Some things that cops experience are quite comical, yes, but there is also a dark side. A somber side.
When CA Cop was gearing up for the academy and our life was adjusting, friends and family would ask me what I thought of his career choice. Was I scared? How did I feel about that? Etc. My biggest concern was that I didn't want him to change. I love my man, dearly. He is a sweetheart, a real easy going guy. My large family jokes that whoever is sitting next to CA Cop is always in a fit of laughter because the comments he throws out are usually darned right hilarious (and off color). He has been the best part of my life for the last 10 years.
I was worried that with the dirtbags around here, the things officers have to see, and the disrespect cops are treated with, that he would become jaded. Hard. Bitter at society and the evil it harbors.
I'm completely ashamed to admit this, but his mom and I cried on the way home from his academy orientation. We were swelling with pride at our new found warrior and also fearing the unknown of what this LEO life would bring. Of course, we were concerned for his safety. But as we organized and sorted through our emotions on that drive home we agreed that we were more worried about losing that mellow, happy guy that everbody likes, to a tangled and twisted world where the battle to defend the innocent seems so overwhelming and unchanging.
My phone rang. It was his ring. Pleased to be receiving a call from him in the early part of his shift, I rushed to grab it. I held the phone to Shasta's ear, he knows the ring too. "Hi Dada. Bye". The same three word sentence every time, but I love to hear the smile in CA Cop's voice that only those three words can bring.
He let me know he was on the scene of a homicide. His first homicide. It was gruesome. His voice was soft, distracted and he spoke quickly. The victim was tortured. Almost "unrecognizable as human". I distinctly remember him uttering that phrase. Body blugeoned.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Can't talk, but I know you'll see it on the news." He was annoyed at me for even asking about how he was doing, I could tell. This is what he does now. This is a reality of his job and so of course he is okay, I could hear his thoughts, I swear.
He got home the next morning and I greeted him at the door before the kids did. I studied his face. Took in his features.
"You okay? Was that hard?"
"I'm fine. Really. It's okay. It's okay."
There was light in his eyes. His face was tired, but not saddened. His touch was soft and not stiff. His shoulders not tense and rigid, but warm and welcoming. I grabbed his lunch box and papers as he picked up his babies one in each arm and carried them over to the couch. They screamed as he tossed them one at a time onto the pillows that I neatly place in order about 75 times a day. They landed softly and begged him for more. He tickled their bellies and then collapsed onto the couch along side them.
And I processed it all. He is strong. He has good things to come home to.
And I knew, this is just a reality of the job. Of course he's okay and he will continue to be okay.