I awoke to what I thought was a doorbell. I glanced at my clock: midnight. It must have been a dream. Who would ring my doorbell at midnight? My husband was working night shifts, my boy sleeping in the next room and my dog curled up under the covers fast asleep. I rolled over to go back to sleep and — ding-dong. My heart started pounding, I immediately started sweating and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was the doorbell! Who would be ringing the doorbell? I remember thinking, “If I just ignore it, it will go away.” I froze.
Ding-dong. I knew I had to get up, but I couldn’t. I finally found the courage to roll out of bed, put on my pajama pants and slowly walk out of my bedroom. The house we were living in at the time had a ledge you could look over outside my room and see the front door. Our front door had a long vertical window beside it, the blinds half up. I hesitated to look, and the dialogue repeated in my head, “Please don’t be black boots, please don’t be black boots.” When I finally looked, I drew a breath of relief. Sandals! Oh, my goodness, I was never so happy to see a pair of sandals.
One month prior, Constable Dan Woodall had been fatally injured in the line of duty while attempting to arrest a suspect for a hate crime complaint. I remember that day like it was yesterday. When we received the news of what had happened, I remember feeling angry, sad, scared and anxious. My heart was broken for his family and friends. I remember going to do a load of laundry and breaking down crying. I hid it from my husband, immediately feeling embarrassed and ashamed, because who was I to be crying? It wasn’t happening to me and I had never even met Constable Woodall.
Then it hit me: Eight years prior, in 2007, my husband was in an officer-involved shooting. Fortunately, he was not physically injured, but we had never, individually or as a couple, really dealt with the emotions that came with that incident. At that point it became real to me that eight years ago this could have been me. I could have been the one losing my spouse, my best friend; I could have had to raise my boy myself. My heart ached for this family and the tears continued to flood for days, mixed emotions of sadness and relief all at the same time. And although I didn’t know Constable Woodall and his family personally, they were our family in blue and it hurt.
You see, when you become part of the family in blue, it doesn’t matter that you may not know each and every person in the service — what matters is that we know we have each other. There’s a bond that forms among members and among spouses, and it is hard for those not in this family to truly know what it is like.
You may still be wondering why I was so relieved to see sandals. Well, because I knew that if I looked over that railing and saw black boots, it wasn’t going to be good news, and with my husband working patrol that night and this incident being so close to the death of a fellow officer, my mind was thinking the worst. I opened the door to see my smiling neighbor saying, “I am so sorry to wake you, but you left your garage door open and there was no button to close it. I just wanted to let you know.” Exhale.
We know the job can be physically, emotionally and mentally exhausting for our spouses with everyday shift work, demands of the job and political stress. As spouses, we, too, are affected by this job mentally, emotionally and physically.
From drying the tears of our children who are scared for their mom or dad to go to work, to having to explain to our kids why the family vacation got canceled at the last minute.
From the birthdays and holidays that we experience alone, to the cold dinner plates that get wrapped and put in the fridge because they are now working late.
From the mandatory court appearances on their days off, to the overtime to finish a file because criminals don’t go home at the end of a shift.
From the physical exhaustion you see in your spouse when they get home and tell you that they just chased a man for hours who assaulted an elderly woman, to watching the emotions flood your spouse as they tell you that they just watched a woman jump off the high-level bridge to her death and if only they had been a few seconds faster, maybe, just maybe, they could have stopped her.
But we continue…
As a spouse, I give him a kiss and tell him to have a good shift and be safe. However, as he walks out the door, I would be lying if I said that the thought that he might not come home doesn’t cross my mind. This year will mark 13 years since my husband had to shoot someone to save his life, and five years since the death of Constable Woodall and my doorbell incident, but the lasting emotional and mental effects of these experiences are still as real to me today as they were then.