Gone, but not forgotten

Yesterday marked the 2 year anniversary of the death of Greg's friend and fellow police officer, Jason West. In honor of all those who sacrifice for the safety and freedom of others, I'm posting another essay I wrote in the weeks after Jason died. He might be gone, but he is not forgotten.
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If you’ve never lived this life, it’s hard to understand.
And if you have lived this life, sometimes, it’s even harder to understand.

I never had the privilege of knowing Officer Wayne Leon or his family. A 32 year-old married father of three, Officer Leon was gunned down on the job June 25, 2000. It was just 4 weeks after my husband graduated from the Police Academy and was sworn in as a Cleveland Heights Police officer along with Jason West.

Upon hearing about Officer Leon, the thought came, “That could easily be us one day.” The news hit too close to home.

I didn’t meet Officer Ryan Nagy, or his wife Barb, until after the accident that resulted in Ryan being pinned between two vehicles during a traffic stop. To save his life, Barb gave doctor’s permission to amputate Ryan’s leg. I cried as I read the Plain Dealer series, which gave the outside world a brief glimpse as to how drastically, and dramatically the Nagy’s lives changed in a matter of minutes. What was supposed to be ‘routine,’ was anything but. There is nothing routine about this job and again, the news hit too close to home.

It was just minutes after 10 o’clock Friday night when the phone rang. Tired from having had only 3 days off in the past 16 days, and knowing the next full day off wouldn’t come until June 3rd, Greg was a bit irritable and ready for bed.

The call was brief and the look on his face was disbelief.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as he snapped the phone shut.
“Jason West was shot over on Altamont. His prognosis isn’t good. I’m going to the hospital. I’ll call you later.”
Around 11 he called and said, “It’s not good. Jason’s mom just got here.”
Shortly after midnight we spoke again. With a catch in his voice he said, “Jason didn’t make it.”
“I’m so sorry,” was all I could manage before the tears started streaming and emotion took over.
This time the news hit home.

Greg got home around 1 am and he told me what the scene at the hospital had been like, how Jason had looked and what he had learned about the circumstances. It was all so senseless. Jason didn’t stand a chance. He was shot multiple times from close range as he exited his police cruiser. Greg said he was likely dead before he hit the ground, his gun still in its holster. Not one to show emotion, I could see how upset he was. Jason wasn’t just a police officer, he was a colleague and more importantly, he was a friend.

Some might consider it odd that while we talked about a friend who had just been murdered; a friend he had passed on the road just 5 short hours before, Greg methodically ironed the creases into his Shaker Heights Police uniform.

He was back at work by 6am.

We’ve lived this life for 7 years yet it still strikes me when I sit at home, reading “Goodnight Moon,” to our four young children, knowing that my husband, their dad, could be running through quiet backyards, chasing down violent criminals by the light of the moon.

Or when I think back to the first time his SWAT pager started beeping in the middle of the night. I was certain I would never fall back asleep. How do you sleep knowing that the person you love is heading directly into harm’s way? Imagine my surprise when I woke several hours later as Greg was quietly coming back in the door.

I still feel guilty about that.

And now, what was already scheduled to be a busy week for so many, is going to be filled with memorials, parades, ceremonies and bittersweet reunions of family, friends and comrades. New relationships will be formed from this tragedy and old ties will be strengthened. The bond among thousands of strangers will be solidified. Tears will be shed, and I dare say, even a few laughs will be shared.

If you’ve never lived this life, it’s hard to understand.
And if you have lived this life: If you do live this life, sometimes, it’s even harder to understand.