Officer down, a personal post

I woke up this morning to the radio DJs talking about two Tampa police officers who were gunned down early this morning. One officer left behind a wife with four children, the other left behind a wife who was 9-months pregnant–expecting their first child.

My father is a police officer. I also have an uncle in the force and a brother who is a fire fighter.

I’m not sure what exactly it was that resonated in me about this story.  Being pregnant maybe it was the guy who at 31, is the same age as my husband, also expecting his first child. Or maybe it was because it was one of my worst fears growing up.

My parents divorced when I was little and I became one of many kids who only sees her father for a month during the summer and if I was lucky maybe at Christmas.

Being a police officer’s kid has its advantages. I remember one night my brother and I were home alone and my father was on patrol. He met some guy who had baby tigers and he talked him into bringing them back for us to see and touch. I still remember their rough fur.

There are other moments of course. And there are those things that just come with the territory. The spouses that don’t want to hear about what their police officer husbands do. In retrospect, I understand. But as a child, being around that, was so interesting. There are nice and normal people in this world and then there are just crazy people and crazy stories. And when the cops get involved the story is usually crazy.

I loved those stories. And being a kid, that made you kind of cool to have. It also kept some lusty bad boys away from me–all I had to do was throw out the “my father’s a cop” card, for which a friend would verify and said boy would back down. We just never mentioned that my father lived several states away.

Which brings me to one of the worst things about being a cop’s kid–getting on the plane to go home. I’m not a cryer, but that would do it to me. I would step on the plane and go to my seat, where I would look out onto the terminal, knowing my father was in there. Probably walking back to his car. And that I would hopefully get to see him in a year. But the key word was hopefully.

Not growing up living with my father I didn’t know him on a day to day basis and have all those things that many families had–being able to call him if my car broke down or if there was an emergency. And I knew that no matter how safe he tried to be, there was always a chance that some crazy person could hurt or kill him and I would never see him again. And with that thought, I would watch out the plane window, imagining my father walking away, remembering that last hug and hoping it wasn’t our last.

I don’t think I’ve ever told that to anyone. But something about the story of the Tampa officers this morning broke my heart.

A photo from about 1996. Getting ready to go on my first police patrol with my father.  Since then I have done MANY police patrols covering police departments for many law enforcement publications. I have hidden behind cop cars while a man with a shot gun shot at people. I have ran down dark alleys, been on police chases, etc. It’s scary, it’s exciting, it’s def. a different kind of life.

But many of those officers have families waiting back home, hoping that their spouse isn’t the one that runs into some crazy lunatic with a vendetta. (I realize some people don’t like cops, and like any job their will be bad apples.) And there are hard working people out there who put their lives on the line every day and could one day save your life or that of someone you know.

I feel for those children who lose their parents in the line of duty, whether it be police, fire or military. And so far, I’ve been a lucky one. But tomorrow is a new day.

Hug your family members and let them know how much they mean to you. You never know when it could be your last chance.

The Tampa Story.

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