The phone rang. In my sleep, I heard it and blindly searched for it on the nightstand next to our bed. He always called to let me know he was on his way home anyway, so no need to fully wake up. Just lift up the phone, hear his voice, "Hey, Bubba, I'm on my way home, just letting you know. Love you and see you soon." I would usually mumble a sleepy "Alrighty, love you too....bye-bye" and hang up. So, I picked it up and heard instead a different voice on the other end, "Hi, Bridgette, this is Chief ****, Don's fine, but I'm just calling you to let you know there was an incident tonight. I'm gonna put him on the phone now, but I just wanted to let you know he was alright."
--oh, okay.......
I sat up in bed and listened to my husband's voice as he, too, started off by saying he was alright.
My half-asleep mind only kept wondering "Why is everyone telling me he's alright?"
It was then that I heard him say something about a shooting. A shooting. Someone had shot him, but he was alright.
Again with the "alright".....why does he keep saying that?
He then said he would tell me everything when he got home in a couple of hours. Not only did we live an hour away from the city, but he was also still being checked over and wrapping things up.
I sat up awake in bed until he came home. I don't remember how long we just sat and held each other --have I blocked it out for my own protection?
I do remember him telling me the entire story of what transpired. How my husband, this police officer, ran into a dark alley after a suspect. How the suspect pulled out a gun and shot at point blank range, directly at my husband. One bullet slammed into the 2-inch diameter pepper spray can hanging off my husband's duty belt, right against my husband's upper thigh/hip area. It pierced the can, exploding the contents into the material of my husband's uniform, sending shrapnel and pepper spray into my husband's skin. Two other bullets miraculously did not fire out of the gun, even though the gun was pointed directly at my husband.
My.
Husband.
The same husband who was a 16 year old boy giving this young 17 year old girl a huge chocolate heart for our first Valentine's Day together.
The same husband who was an 18 year old young man who cried in my arms the night his dad died.
The same husband who was my 19 year old groom at our wedding.
The same husband who was a 23 year old first time papa of our beautiful Lovely #1
The same husband who graduated from the police academy as I was pregnant with our beautiful Lovely #2
The same husband who arrived just in the nick of time, in uniform, in the middle of a shift, as I was giving birth to our Lovely #3
The same husband who worked all hours of the day and night, three rotating shifts, missing out on holidays with family, special events our girls were in, weekly church services sitting next to me.
The same husband who made me laugh when I didn't think I could, who held me when I cried, who supported my desire to homeschool our Three Lovelies, who sang silly songs at the drop of a hat, who built stuff out of his head without paper plans, who amazed me at every turn.
My.
Husband.
Their.
Dad.
I had to think of how we were going to tell our girls when they woke up. "Well, there's no manual for this." There's no one I can reach out to to ask, "What's the best way to tell your children that their dad had been shot by someone?"
Pray for wisdom.
Pray for strength.
Pray for a covering of their minds.
God's grace is an amazing thing. It's there right when you need it. It gives you strength to make it through unusual times. It helps block out thoughts that would otherwise bring things crashing down inside of you at the worst possible time. It helps carry you so you can carry others when needed.
Time passed.
About 6 months later, I had just dropped our oldest daughter off at her first Drivers Ed class. I was driving home, when a siren came screaming down the street, passing me by. It was at that moment that it all came crashing home --I had to pull off the road because the blinding tears just would not stop. I cried and cried and cried. I guess I finally allowed myself to think about how close we had come to losing the love of my life, the father of our children, the man of my dreams.
Time passed.
It's now been a little over 12 years. The events of this past week, in particular the memorial service today in Dallas, caused my thoughts to drift back to when our world stopped turning on its axis for a brief moment in time. My heart aches for those wives who will never hear the laughter of their husband's voice again, or be held by his arms again, or see him hug his children again. It breaks as I think of how they had to have a very different conversation with their children than the one I had with mine. I pray for them as they now have to face each new day alone. I pray for their children, as they will grow up without a father.
I tell this story as a gentle reminder. Police Officers are real people. Individuals. They are flesh and blood human beings. They are someone's husband, wife, father, mother, son, or daughter. They have children. They would love to go to church with their wives but can't. They would love to spend Christmas Day with their children, but can't. They would love to go to their kids' choir program, but can't.
They run into dark alleys when everything inside you or me would scream not to.
To protect.
And to serve.
