Why yes officer, I could use a Xanax.

Sage says:

Shayla needs our prayers. 

No really.  She has had more than her fair share of what I call dias de los crapola.  She is calling it “2015 – the year of suck”. 

We both have alcoholism in our families, so we know first hand joking about turning to alcohol is not so funny.  But damn, they have had a year.  It makes me want to pour myself a drink.  So, here I am, virtual drink in hand and me being me, I have been trying to figure out what I can do to help.  And then I realize, the year of suck has been that way for many of us. 

I have a lot of friends hanging on to the idea of middle class with holes in their gloves and beans in the pantry. 

Living paycheck to paycheck, and working extra jobs to try and get ahead. 

I feel like we are doing pretty well, but living in a community that most live under the poverty line makes middle class seem more approachable, for me.  The illusion is just over there, under that rainbow!  If we work hard enough, we will get there!  We laugh at things like ‘net worth’ because what that really means is we paid off some portion of our debt this year.  Toss in a medical bill, and there that goes. 

Having a spouse in law enforcement means a lot these days.  Shayla has been just such a spouse far longer than me, so I can’t yet fathom it all.  For me, it means denial to some degree.  Shane is good at what he does, and the man has far more integrity than I…

Squirrel:  remember the last blog, about telling the truth, yup – he was all for telling that teacher that she makes me crazy.  I went for awesome. 

At any rate, he is a fast thinker, a problem solver, he is tolerant, and is not racist, so all the social things going on about police – well I don’t need to worry.  And the bad guys – they will see that he is kind and fair so they will leave him alone.  This works for me.  And then Shayla sends the family a message: “her husband  is OK.  But has been involved in an officer shooting”.

Squirrel:  Shane was home that day, taking some of his comp time because he has been working so much overtime.  We were reading Shaylas message at the same time.  I cried, tears poured out of my face like a shower faucet, I mean, I sobbed.  Good Lord I tried to slow it down, but they just poured.  And the look on his face was confusion…he thought I missed the part that said “He is OK.”  I didn’t, I am just overly empathetic that way and could’t quit thinking about Shayla and her family.  I was thankful, and I always cry at things that make me thankful.  I was scared, too, and dang, that makes me cry as well. 

He is OK.  And, Shayla is such a good role model.  I’m a hundred miles away, bawling freakishly, and she is giving us details and remaining cool and calm.  And collected.  And caring.  Now, I know somewhere under there she had to be freaking out a little.  Right, it was him calling – so she knew he was alive.  But brains don’t do the math and hearts sure as hell don’t… she went through the motions as only her WonderWoman self could.  Somewhere in the middle of all of this was her daughters car breaking down, on the freeway.  And throw in all the daily worries and stress?

Squirrel:  I know right, pour that virtual shot.  She has just had Los Dia del los dias crapola. 

So.  If you believe in prayer, or warm thoughts, or love… send her some.  Send some to their whole family.  Even with as good an outcome as could hope – it is a trying time, in a trying time. 

A little extra love sent their way can’t hurt. 

I know I am thankful and keeping my prayers rolling.

Cheers.

Shayla says

I will admit that drinking shots of Fireball has crossed my mind this week.

I’m not an alcoholic (I should probably seek a support group for an ice cream addiction but we’ll save that discussion for another time) and only just discovered a few years ago that my liver can process liquor better than a frat boy.

ADD sidebar: I found out I was pregnant just days before my 21^st birthday. That kind of poo poo’d any thoughts I had for a drinking celebration. Sure I had my fair share of underage drinking (the statute of limitations has run out, right?), in fact, we won’t discuss how old (or young…shout out to my cousin Carolee) I was the first time I got drunk but as for adulthood, I rarely drink and only discovered my ability to consume hard liquor and still function perfectly fine after I hit my forties.

Yes. This has been the “year of suck” as I have affectionately decided to call it. It started with my husband having major neck surgery in January and being out of work until May.

ADD sidebar: Money. Sage mentioned it so I will address it briefly. The Bible says it is the root of all evil. I agree. Bills are evil. The fact that every time we manage to put some aside in an effort to get ahead or do the "living" that everyone says people should do with their time and it gets sucked away because of health issues or employment issues or any number of issues is frustrating and in a world that requires money can be debilitating and yes. It feels evil. 

It doesn't mean I'm not thankful for what I have. It doesn't mean I didn't celebrate the birth of my beautiful grandson this year. Or the graduation of my daughter from college. Or my youngest son moving on to high school and receiving the eighth grade American Legion Award like his older brother and sister. 

And in all honesty, I've been in more dire straits than these, wondering if I would lose my house or choosing to drive my toddler son to the hospital after he had a seizure because I couldn't afford the ambulance bill or living on peanut butter and jelly. I guess there is a part of me that fears as the middle class shrinks, we just seem to get squeezed out of the bubble and damn, peanut butter and jelly gets old. And dammit, you kind of start to feel like when you're almost forty-five-years-old the universe would cut you a break. But enough whining about money...

From May to September we also experienced multiple car breakdowns, computer failures, the death of major household appliances, and a surgery for me too.

And now that we’ve almost reached the last month of the year, for the first time in his twenty-one years in law enforcement, on Monday, my husband was in a shooting.

ADD sidebar: For those of you who want to criticize how quick police officers are to fire their guns, I want you to let this sink in a bit.

My husband has been on the department of the fifth largest city in the nation for twenty-one years this coming January. He even spent some time on the SWAT team.

And this is the first and only time he has ever fired his weapon at someone. And believe me, he has been in the position where that use of force would've been justified over the years. That's how bad this situation had to be. 

“Well why didn’t he just use his baton or taser? They do that in the movies all the time!”

Ya know what else they do in the movies? Yell “cut” and end the scene without real life carnage.

Ya know what they don’t do in the movies?  Get shot at with real bullets.

It’s not easy being a law enforcement spouse these days.

I mean it never has been easy—the hours suck, the pay is low, the stress is high—but lately because of the actions of a few, there is heightened scrutiny of the multitude. There's hostility for an entire profession and as a human being, I will admit, in some instances I understand why...and sometimes I don't.

I’m not naïve enough to think that there are not bad cops out there but sometimes I have to wonder if others are so naïve that they don’t realize there are some genuinely bad people out there.  

When I got the phone call on Monday, it was like the world stopped spinning for a moment so I could catch up and comprehend what he was saying on the other end, “Hi hon. I’m okay. I’m calling to tell you I’ve been in a shooting. I’m not hurt. No officers were hurt. Bad guy is wounded but not dead. I can’t say anything else. I love you.” Click.

See that’s the other part of being a law enforcement spouse. You get to skim the news stations for information because you don’t know anything either except you get to know that it’s someone you love that is in the middle of the shit.

I didn’t get to see him or talk to him again for nine hours.

Given that the shooting is still under investigation and will be for several weeks at least, I don’t know what limitations I have on what I can share so I will say as much as the news has—my husband was providing back up to another officer. When he arrived at the scene, the suspect began shooting at both of them so both officers shot back.

ADD sidebar: I deal with stress by making jokes. Actually I deal with everything by making jokes. So you better believe when I found out more details such as the suspect had run to the top of a set of stairs of a church “seeking refuge” according to the news, before he started shooting I had to ask my husband if the shooter was a hunchback yelling “sanctuary!”

When my husband called, our fourteen-year-old son, who had the misfortune of being the only one home with me, had just gone to take a shower. This was a blessing because I don’t know that I would’ve been able to maintain a cool façade.

ADD sidebar: I know Sage thinks I have all of this under control. I’m a good faker. I’m a highly anxious person to begin with and after years of training, I can look like I’m cool and collected on the outside while on the inside I feel like Jello in an earthquake. I suffer from esophageal spasms from stress and have since I was a teenager. I’m like the best and worst Star Wars characters—Yoda and Jar Jar Binks—rolled into one.

I tried to call my husband’s parents. No answer. I tried to call my husband’s twin sister. No answer.

Dammit people! This is the age where no one is out of reach! What the hell?!

By the time I made my third call, I had reached full on panic mode because nothing says loneliness like spending time with your own racing mind.

My best friend was the poor recipient of anxiety ridden word vomit as I blurted out, “I just need to talk to someone so I can get my shit together before Caleb gets out of the shower!”

And that is why she is my best friend.

Because she helped me calm down and get my shit together so I could go forth in full “business mode” and let the people know that needed to know with minimal voice quivering and hysteria. 

ADD sidebar: This is not something that they prepare law enforcement spouses for. Like what is the etiquette in this situation? Do I have to actually CALL everyone? Is a Facebook message or text message poor form? Where is the Emily Post of this crap?! Why doesn’t Dear Abby have a 24 hour hotline?!

Even though some of my family is in another state, like I said, police officers are under a lot of scrutiny these days so I sent a family message out.  I’m awful sorry to have caused Sage distress. I should’ve known how it would affect her, partly because she is loving and compassionate, and partly because, as a fellow law enforcement spouse it would make her wonder if she would ever be in my shoes one day.

A few days after the shooting, Sage asked me how I’ve coped with being a law enforcement wife for so long since she is fairly new at it. The best advice I had to give was to I tell her this story:

When my husband had been on the force for a few years, I pulled into the driveway one day and noticed a news van sitting on the street in front of our house.

I opened my car door, they opened their car door.

I jumped out of the car and grabbed my babies, running for the house.

They jumped out of their van wielding their camera.

I frantically thought, “This is it. This is how I’m going to find out my husband has been killed in the line of duty.”

I stood in the darkness of my house with my back pressed against the door, shaking and crying.

But they never came to the door.

It turns out they were trying to interview someone across the street about an accident they had been involved in.

I was so traumatized by an experience that was all a figment of my imagination that my husband promised me, “If anything ever happens on the job, I will find a way to call you. If I don’t call you and they show up at the door with a police car, that’s how you’ll know it’s bad.”

And for the rest of his tenure, I didn’t think about it again...until I got the call.

And while I'm thankful to get the call and not the knock on the door,  I don’t know how it will be when he returns to the street. I don’t know if my mind has already leaped to DEFCON 5 for the rest of his career.

All I do know is that I have to have faith that while there are bad police officers, my husband is a good one.

And while there are bad people, I have to have faith that the good ones will prevail.

And so maybe it’s not just me over here wallowing in my “2015—the year of suck” that needs the prayers, though I’ll gladly accept them, but perhaps it’s humanity itself.

But if you have Fireball or ice cream or money you’re not using…well hell, I’m no saint. I’ll accept those all for myself.