To my non-LEO husband...

To my non-LEO husband,

I see social media posts from several police wives cheering on their husbands who wear the badge and vest every day protecting their communities.   I see wives wear shirts or necklaces with some sort of “proud police wife” logo, read blogs by other LEO wives, and have forums just for them.  It’s heartwarming and a welcome sight to know my fellow officers have this support. 

What I don’t see is the public support for police husbands.  It’s not a traditional role to have just the wife as the law enforcement officer.  There’s usually the husband as the LEO or both spouses wearing the badge.  I don’t see “proud police husband” on shirts or coffee mugs.  They’re made to order perhaps.    

You sacrifice so much more as my husband because of my job than any of our friends could understand.  Over the years you've watched me put on my gun and badge, kiss me goodbye, and tell me every time I leave for work, “I love you, be careful.”   

You've had family and friends question how you deal with knowing the dangers of my job.  I've been asked numerous times if you were also a cop.  When I tell them “no” the next question is usually, “Really?  What does he think of you being a cop?”  There’s no simple answer so I just say, “You’d have to ask him.”    

You've listened to sirens in the distance and wondered if it was me headed to a call in progress, or my zone partners headed to me for backup.  You've paced for hours unable to reach me after hearing that a female deputy was shot on our very street, and had to keep your bearing for the sake of our boys until you knew I was okay.  You've watched breaking news of violence against police officers across the nation then watched me get ready for work to respond to similar threats of violence in our own community. 

You've been woken in the middle of the night by me having to leave for a call out even on days that I wasn't supposed to be on call.  You've dealt with last minute cancellations for dinner or plans with friends because I ended up with a late arrest.  You've had to leave work early to get our boys because I'm stuck on a crime scene.

You've put up with squad parties surrounded by cops talking in ten-codes you don’t understand, and see me laughing with them about inside jokes you “had to be there” to find funny.   On holidays I've had to work, you've made your homemade sauce and baked ziti for my zone partners knowing it would be our only hot meal that day. 

You've listened to me talk about calls for service that would give most people nightmares.  You've watched me struggle with my own nightmares from certain calls that I couldn't talk about.  You've accepted my career choice and told me numerous times you’re proud of me.  You understand why I do this job.  

I see this.  All of this.   Thank you for your constant support, your sacrifices, and for keeping faith and God in our family.  I love you more. 

OBITUARY...not mine.

To my dear friends, loved ones, and greatest--my readers, 

The moments in life that make you stop and remember your priorities are often not subtle moments. Life gets busy, especially with kids and work (etc. etc.). When those moments happen that make you stop they are like someone punching you in the gut and making you gasp for air.

One of those moments happened while I was at work. End of shift, September 22, a phone call from my sister.  She usually sends a text and knows I’ll call her back after work.  This time it went to voicemail, she left a message then called my Hubs to tell him I may need to get home sooner than planned. It was the tone of her voice and the slight hitch that was noticeable when she spoke about our dad’s health declining more rapidly than they expected. 

Fighting back tears I snapped at my Hubs over something he said to our four year old while on the phone with him.   It wasn’t even part of the conversation, just a distraction for me to change the subject and get off of the phone as the lump in my throat swelled.  I love a good cry, but not when I’m in uniform and have to solve other people’s problems who expect a little more bearing and professionalism.  It wasn’t fair.  It was too soon and raw after losing my father-in-law in April to a painful battle with cancer.

My dad (step-dad endearingly called Mr. Bob) was diagnosed with Parkinson’s a few years ago.  But there was something more than Parkinson’s rearing its ugly head.  The degenerative and immobilizing disease rapidly progressed with “episodes” where he would stumble and sometimes pass out, only to come out of it with a glazed look and no explanation.  He would have them when he stood up which most of us assumed was blood pressure related.  They got worse to where it would happen with him sitting down. 
 
My mom saw it daily.  She tried to explain it to doctors who ran tests who said over and over everything looked normal.  The test results were normal they were just running the wrong tests.  The medical gurus at the VA just nodded their heads and were unable to explain it—the pain, random falling, confusion, the dizziness, all of it worsening rapidly—so they kept upping his medications.

On August 22, or about that time, they finally got a doctor who was straight with them.  With everything Momma described, new tests and the Doctor’s experience, the diagnosis was not Parkinson’s…it was worse.  Multiple System Atrophy (MSA) is the name given to this evil foe that had been infiltrating dad well before any symptoms alerted them. 

According to the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke, MSA is:
 

“…a progressive neurodegenerative disorder characterized by symptoms of autonomic nervous system failure such as fainting spells and bladder control problems, combined with motor control symptoms such as tremor, rigidity, and loss of muscle coordination. MSA affects both men and women primarily in their 50s. Although what causes MSA is unknown, the disorder's symptoms reflect the loss of nerve cells in several different areas in the brain and spinal cord that control the autonomic nervous system and coordinate muscle movements.”

My definition, it's Parkinson’s on steroids.  It is known to advance rapidly with progressive loss of motor skills, eventual confinement to the bed, and death.  The cause of MSA is unknown.  There is no remission.  There is no cure.  The only sure way to diagnose multiple system atrophy is to examine brain tissue after death—my God, this sounds like rabies. 
 
Monday, September 10, 2012 dad was placed into hospice care. It was less than a month that he went from being able to communicate, eat, drink and somewhat manage his personal needs independently to being a shell of a body lying in a hospice bed with family surrounding him.  We begged him to swallow his medication, to eat or drink anything, to just sleep and wake up in God’s arms because the pain we felt for him, seeing him this way, was not able to be treated with morphine. 
 
Broken hearted, we said goodbye to him on Thursday, October 4, 2012.  Dad remained very brave and kept us all close to him with his memories and stories up to the end.  He told us all he would be going soon and that he loved us.  Amazingly I said goodbye on the Monday before telling him I would see him that Saturday.  He shook his head and said, “No, they won’t let you inside.”  I told him I would be here anyway to see him and he said, “ok, but you won’t get in.  I love you.” 

I love you.  He made that known through all the years in my life.  He was the man that showed me what a daddy is suppose to be and what I wanted a husband to be like, as he treasured my mother.  Forever the greatest man in my life, I love you more Mr. Bob.  I love you more.

 

OBITUARY

Seale Funeral Service, Inc.

1720 S.Range Ave., Denham Springs LA 70727    

Robert “Bob” Lester Jackson, 70, passed away Thursday, October 4, 2012 at his home in Pine Grove, LA.  He served and defended our country in the U.S. Navy, was a member of Emmanuel Baptist Church and once longtime business owner of Slade’s Industrial Services, Baton Rouge.  He was known to everyone as “Paw Paw” and will be dearly missed by all who knew and loved him.

Survived by his wife, Debbie Jackson; children and spouses, Sheri Payton, Robin Taylor, Bobby and Larquel Jackson, Elaina and Heath Monson, Brandy and David McDonald, T.J. and Beka Buckley, and Sissi and Bobby McLaughlin; grandchildren, Brittanie, Jordan, Alyssa, Taylor, Harlie, Anthony, Chase, Raven, Moose, Bammers, Colton and Cason; great-grandson, Brendan; sisters, Leslie Jackson Thoresch and Rhonda Jackson Swink; brother, Barry Don Jackson; “blood brother” and best friend, Jerry Guffey; as well as many other relatives and friends.  He was preceded in death by his mother, Oletha Highfill; father, Lester Wesley Jackson; brother, Gary Wayne Jackson; and grandson, Chance Wayne McDonald. 

Visitation will be at Seale Funeral Home, Denham Springs, on Monday, October 8, from 5 p.m. to 9 p.m.  Visitation will resume Tuesday October 9, from 10 a.m. until the Memorial service at noon, officiated by Rev. Paul Taylor, Rev. Greg Stewart and Rev. Max Landry.  In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Children’s Home Inc. located in Paragould, AR. www.childrenshome.org.   

Behind the Badge

Curiosity invaded my thoughts today after I read a fellow blogger's post on what it's like being married to a cop. I have quite a few friends who hold the title “Cop's Wife”and realized only one of my female coworkers has a husband who works outside of law enforcement. There must be more men behind the badge, who either stay home with the kids or work in the civilian sector.


Law enforcement is a life the entire family has to be on board with in order to make it work. For many years I had the privilege of seeing my brother-in-law become a very successful police officer and work hard to get promoted. His wife and kids worry, wife more than kids, but they know the support at home is what helps keep him safe on the job.


It's a delicate battle we fight, to keep our lives balanced as we bring order and maintain the peace in our communities. There are things we're exposed to in this job that can't be explained to most and we don't want to explain to others. Mainly because you don't want to relive those moments; you don't want the images refreshed in your head that took numerous calls and reports since then to bury. Hubs and I met in the military and in respect to my current job he understands why I don't divulge certain details. Its part of what we keep hidden behind the badge.


You see, the badge I wear fits into the palm of my hand. Its physical attributes are nothing more than a piece of metal that pins to a uniform. What it represents is the true value. The responsibility of the person who wears it doesn’t end when the uniform comes off. That is sometimes the toughest part for families, seeing their loved one out of uniform seemingly “off duty” and still in cop mode. You eventually figure out how to leave work at the threshold, but it’s not a matter of turning it off. You can’t. I can’t. I won’t.


My husband is married to a woman who walks out the front door wearing a target on her chest. He sees the uniform lying in the clothes basket with blood on it (or God only knows what) and doesn’t ask what happened unless I bring it up. He goes to bed alone most nights as I stay up typing reports and finishing work for the next day. We juggle our intimate time together like a circus clown on fire. That’s a fairly accurate description considering our life is a frenzy of circus acts with our boys taking center ring. Some days I half expect to see a monkey riding one of our dogs through the house.


Hubs manages to keep his worry and frustration about my job reasonable. The shift work, over time, dangers of the job, and even a twinge of jealousy are all part of the battle. The balance is our communication. I beam with humbled pride at him for wanting to share my success and goals. Even more I think it drives him to reach his own.


Life behind the badge is not easy. If it were then everyone would live it. The sacrifices and lack of others’ understanding often hinder our relationships with friends, wear on our patience with loved ones, and keep us at a distance with our own emotions in order to do the job. In regards to who’s wearing the badge in the relationship…that doesn’t mean they are the ones who make all the sacrifices. It’s a delicate battle indeed.



S. McLaughlin

Dedicated to all public safety and military families.

Finding Balance

Life gets away from us sometimes when we pile on work, school, and family obligations. We forget the small things that use to make us happy, and fret about the ones that we have no control over. It's often too late when we realize this leaving an empty feeling or regret.

Vacations become a last priority and you end up missing your kid's game or practice because you had to work overtime so you could bring home extra money. It becomes a routine and we get complacent with not having the happiness, instead we settle for contentment (or a resemblance of just being okay).

We still have our dreams of what we want for our lives, but seem to forget how to make those dreams a reality. My dreams of finding a job where I can use my degree (and make my student loans worth the monthly payment), getting one of my books published, and making sure my kids have every opportunity I had and more are still very much alive in my heart.

What I know now is that it doesn't take one to make the other happen. I don't have to work at a job that consumes me in order to provide a wonderful life for my boys, or have a best seller on the NY Times list (any seller will do!) to prove I am a good writer. Finding balance put my priorities back where they belong. My family may not be sporting the newest gadgets and clothes, or drive the fanciest cars (although my Jeep is pretty damn cool), or have the most interesting jobs...but we have each other.

Friends and family deal with the same issues just in different ways. We are not alone in these hard times anymore than the good times. It just seems that way because we lose our balance. Finding balance can make a world of difference even in the toughest of times.

Have you found yours?