I Love A Cop

Dear Cop Wife,

Last night, when my cop worked longer and longer into the night, I had that horrendous vision. Again. That one that ever-so-rarely shakes my whole being. It starts out with those feelings that pendulum-sway between anxiety to annoyance to fear to apprehension to anger to... and on. 

Checking out the window to see if that familiar vehicle has finally pulled into the drive. 

Pacing. 

Taking care of the kids. 

Checking the window.

Absentmindedly picking up the house.

Checking that window again. And again.

Heart through the wringer. 

...Then you see another law enforcement vehicle slowly approaching your home. Are they slowing down to stop? Seriously, it looks like it. I think that car is coming for me. Are they coming to knock on my door? Oh dear Lord. It's actually happening. And you close your eyes until that car indeed does continue on and pass by your house. 

And then you berate yourself. Geez. Get a grip.

But. The fact that the possibility exists makes you shake with every emotion under the sun. My hands sweat and my heart pounds even as I type out these intense emotions.

So, I must tell you, dear fellow one on this rough and bumpy journey:

You are brave. 

You are full of courage. 

You are my hero. 

(And I would give you a big hug if we were sitting face to face.)

You and me, we dove off a cliff that took us into a water that is uncertain, scary, sometimes nauseating, unpredictable, unappreciated, isolating, and always stressful... 

We chose to love that person:

We married a cop.

For me, it has been roughly 12 years of walking alongside my cop. (For others of you, it has been much longer, I know.)

(I highly dislike the word "cop", you know. But, it's going to be the word I use today. Just 'cause it's easier to type than police officer, deputy, sheriff, detective, investigator, law enforcement officer; we're all in this together.)

Anyway, what was once very unfamiliar territory in this career path of our loved one soon becomes old hat. Not that it is any easier to handle. Just more familiar. Not necessarily accepted. 

Just Expected. Understood. Experienced.

Someone recently said, We knew what we signed up for when we married a cop. Yet this doesn't make the struggles easier to swallow. It just reminds us that the commitment we made to our cops must remain rock solid, no matter the stresses that accompany our loved one's job. 

The divorce rate among law enforcement couples is said to be 70-80%. This shows me just one thing: I'm going to fight like mad to make this percentage not be true of me or those I come across. Team. We are a team.

I remember back in the dating years when my love first became that cop. He worked the third shift. I went to bed with the phone by my pillow. Awaiting a call to tell me something had happened. Until I found out that, if something did happen, an officer would come to the door, not give me a call. No more listening for that call, but that didn't make the pit in my stomach get any smaller.

Sometimes I feel pale at the thought that, every single day, my cop has to strap that vest under his uniform. That this is part of the deal. And to listen to that oh-so familiar routine of snapping gear onto the buckle, testing out that taser, loading that weapon. Part of that deal. Makes me bubble with pride at this man of mine, but sometimes makes me quiver deep within that this is part of the package for this cop I love. I hate the gear that is necessary: Until I turn over my cop's safety and well-being to the God who carries him (and me) in His hands. 

I want our home to be a place of refuge and peace. A place of calm and safety. (My gift to my cop.)

I used to worry about the state of our home, once we had children. Worrying about the mess upsetting my attempts to maintain a state of order and peace. Until my cop told me if only... if only I could ever visit some of the houses he's been to, searched through, spent time in. If only I knew what some people are daily faced with... then I would relax more. And let go of the *perfect* gift I expect to give him.

It strikes us often, how different our days play out. 

Mine? Filled with preschoolers and little ones. Vying for my attention. Seeking my responses to every move. Needing. Fussing. Messy. But safe. Somewhat predictable. Home. 

His? Oh my, how different. Needed, but in such a different and unpredictable and sometimes scary way. Out and about. Entering the unknown, the unsafe, the threatening.

And yet we both join together at the end of the day, in our shared setting. The same home. But with vastly different experiences of our day. I often expect my cop to be mentally at the same point mentally where I am. But we have to find our own ways to integrate our days into our family unit. It's sometimes easier to keep quiet, to keep our burdens to ourselves: How does my day of changing nasty diapers and constantly picking up toys compare to his being threatened by an angry stranger? (But, we are a team. So we must keep talking.)

Wondering, always wondering:

• How will this job change the person I love?
• How will his job change the way people in our community look at us?
• How will I handle the reactions shown to me when people find out I'm "that cop's wife"? 
• How will I respond to those who are antagonistic toward my man simply because of his profession?
• How will our children react when others are critical about their daddy because of his job?
• How will I keep a balance in how I view his job's impact on our lives?
• How do we not become cynical? 

Parts of that job description:

1. Maintaining order and safety
2. Preventing and detecting crime
3. Enforcing laws
4. Holding others accountable for their action

(This is the kicker; This is the part none of us "like" having to deal with a law enforcement officer; This is the reason for such potential of dislike toward officers = putting the officer as the *middle man* to shoulder the intense feelings of our being held accountable for our mistakes/wrongs. Sigh. Part of the reality.)

What is there to appreciate about this role of ours?

• We are creative: How else would holidays get celebrated when days off are so crazy?!
• We see the surprising beauty: The benefits of Tuesdays sometimes being our "Saturday." (The malls are less chaotic!)
• We are realistic optimists. Well, maybe not all of us, but I am. In order to survive. Cynicism reigns, I know! This world is full of the most horrendous crap and filth and yuck and nastiness and disgusting and unimaginable evil. But how can we survive the realism of what our cops see, if we do not somehow push through the despair and look for the hope and potential? At least on a small scale? 
• We see the big picture: our cops have an honorable job. To protect. To serve. Sacrifice is included. Much, much sacrifice. Time. Innocence. Energy. Safety. Peace. Anonymity. Life. For a not-so-high financial benefit. The work is sacrifice. To give more than is received. 
• Our beloved's smile wrinkles and salt-and-pepper hair: they come quicker than expected. And it makes our tough one look better. Richer. Mature. Intelligent. Experienced. My cop looks more appealing to me now than those 12 years ago when he first entered this world.
• Laughter is so very powerful and appreciated after the work stress and secret tears that can be so strong.
• Seeing the unacknowledged, hidden parts of the job: the parts no one else learns of or hears about. And to swell with humble pride (yes, those words can go together, I believe!) at the dedication and determination and grit necessary for our loved one to accomplish their work. 

Beauty and Richness can grow from the relationship with our cops:

We are permanently, loyally tied to that person who chooses to help others, chooses to rescue those in dire need, chooses to sacrifice so very much of themselves in the name of their profession. 

So, dear one:

Keep up your courage. Keep up your faith. Keep showing that love to your cop. Keep 'em talking. Keep 'em smiling. Keep being the loudest in their cheering section. Keep a tight grasp on the main stuff: the stuff that truly matters, Keep holding their hand tight, at the end of the day.

It is a calling. (And not for the faint of heart!)

Blessings always,

Elizabeth