What I Fear Most

I really don't worry so much about Chris being shot and killed. Yes, I realize it is a very real possibility but it's not what I fear. Chris was in combat in the Marine Corps, and part of me feels like since he got out of that situation physically unscathed, he can handle himself alright if "only" one or a few subjects shoot at him. Probably sounds weird, but it is how I rationalize it, I guess... What I fear is Chris being mowed down by a passing motorist. Here in CA that seems to be happening a lot lately, mostly by drunk drivers like what happened to Chris' friend, Officer Brett Clearman.

Why do I bring this up now? Chris came home this morning and said, "I came so close to becoming a ped spread last night, I quit my job. I really did....For 3 whole minutes, I was unemployed. We were taking an accident report and this sh-- wagon came flying by, lost control and came, literally, within one inch of smearing me across the road. I said, 'f--- this, they don't pay me enough, I quit', and I got in my patrol car. I just sat there. I was serious enough that [my partner] believed me. Then I got out and finished the accident report."

My brilliant reply was, "Ped spread? That's a new one for me. And what's a sh-- wagon?" Turns out he meant a sanitation truck. I just had no words to express how thankful I was he was OK...and still employed.

24 Beers in a Case, 24 Hours in a Day---Coincidence? I Think Not!

I always find it funny when Chris comes home at 7 in the morning with a six pack and has a couple beers with like, really spicy tacos or a hamburger. I am just waking up and am in "breakfast mode," and he'll hand me the Western Bacon cheeseburger he so thoughtfully picked up for me. That is the life of a graveyard worker; all backwards. When I worked graves, I put tinfoil on the windows or wore a sleep mask. Chris doesn't need any of that. What he does need is for me to stay out of the bedroom, which for some reason, I seem to find impossible. I can plan to stay out, intend to stay out and really want to stay out, but first I gotta shower. And I have to have the door open so I can hear Little Man in his crib, at which time the dogs (all 4) will sneak in; one that farts loudly, another snores like a lumberjack. Then when I am finished I shoo them all out, close the door behind me and remember I have to go back in and brush my teeth. Oops I gotta go back in for my glasses and for some deodorant. Hey, today's laundry day isn't it? He won't mind as long as I do his stuff too. "Little man, psst, Little man, you can't be in here! Your going to wake...." "DAAAAADAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!" " Sorry, Chris, I'll be out in just a second. Dogs, out! Almost finished....[whispering loudly like that helps] Did you want me to wash the cover for your vest and some undershirts?" Chris: "Mmmmph!" "Right, sorry, OK, I'm out of here." Crap I forgot my shoes, I gotta go back in, and I can't find any socks. Got them, I'll just sit on the edge of the bed to put them on real quick. [Look of death from Chris.] "What? I'm just putting my shoes on!" Chris: "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE LEAVE!!!!!" "Ok, ok, I really thought I was being quiet, sorry!" Now, repeat that times pretty much every morning and that's our routine. What can I say, I mean to stay out, I really do, but I miss him when he works graves!

10:01

I am fine until one minute after 10 am. At one minute past the hour, my eyes slide past Little Man's laughing face to the digital clock behind him on the table. In my mind, I know it's no big deal he just forgot to call, his cell battery died, or there is no reception. I know this, but I can't help but notice it is 10:01. He is often late, and that alone never worries me. 2 hours? 3 or 4? That is fine, he probably arrested someone. But everyone has a limit and 10:01 is mine. I don't need him to walk through the door; if that was my requirement I'd have gone insane by now. But we have an agreement, and he is so good about keeping it. I need to hear his voice, or if he can't call, at least a text. Something, anything. I've left a message, but I don't like to call him. I don't want to bother him. I am afraid someone else will answer. It's 10:15. Every car that passes the window in our quiet cul-de-sac draws my eyes. Little Man walks over to the front door, in that little drunken sailor way he has, and pounds on it, saying "Da Da?" I laugh and grab him in a bear hug, saying, "You're right! Daddy will be home very soon." I set him down with his toys and sit down to play with him. It's 10:30 and I can feel the tension building in my neck and shoulders. I begin a mental checklist, calmly and slowly. Just in case. I think back to the papers recently filled out and I know my Pastor would come. I know Chris' office would take the time to track him down. I try to prepare myself for how a knock on the door would feel, just in case. I imagine who it would be, which friend would be chosen for such a horrific task. I tell myself I am wise to be prepared, that it is good to have a plan. My mind withdraws farther and farther from those thoughts, never really forming an actual plan and I realize, I've hit a line, that I refuse to cross. It's 10:45, I am gathering up Little Man's toys, getting him ready for his nap. My mind is completely blank as I choose to think of nothing at all. I lay Little man down in his crib and I look down at my beautiful son. A minature version of Chris, with my dark eyes. I think about how blessed I am that, even if something bad happens, I have this perfect miracle; a part of Chris and I. It's 11:00 and I quietly close the door behind me so I don't wake up the baby. It's 11:01 and as I sit and gaze out the window, Chris' truck pulls into the driveway. I watch him, as he strides up the front walk. The key is in the lock, it turns and the door opens. I don't say a word. He looks at me and he has no idea what I am thinking. "Hey." he says. And he is so tired, and his night was so long. All of the sudden I am furious. All the tension breaks in me and I practically yell, "Why didn't you call, and don't say your cell phone died, you could have used someone elses, and don't say there was no reception because you could have used a landline! We have an agreement, remember? I need some kind of contact from you when your going to be this late." And I hate the tone in my voice, but I can't stop it. I pride myself on being the best cop's wife I can for him, so even as the words come out I regret them. "Check your phone." Chris says quietly. I scroll through the messages and I see the text: IT'S 10:00 AND I AM GOING TO BE LATE. I LOVE YOU. I'LL SEE YOU SOON. I'm sorry for my mini meltdown and apologize for the outburst. If this happens again I will try to remember to not freak out....But everyone has a limit and 10:01 is mine.

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Last night a Sacramento S.O. Deputy was shot and killed. Again. That makes the third Police Officer in California this week. It is escalating. And I am so tired. So very tired of seeing black bands on Officer's Badge's.

I'm in Love With a Cop

As a cops wife, there are so many times, all I can do to help Chris deal with a tragic call, is listen. (I can just hear him reading this and telling me, he doesn't need any help!) I think being a police dispatcher, and understanding on some level what he is going though day to day, is a really good thing. But sometimes I can do something to make my husband feel better. I have been with my husband for nine years and back when he was an active Marine and we were younger, (when we got married, he was 19, I was 21), I really sucked at being "there" for him. I wasn't mean, I was just a space cadet, wrapped up in my own little world, I guess, (Luckily I was a little hottie, so that hopefully made up for it a bit.) Now that he is a cop, I try to learn from how lame I was before, and do all I can to be there for him. He is not a big talker with most people, but he does tell me things. The best thing I can do for him is listen and not comment. Sometimes that is very hard for me; it is something I have to actively refrain from doing. That and also I have a touch of ADD so I have to concentrate and focus. That being said, when there are those rare times, I feel I can actively do something to help, I really want to do it. A recent example:

Danger is 11 months old and he and I had plans, just the two of us, for a gold old-fashioned road trip, to go visit the grandparents, south of us. Plans made waaaaaaay in advance. Days before we were set to leave, Chris' assisted on an fatal traffic accident. When he arrived the mom was running back and forth in traffic holding her dead baby, screaming for Chris and the other officer to save him. A baby that was just a couple of months older than Danger. I was surprised Chris shared this with me, and I did the only thing I could think of to put his mind at ease and sooth him, even if just a little. Danger and I took the train. I hope it helped.

You Might Be a Cop's Wife If....

From 12/12/04

Except for a select few who are married to cops, this may not be all that funny, but what the heck here goes anyway, I hope you enjoy.

You Might Be a Cop's Wife If:

*You talk more in code than English sometimes. "10-4, hon."
*Your husband seems to hang up his brain with his badge/gun at the end of the day.
*DH shouts at the TV "That's not proper police procedure!" Every time you watch NYPD Blue . *You have ammo in you bedside table instead of, well whatever normal people put in there. *Your husband bought you a bullet proof vest for your birthday, "just in case"
*You have more paper targets up than wall paper.
*Your bathroom material and the secret stash of mags under the bed are both "Guns and Ammo"
*At work your husband can remember a suspect's name, DOB, drivers license number and AKAs but at home he can't remember to take out the trash on Mondays.
*Your husband asks to see the ID of everyone who comes to the door including the mail man. *You have ever been at a mall/grocery store/video store/restaurant/children's birthday party and suddenly had to leave because your husband saw someone he arrested.
*DH drives like he is in Nascar when in his own personal vehicle, forgetting he is not in a patrol car.
*When you go out to dinner, your husband, points out which waiter, customer or cook is on meth, vicodin etc.
*Your husband can't figure out why everyone isn't getting out of his way, in traffic, like they do when he is at work.
And finally:
*That is a gun in his pocket, even if he is happy to see you. (These were all based on fact, let me know if you think of any others. Chris is gonna kill me when he reads this one!)