I Want You Here

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There’s so little time and so much to do. The babies keep us on our toes, there’s housework and maintenance and chores and bills. There are doctor appointments, social obligations, and all the random little things that seem to pop up at the most inconvenient times. And then just when it seems we might have that time together – the phone will ring. More overtime, an early tour, a later tour, an arrest, a tragedy.

I understand. This is the life of a police family. I know about the duty, the honor, the shield. I know that yet again, our blue family is facing a tidal wave of hate and riots and ignorant frenzy. I know you have to be there.

But I want you here.

I want to feel your arms around me and hear you make the horror sound less horrible. You will use few words – but we will both know the truth.

I read about another officer dead, another mob swearing to gun down many more. I see them laughing, cheering, praising the murderers and mocking the dead. I want you here. Tonight I want to know for sure that it’s not you. I want to hear you breathing next to me and know that, for tonight at least, you are safe.

S. came up to the door today. “I heard the news and thought of your husband right away. Is he well?” It made my heart ache. Are you well? What does that even mean anymore? You stare evil in the face and brush shoulders with death. I want you here.

Another day, another media report, another slew of Facebook comments. Is it possible there are really this many people so filled with rage? How do they have any room in their hearts for love and good? They are consumed with hate – hate for men and women they do not know, men and women whose sole offense is the uniform they wear. I have to turn it off. It hurts my heart. They don’t know who you are. They don’t know the love in you, the courage, the strength. I want you here.

Some day, maybe, I will be hardened. None of it will faze me –  not the news, nor the stories, nor the people. But today is not that day. Tonight, I am lonely for you. The babies are asleep and the house is quiet. Tonight it’s so hard not to be jealous of all the women I know whose husbands are home with them each night. Tonight, I want to laugh at your ridiculous, goofy post-shower dances, and make plans for all our future dreams. I want you here.

My mind is exhausted, but it won’t turn off. The what-ifs keep crashing around inside, keeping sleep at bay. You should be home by now. Where are you? Did your phone battery die, did you make an arrest, did you stop for food? Or….

Then your key is in the lock and your boots are on the stairs. I hear the heavy weight of your gun being put away. Your lips are on mine.

You are here.









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  1. Oh my goodness, Anna. I can’t tell you how much I relate to your words. I’m 33 years old and my husband, Rob is a LEO here in Florida. We’re both originally from NY and NJ and of course love the NYPD. Its been so tough recently, so incredibly frustrating. I’ve lost friends and have had so many arguments. I feel like the world has just gone nuts. As a wife I’m fiercely protective and I just wish there was something I could do. On those mornings when I wake up and he should be home already, my heart skips a beat until I check for the text message he so kindly sends if he’s running late. Then I hear his keys hit the lock on the front door. Oh thank God, I say to myself. Then he walks across the house in his boots. (I’m sure he thinks he’s so quiet ;)) gun belt off and put into the gun safe. I know all the sounds you described. I know them so well. It’s very nice to not feel alone. We’re many states away but we’re all one huge blue family.

    1. Erin, thanks so much for this! As horrible as the last several months have been for LEO’s and their families, it has definitely been a blessing to see and feel how much closer it has brought us all together. Hard to explain that connection to anyone outside of law enforcement. It really is a family love. Prayers and love to you and your LEO! xoxo

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