It was just a simple call, a quick reassurance, a courtesy really.  One of those calls to nonchalantly inform you of the circumstances before you happen to hear it from another source.  So why then; why and how could a call of such simplicity invoke such emotion? Officer involved shootings happen daily across the country, it’s not as if the news of such should cause a dramatic amount of emotion… especially since there were no injured officers and the suspect was taken into custody….via stretcher.  Just another day in the life of law enforcement; just another day an officer's wife gets the good call, the call you hope for, the call which affirms your LEO is safe, uninjured, and coming home.  And yet, for whatever reason, that call would leave her mind reeling, it would leave her studying his body language, it would leave her dismissing thoughts which were not allowed. It would leave her with proof that once again, when you think you have it under control, it is only truly under control moment by moment.

She sat in her chair, the chair she worked in, the chair with a view of the laundry room door to the garage and a second view to the pretty clock which was totally unnecessary due to her phone and computer, but somehow softened the reality of her time away from him with its pretty curves and scrolled ironwork.  She struggled to focus; she struggled to shake the feelings of being overly dramatic from her mind. She found herself asking why? Why was she reacting like this? Why was she so discombobulated over something which was so much the norm for her life?  And she realized it was really a matter of timing. It never failed, it seemed at least. The moment she allowed herself to drop some of the protective coating which encased her always seemed to be the moment which proved to her that vulnerability was not an emotional state she could afford herself. 

The memories of that summer night came rushing back to her. Thoughts of him, outnumbered, darkness preventing his vision of the predator who were armed and intoxicated, a group with no clear thought, nor regard, nor respect…..nothing to lose, yet he came home. 

The memories of that familiar nonchalant call came rushing back to her, stifling heat of a raging summer, the vision of him wrestling a robbery suspect onto the scorching pavement, his gun drawn, suspect resisting and his words to her afterward…..”Sesame Chicken or Sweet and Sour Pork?”

The thoughts she had memorized came back to her……timing, she thought.  Just earlier that very day she was awakened by his warm body against hers, completely wrapping her within his much larger frame, enveloping her in a cocoon of safety only he could provide her.  The memories of that very morning came back to her, listening to his words as she studied him, memorizing the scar on his forehead, thankful once again the cause didn’t claim him, studying the scars she knew so well which marked his body with memories which ended in calls of reassurance…..the good calls….the calls which brought him home to her.  Just hours later, on a typical day she would receive yet another good call, a call of reassurance, a call which would indicate he would come home to her…..so why? Why could she not shake the one thing she refused to allow in their life?  Why, could she not keep herself from thinking analytical thoughts and implicating his life with statistics?

She never allowed him to factor into her numbers. He was off limits to her. She spent her life studying the loss, researching the cause, gaining knowledge of the facts.  She could see the map of a country with a thin blue line running through it in her mind at all times, she could visualize holes in the line and those stepping in closer to fill the gaps. She could close her eyes at any moment and state by state see the numbers of injuries, deaths, close calls…..and good calls. She lived it, breathed it, it stripped her of the good dreams many months ago……it claimed her ability to sleep completely. In a way, it consumed her, and yet she knew, if she were to maintain her commitment to it, it must consume her.  She was crazy in the eyes of most, she was ignorant and misinformed and guilty of transferring her love of one to the commitment to the others. She would surely wake up one day and realize the fool she was.  And for her passion she realized was so ridiculed by most, she excluded him.  It was her way of protecting him from the statistics. She removed him purposely from all thoughts which may concern her about his safety. She allowed the reputation of his department to interrupt her knowledge of the truth she had known all along…..that it wasn’t if something would eventually happen, but when….and to which one of them. Statistically speaking, she knew they were due. Long overdue, actually; but that thought, was not allowed.

She sat in her chair, headphones in place to drown the thoughts which would not elude her tonight. She stared into her glass of wine not willing to allow its contents to soothe her, for as much as she wanted to dismiss the thoughts which were spinning in her head like a whirlwind, she knew she must face them, accept them; swallow them for the truth they held.  She knew, she must entertain the thought of his mortality in order to be able to confront the fear today had invoked, and in turn, to allow it to return to its rightful place in the back of her mind.

She had lived her life with him constantly rebuking the monster within her which told her nothing good ever lasts for her. She had continually fought her fear of losing the happiness which had eluded her for years until she allowed herself to accept the love he freely offered her.  She forced herself to quash the resentment she felt for him for telling her, almost proudly, that if this life were to claim him early, it was in duty he wished to be claimed. She was almost sickened at the thought of him proudly leaving her, although she knew it was purely selfishness which allowed her to think that way. She knew what he meant, she just refused to accept it. To accept it was to entertain it. To entertain it, to her, was to acknowledge the possibility of it.  To entertain the possibility of it, was to picture herself the widow of a hero.

So perhaps today it all boiled down to one thing. In the early morning hours she let her guard down, she allowed herself that closeness she couldn’t bear to lose. She allowed him to hear her soften. She allowed those emotions which always ended in pain for her. She trusted herself to him knowing the consequences, knowing the risks.  She allowed herself to accept that he was worth every ounce of what she had to give, regardless of what it may eventually cost her. And she allowed her heart the opportunity to be broken out of the sake of fully loving him. 

Hours later……..she sat in her chair, the chair with the view of the garage door and the useless clock, and she waited, she waited for the sound of Velcro and keepers and she waited for that warm body pressed up against her reassuring her that this life, this love, this constant unknown, was worth the risk of a broken heart.  She waited as she always did, but perhaps today, a little more aware, a little more alive, a little more in tune with her appreciation for each moment of the unknown.

She sat in the floor of their closet staring at his uniforms, clad in the plastic dry cleaner bags, untouched.  He would wear a uniform out before putting together a new one.  It was almost bad luck to him. He settled into those uniforms, the wear and tear from his duty belt proof of his dedication to his work.  She would often encourage him to break in a new one and yet he resisted. As much as he desired to be sharp and crisp and perfectly pulled together, a new uniform was like unknown territory to him. It wasn’t broken in or comfortable and it left him off his mark, like a new pair of shoes being worn on the biggest race day of a runner’s career.  A slight smile washed across her face at the thought of all his particulars. She picked up the bristled brush from the shoe box he used to shine his boots each day before heading out to shift, running her fingers through it, soaking up the smell of shoe polish which lingered in the air. Her eyes wandered to the empty hook above her head which held his duty belt and the empty hanger which held his uniform shirt. Empty. That’s exactly how she felt as well.

Another sleepless night, like so many before, trying to make sense of it, trying to bring justice to it, she struggled just as she had for years. Not knowing what to do, how to feel, what to say, she tried to shut the thoughts and visions and memories from her mind.  Everything he had told her for years, now seemed to be unavoidably true. For all the times she tried to talk sense to him, for all the nights she tried to calm him, for all the days she tried to convince him he did all he could, she now felt the despair he felt. Hopelessness. Anguish. Failure.  She now truly believed she understood what she had tried so desperately to convince him wasn’t real for years.  It was real. It would forever be real.  There was no more escaping it.

The frozen air and blinding wind of a Chicago morning in January took his breath away. He pulled his stocking cap down over his ears as he reached for his gun and crept around the side of the house.  The call had come in as shots fired.  Multiple neighbors reporting the same but no one actually seeing anything out of the ordinary.  He lingered a bit as he waited for backup but he knew he had to go in without waiting. No cars in the drive, no lights on in the house, yet something screamed at him that it wasn’t right. It was very, very wrong and he felt it. As he approached the door, his flashlight shining in the window, he saw nothing. No signs of foul play, no signs of life at all….and that’s what made his hair stand on end. His gut told him someone was in there, but who? Alive? Dead? Lying in wait? Was this one of those fake 911 calls to entice an officer into an ambush? He didn’t know what to think about that feeling in his gut. Just then another gust of blustery wind rushed up against his back and onto the porch and his eyes moved as the front door inched open with the burst of wind.  An invitation to the madness. Now at an ever heightened sense of alert he questioned going in alone. He knew backup was only minutes, possibly seconds away, but the open door proved too powerful as it lured him inside. No one could have ever anticipated what he would find.  For the first time in fifteen years of exposure to death and destruction and mayhem he found himself rushing to the closest toilet as he vomited up the vision which was just permanently and forever seared in his mind.

They hadn’t been as close lately. For whatever reason, call it life or stress or hectic schedules. Honestly he knew about the marriage problems. Their wives talked and frankly he was annoyed at the stress it placed on his own wife. They used to be inseparable. They were like brothers, not just in blue, they were like blood brothers. Best friends for years, they knew everything about each other. No secrets, no lies, nothing to hide…or so he believed.  They were Godfathers to each others children. They went on family vacations together. They were partners for nine years, but lately there was a distance. Maybe it was just him being annoyed, maybe it was the chaos of everyday life, but he just didn’t pay much attention to the change in his partner.  Truth be told, he dismissed him. He had even joked with his wife that it was like a nine year itch, perhaps it was time for a new model.

His partner had called in sick. He had called to check on him, no answer. Par for the course lately he thought.  But not now. Everything had changed in a heartbeat and nothing could make any of this real. Nothing could make any sense of it. There had to be more. There had to be a reason.  As he was pulled from the bathroom by his colleagues who had arrived on scene it began to hit him. It was real. It was true. This was no dream.  His best friend and partner had eaten his service weapon, his head half blown off inside the home of his mistress who lay dead in a pool of blood on the floor. His one eye left, open as if to say "where were you?"  He didn’t know whether to feel disgusted or angry or overwhelmed with sadness.  His wife…..dear God, his wife and babies. How was he going to tell her?  As the reality of what was to come washed over him, thinking of the pain his partner’s wife would endure, he felt more lost than he had ever felt before.

As the years went by he could never shake it. He felt an overwhelming sense of failure. How could he not know? How could he be so out of touch? He felt guilt for being so absorbed with his own family, he felt guilt for dismissing his partner’s conversations about the issues in his marriage. Every Birthday and holiday and anniversary date would leave him physically ill for his partner’s wife and children. He felt guilt for every date he should be celebrating in his own life.  He felt anger, he felt lost, he had so many unanswered questions.  It took a toll on his marriage. For as much as he loved her, he didn’t feel he deserved happiness.  For as much as she tried to comfort him, he pushed her away.  For as much as his babies loved him, he couldn’t get past the guilt for those left without their daddy.  He turned to the bottle first, but it was too risky. He had to feed his kids.  He ended up doctor shopping for prescriptions to numb the pain legally.  His dedication to his duty started to wane as did the duty to his family.  He ended up on administrative leave for a bit, then scraped his way back to duty.  He ended up on the couches of friends, or women for weeks at a time, then managed to inch his way back into her life. Each time she would confront him he would rage with defensiveness in an attempt to avoid his truth.  She begged him to seek help. He refused. His anger ever growing, her patience ever fading, he returned home one day to changed locks and a court order taped to the door of the home they built together.  

Too much.  It was all too much to bear. He had lost the only thing he had left. No one to comfort him. No one to wake him when the nightmares wouldn’t stop. No one to try endlessly to convince him it wasn’t his fault. He had pushed her too far. He had expected too much. He had once again, failed the one who meant so much to him. There was no escaping, in his own eyes he was nothing but a failure.

She sat in the floor of their closet, looking up at the empty hook and hanger, knowing she would never see the uniform he wore when he took his life. She wept as she wondered how they would go on without him. For as much as she could no longer tolerate his behavior, for as much as she couldn't tolerate his indiscretions, she never stopped loving him, he was the love of her life. She just needed him to get help. If she had known… if she had ever thought for one minute….

Her head in her hands as she wept for him, for the times they shared, for the times she dismissed him, for the moments she ignored him, for her own mistakes he had forgiven, for the memories they made, for the children he left behind. Her heart broken knowing the sacrifices he had made all those years for so many in need. All those he helped, all those who had hated him, all those who had mocked him, all those who had turned their back on him simply because of his badge…. And now, because he could take no more he wouldn’t even be honored for the good he did. He would only be remembered for that one moment he couldn’t take the pain any longer.  And there she was, in the floor of their closet, left to feel she had failed him, left to carry the pain, left to carry the weight, left to find a way, somehow, to ensure her children knew he was a hero.  She vowed that day to teach her children there was always a light after darkness. There was always a better tomorrow. There was always a reason to keep moving forward. And she prayed each night she was strong enough to believe her own words.  ©TPWL

If you or someone you know is suffering, contact Safe Call Now or 1st Responder Treatment. There are resources. There is help.