Yesterday I woke around 4am. I had thinking that wouldn’t
stop. I had a personal battle that returned and amazingly chose to wake me out
of my sleep.
But the day was turned around as I made pancakes to take to
the park with my daughter and granddaughters. It was a positive challenge,
getting up making pancakes, preparing for the adventure and arriving. The highlight
of my day. Or so I thought. I posted photos to facebook of the sweetest faces
after arriving home even before taking a 20 minute nap. The upcoming 10 hour
shift probably needed more but that’s all I got.
So, the shift begins. At Roll Call during the briefing we
watch a training video. It is a traffic stop made by an officer who gets shot
seven times. The suspect gets away but has a collision during chase by other
officers and dies. May seem like a depressing way to start your work night. For
us, it keeps us on our toes. We discuss things. We try to rid the element of surprise
and face the facts that anything can happen, be prepared and keep moving.
The calls went from there…
*A white teen female seen being pulled by a black teen male with
a group of black males who had been previously involved in a disorder. The
caller a teacher felt the female was in danger. After hearing my description of
the female my fellow officer knew where this female lived. We go to do a
welfare check. The grandfather answers the door. He says she’s in the basement.
There is a child just under two standing on the kitchen table. Grandpa (late 60’s)
is unaware as he shows us to the basement. We get him to attend to the little
girl first and he sighs, “She’s so busy.” We head downstairs. There are three teen
females and four teen males. The smell of incense and narcotics in the air. A
fifth teen male knocks and is let in the door…
*Another call is a stolen dog. The caller just knows the neighbor
has it. I ask the neighbor if I can walk through her house to eliminate the accusation.
She willingly escorts me in and immediately starts ranting and raving about how
her rights are infringed upon. Her mother lies in a hospital bed with oxygen
tube, never moving, seemingly in a comatose state. I gently ask how her mother
is, one because I feel she may not be getting the care she needs, two, because
I want to connect with the ranting woman and let her see I’m a caring individual.
She literally blows up. I am thankful I have enough foresight to have turned
on my recorder at the beginning of the call.
*It was how hot yesterday? Well, take that heat and stand on
burning hot asphalt for an hour directing traffic in a very busy intersection.
My fellow officer and I made executive decisions to toss our required hats to
avoid heat stroke. It was not the call to be on after sucking down a tall
coffee 30 minutes before.
*And the elderly man, who lives by himself, a retired
military man, who lost his arm and had just been diagnosed with cancer…the
radiation treatments so very new to him. He kept trying to call his son-in-law
and he the wrong person answering, he felt like “someone was playing a cruel
joke” on him. Even his house number was wrong. So he called 911. After calls to
his daughter and son-in-law his clarity returned and he poured himself a glass
of wine…his daughter stating they are allowing him to drink now that he has
cancer. I fail to see the logic.
*While fueling up, I watch what appears to be a drug
transaction meet. I copy down both registration plates. The three go into the
station, all to the beer cooler, the one comes back and pays for a Foster, and
the other two travel passed all points of sale into the parking lot with 40
ounce beers tucked in each cargo pocket. I move from pumping and towards the
truck. I’m certain my instincts are right as it’s narcotics and shoplifting. I
walk up to the window, speak and the driver throws it in reverse, I step back
and he speeds off. By the time I remove the gas nozzle and get in my cruiser
and take off they are long gone. And I want to find them. And I set my jaw and
began the calls to the registered owner and start toward the address of the
registered owner and I call a fellow officer. He listens and asks “How would
you like to help me make a difference in a baby’s life instead.” And there’s no
hesitation.
*So I end up at the hotel where an eleven month old baby has
been left with a heroin user while his heroin using mother is out…Stripping?
Prostituting? The drug using male would not let us know but the indicators were
there on both accounts. He had warrants. The mother could not be contacted. The
grandmother wouldn’t answer the phone. But the cabinet did. And I waited with
this trusting soul for 4+ hours. Cleaning the poop off his little raw behind, dressing
his little shivering body, feeding him, singing to him, bouncing and cuddling with him and just 40 minutes
before the cabinet came to transport him to the Foster Home…I got him to sleep.
I loaded him in the car seat and he woke and looked at me. Unlike a normal baby’s
response as they wake to see a stranger, he instead looked at me for a few
seconds, sighed and went back to sleep. He turns one next month. He doesn’t
crawl, the back of his head lacks the roundness it should…but he can love still…and
trust.
One night's shift...so much to process. So much responsibility.
So this morning…after getting to bed at 3:50am, almost 24
hours later from waking up to face my own battles, I get the mail. There is an
article someone wants to share with me. It’s titled “The best thing that
ever happened to us.” Taken from TheOptimist.com. And it talks of other experiences
how they “allowed the traumas in their lives to improve self-perception to
newfound intimacy with others, an enriched philosophy toward life and a drive
to find meaning and impact through professional
pursuits…how this is called PTG…post- traumatic growth.” (written by Andrew
Tolve).
I read it and then I write…and I share what I write. To
educate. To encourage. To praise a God who allows something beautiful to come
from brokenness and strife.