I was
getting ready to go to my son’s hockey game and as I was about to throw on my
favorite t-shirt, I stopped and read it.
I mean really read it, after the news we got today.
And suddenly
an avalanche of emotions attempted to bury me in myself.
I began to
dig myself out by facing these emotions one by one.
My heart
hurts for the most tangible reason. Someone has hurt members of my family.
My soul prays for those who were affected, and desperately hopes they'll be ok.
My mind is
flooded with confusion, and unanswerable questions about why, and who, and why,
why, WHY?
I’m scared
too. This happened in my backyard. This was close. I feel the reverberations of this much closer
than ever before. These aren’t
aftershocks, this was felt at the moment it happened.
But mostly,
I’m so angry, and I’m so tired.
I’m so angry
that this keeps happening. And I’m
astounded by how much more the anger keeps bubbling up to overwhelm the rest of
my emotions.
I’m angry
because I feel like this whole world has boiled down to Us vs Them. And then completely by accident, I came
across some internet troll’s comments about how we shouldn’t really care that
much since it was a police officer and that’s part of their job. And my anger reached the tipping point.
No
asshole. It’s not. Protecting and serving is part of their
job. Helping people, saving people; even
if it’s from themselves, THAT’s part of
their job.
Being hated
on the basis of what uniform you put on in the morning, and scrutinized
unfairly in the media, that is not part of their job.
I’m angry
because these cops are people. And in
this ‘us vs. them’ rhetoric we are being fed by the media with an insatiable
appetite about bad cops, somewhere in the transmission people have forgotten
that behind the badge, underneath the Kevlar and the polyester, these are
people. The same as everyone else.
He is your
child’s hockey coach.
She
volunteers as a big sister.
He’s the neighbor
that shovels your driveway for you when he noticed you weren’t home.
She’s your
best friend who loves the same wine that you do, and needs to commiserate about
a shitty day at work, or how hard it is to lose those 10 pounds.
They had
lives before, and will, god-willing, have lives after.
He was your
elementary school crush who gave you your first kiss.
She was
your biggest rival on the opposing high-school basketball team.
He’s the
little old man who waves you ahead of him in line at the grocery store, with a
knowing smile as your toddler is crying and your preschooler is touching
everything and anything.
I just…
When did
these people lose their lives? Is that now a part of their job? Have we as a society given ourselves the
right to take away their lives the moment they pledge to protect and serve?
To lose
their lives when they start wearing a uniform, only to go and lose their lives
again when someone decides it’s ok to go ahead and take their physical lives as
well?
I’m so
angry, and frustrated, and sad on a level that makes me feel like a parent
watching her beloved child ambling off into the dark knowing there is no
measure of words, or tears that can bring them back into the light.
I’m so
tired of arguing about whose lives matter.
It’s such a
silly point in a world where everyone should matter.
I shouldn’t
have to see #policelivesmatter because it shouldn’t be any different than nurses,
or doctors, or teachers or lawyers.
I’m tired
of a media that turns its back on the humanity of these men and women to report
sensationalized stories on mass entertainment scales.
I’m tired
of people clicking ‘share’ and ‘post’ in a sublimely irresponsible way to spread hate and ignorance far faster than love and understanding could only wish to go.
I’m most
especially tired of seeing a Stetson, and a beautifully folded flag placed into
the hands of a devastated woman.
In a world
that has proven time and time again, it needs police officers because they do
the work no one else wants to deal with, I’m tired of being reminded of the 1%
of bad officers who have, undoubtedly, made erroneous mistakes.
But today,
as in every day, following the words of an eloquent New York Police officer, I
will do it again.
I will
slide that red shirt over my heart, I will whisper a prayer that things will
change and that my husband will come home safe, and I will hear the sea of
voices from the other families and wives who will do the same as we chant these
words inside our hearts.
Together we
are fierce. Together we are strong. Together we stand. Red Serge Proud.