Everyone hears only what he understands.
~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe~
~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe~
Recently, we lost a young police officer in the line of duty. From all accounts, he was a good officer, well liked by his co-workers, a wonderful husband and father and a man who loved God. According to his obituary, he was the second son his parents lost. Being a mother myself, I always identify with the mother and feel a deep sympathy for her. I thank the Lord that I've never been in her position and pray to Him that I never will be.
I also think about the young widow left to raise her now fatherless children alone. My first thought is always about the children who will have to grow up without their dad and my next is about the wife. There, but for the grace of God, go I and my sons.
After we'd been married just a few months, my husband told me he wanted to be a cop. Having no clue what was about to happen to our lives, I supported him 100%. The process of becoming a police officer took a few months because of all the testing and background checks that were involved. The day finally came when he enrolled in the Police Academy.
My thoughts then were that this was pretty cool. I was a cop's wife - a position I considered to be quite the status symbol. I was proud of my new "position" and that pride has never left me.
During the first couple of years he was an officer, I watched my husband go through a metamorphosis of a sort. I think he, too, felt he had reached a certain status. Once he graduated the academy and began patrolling the streets of our city, he developed an attitude that I'm sure most new officers developed - that of "I'm a cop. I'm all-powerful and all knowing". I likened this part of the metamorphism to that of thinking he was god-like (little "g" - a god - not THE God).
After awhile, he began to change. He realized that he was arresting the same people over and over. As fast as he'd put them in jail, the courts would let them out. He got depressed and was despondent that he wasn't making a difference. When I would express concern, he would tell me "you don't understand. Nobody cares". He didn't understand either. I cared.
Once when his shift was over and he was hours late coming home, I called the precinct and asked about him. This was before cell phones so I had little choice in how to find him. He was embarrassed that his wife was checking up on him and told me "you don't understand. If anything happens to me they'll notify you". He didn't understand either. I didn't know if he was hurt - or worse - and they hadn't gotten around to 'notifying' me yet.
Many nights, he would come home with blood on his clothes - blood he got either from breaking apart two guys trying to kill each other or maybe from someone who'd been injured. However he got the blood on him, he would always say "you don't understand. It's not my blood". He didn't understand either. It didn't matter whose blood it was, the blood was a stark reminder of how dangerous his job was.
So on and on it went. I didn't understand what it was like to be a cop and he didn't understand what it was like to be a cop's wife. Sometimes I wonder how we survived it - we almost didn't, in fact. I totally get why the divorce rate is so high among cops.
Nine years ago - after 30 years on the job - my husband finally retired. He has reverted back to the man he was when we first got married and our lives now have a semblance of normalcy. I'm still proud that I was a cop's wife for 30 years. I wouldn't trade that life for the world but I can't say I'd want to relive it.
Being a cop is a dangerous, dirty and thankless job. As we prepare to say goodbye to the young officer we just lost, that fact becomes more and more ingrained in me. I hope I never lose that feeling. God bless our law enforcement officers.
