I was about a month into my separation from my wife. And I was hurting. Bad. Of course, it was the combination of the PTSD and depression now exacerbated by the separation that made things, simple day to day moments, difficult to maneuver through. I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy. OK, that's a lie. My worst enemy...you bet your ass. It sucked that bad.
So I was having a more than normal super rough day and now I was at work. A bad mix. A potentially life threateningly, bad mix. I knew I had to square my shit away fast. But my mind was racing. There were, what seemed like, millions of thoughts intruding into the last vestiges of peace and calm in my head. I felt like I was going to explode. I couldn't control it. I didn't know what to do. Most of the thoughts were of my wife and the separation and, with that, my mind was off to the races. My imagination was running out of control. And now work related issues and past traumas began to sneak in every once and a while at first, but then grew with increased frequency and intensity as my mind lost control and my defenses continued to weaken. And this was 30 minutes after breaking roll call...
So, I sent up a flare...I got on my MDC and sent one of my shiftmates a message asking to meet him. This guy hasn't even been on my department for a year and he has quickly become one of my dearest friends and most trusted confidants. He knows. He's been there. He came from another police agency and has six years of law enforcement experience total. He's also a combat veteran, serving two tours overseas and seeing some crazy shit in the process leading him to post traumatic conditions of his own. But what gives him the trifecta was that he, too, suffered through an unwanted separtation. Sadly, he had become my brother in arms.
He pulled up next to me and I began to tell him what was going on with me. Bottom line...I was losing it, drowning in my own quicksand of despair and I needed a life line. Quick. We talked. The radio crackled in the background with calls for service. Yet at this stage of the game, this took precedent over everything else. I didn't want to go to a call, let alone a hot one, with the fractured mindset I was working with at that very moment. But at that point, me talking and him just listening wasn't cutting it. I needed something more. I asked him what he did when he was where I was right at that moment. He briefly paused and then started his reply with, "Now, I know you're not a religious person." (Admittedly, I'm not.) "But I went to church.", he said. "Not for the religious stuff, but because I wanted to be surrounded with good people. "
And then it goes off. That proverbial light bulb over my head. I compare it to that scene in the classic Rudolph, The Red Nosed Reindeer claymation show I used to watch when I was a kid (and still do). At the end, Santa is ready to call off Christmas due to horrible weather when he sees Rudolph. As Santa's making his announcement, Rudolph's nose is blinding him with its brilliant light when Santa finally realizes the beacon through the storm...Rudolph's bright ass nose.
It was like that for me. I was Santa and my buddy's simple statement was the light to guide me through my storm. I was almost instantaneously calmed, on the verge of approaching excitement. I immediately thought of a nearby church I could go to. But it didn't stop there and it wasn't just that.
I continued through my shift on point and mission focused to do my job. I wasn't distracted or consumed with other thoughts. And then I went home...or, should I say, my apartment. I sat down and began trolling through the internet, searching for area activities and fitness classes I could become involved in. I quickly began to fill up my days and my calendar looked purposeful once again.
With that statement, what my brother, did for me was to provide temporary shelter in the storm and point the way out. It gave me guidance. I made a plan. Boy, was that...and still is...huge. Huge beyond words huge. For anyone caught up in such a cyclone of despair, the simplest of order, of a plan, can create much needed and desperate calm.
So for those of us still caught in the middle of the hurricane with thoughts twirling through your mind, there is a way out. Make a plan of things to do. Any plan to give yourself some order. Ride a bike, go camping, take a cooking class, sign up for the gym, head out to a baseball game...or go to church. I never made it to the church I initially thought of. My work schedule hasn't allowed me the time, but now that my graveyard shift is transitioning to the other side of the week, I certainly plan to go. My savior, however, has been yoga. Uh huh, yoga. The first time I went was years ago when my now separated wife took me on a surprise date. I was extremely intimidated and never did it again. Until now. It has been my lifesaver. And I'm all in, head first and loving it. I just ordered my very own mat. Can't wait til it comes in...
It didn't feel real, at first. But it was...I was there. Kneeling down and pumping on the passenger's chest. He was an elderly man, probably mid-80s or so. I remember it so clearly, but this was almost 25 years ago now. The car had left the roadway at a sharp bend and slammed into a tree, coming to rest in the front yard of an old farmhouse. Nobody was home, but it was estimated that the car and its occupants, an elderly couple, were there for at least an hour. I was a rookie volunteer firefighter. And now here I was helping to try and keep this gentleman from dying. His ribs cracked. And his breathing was fading. There was blood everywhere. We got him into the ambulance with the medics and off they went. Lights and sirens the whole way. We gave him a chance.
As I walked through the wreckage, I glanced down and went to pick up a personal item. I don't remember exactly what it was. But it was pretty much covered in blood. Still, I picked it up and, before I could wonder the value it had for that couple, my captain hollered at me to put it down...it was the early 1990s and in the middle of the era of AIDS. I dropped it immediately.
And that was it. That's how it all started for me. That car accident was my first critical or traumatic incident as a first responder. I don't think it really adversely affected me, but I remember it. Vividly. I stayed a firefighter for a couple more years before moving into law enforcement. By January 1994, I was hired as a county park officer in my home state of Pennsylvania. I was later promoted to supervision. It was during that time that I wanted to expand my horizons. Explore opportunities.
I submitted applications throughout the country and traveled to states like Utah, South Dakota, California, and Washington as I progressed through various hiring processes. And then in the early fall of 1998, I got the call. I was headed West to become a peace officer for a large western state. In March 1999, I graduated near the top of my academy class. I was euphoric. Proud of my accomplishments as I reported to my first station in the very busy, heavily populated southern part of the state. I began to assert myself and get recognized for my efforts, receiving citizen compliments, department commendations, and later a state Mothers Against Drunk Driving award. A few years later, a position opened up at another station within my district. It was something I had been dreaming about my entire law enforcement career.
For as long as I can remember, since I was a very young child, my family had dogs. There was Blackie, who, of course, was black. And then Dandy, who was given to me as a birthday gift, but was never really mine...he was my mom's baby boy. When I went to college in western Pennsylvania, one of my roommates "rescued" a puppy from a local shelter before wanting to return her a few weeks later. So, I took her in. Codi. She was my loving and faithful companion for almost a decade. She was later joined by Neshana, who was a muddy and matted yellow lab when I found her running alongside the road as I went to work one day. The girls traveled with me out West as I started that new chapter of my life. But within months of my academy graduation, Codi died. I came home from work one day and wasn't greeted at the door by the girls. Something was up. And then I found her. Lying on the couch, where we had spent so much time together. Her last act.
So, that available K9 handler position at the other station was my holy grail. And when I got it in the late fall of 2000, I felt like I had reached the pinnacle of my law enforcement career. A passionate dog guy to the core and a dedicated public safety professional...now a K9 handler?! I was on fucking cloud 9. My police dog and I finished first in our handler class. I was now headed back to my new assignment, in the busiest part of the state, full of renewed piss and vinegar, with a locked on German Shepherd at my side. Look the fuck out, I thought.
Before the end of August 2001, however, my shepherd was dead. My career, my whole world, crumbled around me and careened out of control...
And the old man from the car wreck? He didn't make it. Neither did the driver. His wife.
