive person, there's something special about them."

Butler will have none of that "special" talk. He's just good, old Albert, the guy who gets up early in the winter so he can shovel the driveways of his elderly neighbours because it's the right thing to do. His time with the torch may be short but it will be reward enough for the man who brings the light and shines for all to see.