Everyone Goes Home

    My husband worked last night.  It was the first night of his rotation after a three day weekend.  I say weekend with a grain of salt of course, because in police work a "weekend" might be tuesday, wednesday and thursday.  As is the norm when he is not home, I had a dificult time falling asleep.  As is even more common, I had an even more difficult time staying asleep.  So, at 4 am, as I lay in bed listening to the sounds of the world waking up I struggled against the urge to call him or text him just to see if he was OK. 
    I never call him when he is on duty unless it is a true emergency.  I might text, knowing that he will only respond if he can but I rarely actually dial his number.  My reason is simple.  A ringing, or even a buzzing cell phone can one day mean the difference between life and death.  Injury and safety. Imagine a stand off between several cops and an irate, agitated suspect jacked up on crack or dangerously inebriated from alcohol.  The sound of his phone buzzing on his duty belt could be the catalyst that sends the irate, agitated, under the influence suspect into a fury and suddenly he becomes a felon and maybe my husband, or one of his friends doesn't make it home the next morning.
    And that is always the plan. 
    Everyone goes home safe.
    So I resisted the urge to call him and instead listened to the sound of the woodpecker as it banged its beak against my house, drilling more holes in the already damaged fascia board.
   As I waited for sleep to return.
   Of course, it never did.
   Around five a.m. my little one crawled into bed with me.  The wood pecker moved to the wall outside my bedroom and the numbers on the bedside clock changed ever so slowly until finally my alarm sounded and I was forced to face the day.
    Bright eyed and bushy tailed?
    Whatever.
     Going through the motions of preparation, I opted for the hot rollers instead of the straight iron, too tired from my sleepless night to care about perfectly straightened tresses. Ninety minutes later as I drove my youngest son to preschool, I finally pulled out my cell phone and dialed his number.  Just the sound of his voice over the line instantly relaxed the tense line of my shoulders.
    He was alive.  They all were alive and well.  Another shift down and only fourteen years to go.
   When people find out what my husband does for a living, it's always the same thing. 
  "Oh my!  I don't know how you do it!"  (I don't- he does.) 
   "How do you sleep at night?!"  (I don't.) 
    My own personal favorite? "Aren't you afraid he will die?"  (Well, of course I am!  Why do you think I never sleep?!)
    Some people choose their careers.  Others have no choice.  Their careers choose them.  A good cop was born to be a cop.  A good doctor was born to wear scrubs and wield a stethoscope.  A teacher meant to teach can't be taught the art of instruction, they have already mastered it.
    I am so many things in this world- a teacher, a (wanna-be) writer, a mother, a daugher, a wife.  All roles that I work hard at but I have to admit that there are definitely times when I ask myself why I chose to become a cop's wife.
   It definitely wasn't in my life's plan when I was ten.  Oh, how I thought I had everything figured out then!
  Everyone has a story about some cop that gave them a ticket or pulled them over or showed up at their house.  I am not foolish enough to think that cops are regarded as heroes or are revered for the job that they do.  But I am foolish enough to ask you to consider for a moment something other than traffic tickets and public disturbances.  Consider the ten year old that accidentally fired a found gun and killed his five year old brother.  Or the parapalegic trapped in a burning apartment building.  Consider also the woman who got up to use the bathroom and suffered a massive heart attack and the handicapped child that wandered away from home,only to be found in an alley miles from where he started.  Now think about who you would call in any of those circumstances? Your doctor?  A lawyer?  The police?
    Cops give tickets and arrest people.  They also respond to deaths, pull parapalegics from fires and find missing children.  I can not imagine what it must be like to be the first on scene when a child has been killed or a woman has been attacked.  They see things on a daily basis that most of us may never see in a lifetime.  
   This is their norm.  Cynicism and distrust replace carefree and happy.  
   I once took a class on death investigation where I saw an autopsy photograph of a two year old little boy who had been beaten and abused by a loved one.  Blonde curls, brilliant blue eyes innocent even in death, his tiny body wracked with scars and bruises.  If I close my eyes right now I can still see that picture as clearly as if the child stood before me.  One photographed image from fifteen years ago still haunts me to this very day.  I can't imagine hundreds of real life images haunting me moment to moment, day by day, year after year.
   Yet still, at the end of the shift they are forced to find a place to hide away all the images, all the evil and all the sadness.  Store them away in a lock box deep in the recesses of their minds. 
   But what if the box ever became full?
   There are so many heroes out there- everyday people doing what they are called to do to make life better for the rest of us.  The military, EMS, medical personnel and of course those who protect and serve are just  ordinary, average, middle class citizens doing what they are called to do.  I have a friend who is a trauma care nurse.  She sees hundreds of cases a year, head injuries, falls, horrific car crashes and yet she gets up and goes to work each day anxious to help who ever she can. 
    Would you think it ironic as I do if I told you that many of the cops we know are married to nurses?
    I am so priveleged to be a part of such great things.
    It is getting late and I am off to try and get a little of the sleep back that I lost last night.  It is my hope that everyone on duty tonight, no matter what your calling, ends their shift safe.
   Everyone goes home. 
   Except that damned woodpecker...