First Responders

He sent a text with a photo of a large fire.  Occasionally we get a glimpse into his world.  The next text said, “The homeowner died in that fire.”  He doesn’t share very often, but when he does – it means that it was something big.  He is my baby brother.  And he’s a firefighter.

 

That will be the sum total of that conversation between us.  A text message.  A glimpse into the horror that he faced in the darkness of that night.  We will go on with our day, occasionally thinking back to the text with a shudder.  He will file it with the rest of the horrific images he has seen in his 30 years as a fire fighter.  Then he will work on pushing it down and never referring to it again. 

There have been babies crying for their mothers.  And mothers crying for their babies.  He’s called me at strange hours of the day and railed me about buckling my kids into their car seats.  And buckling myself into mine.  I don’t ask, but I know that he’s seen something that he’ll never be able to un-see. 

I’ve gotten bits and glimpses of horrific car accident scenes from my husband, as well.  He’s a police officer.  One in particular, I can recall in great detail – like I was actually there.  But I wasn’t.  I saw the whole thing on his face.  There were small kids and babies.  Lots of them.  They were scattered to the winds.  I don’t see the ones that were crying.  I see the ones that weren’t.  He has those images filed in his safe place, too.  When we drive through that intersection, we’re both always silent – even all of these years later.

Our first responders see more than we’ll ever imagine.  And as families of these first responders, we hear more that most ever realize.  The burdens are real.  Post traumatic stress is real.  Vicarious stress is also real.

So, before you are quick to criticize a firefighter with his team shopping in a grocery store.  Or before you jump on the police brutality bandwagon.  Pause and ask yourself this – Could I live my life carrying the burden of grief, the burden of those images flashing and the burden of knowing I’m being criticized at every turn?  If your answer is yes – you are one of the chosen.  You should rise to your calling and go do your best to serve.  If your answer is no – I implore you to be a little kinder, and a little more thankful that these people actually exist in our worlds. 

My name is Natalie Stahl, and I support our brothers and sisters in Fire Service, Law Enforcement and Emergency Medical Services.  Thank God they exist.  

#mylifematters

We’ve all seen it.  The debate over what lives matter.  The arguments go on for days each side getting louder and more aggressive with each response from the opposing side.  I’ve seen article after article about #blacklivesmatter doesn’t mean that all lives don’t.  I’ve seen #bluelivesmatter as a retort asking to be given the same allowances – by not being painted with the same broad brush they are being accused of using themselves. 

We’ve all seen the videos.  We’ve all taken “sides” on whether or not we thought good or bad prevailed on those days.  But what we haven’t done is waited for the investigations to be finished.  You know, the ones where all of the evidence is collected and analyzed.  The investigations that are not driven by public outcry or keyboard warriors, but by facts.

The “other” side will yell that “blue” shouldn’t be allowed to investigate “blue”.  Let me tell you, nothing turns their back on their own quicker than officers who think one of their own did something wrong, or bad, or with malice.  That blue line is thin, but it’s built on integrity.  All of the officers that I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting and knowing would tell you the same thing.  If you tarnish the badge, there is no room for you on that line. 

So here’s where I have arrived.  My new hashtag is this - #mylifematters.  It does.  It matters to me.  It matters to my husband, children, parents, siblings, in-laws and friends.  And for my life to matter, I have to take certain measures to make it matter.  I have to live my best life and serve others as I can with love.  Not debate them over hate.  We can only control ourselves.  It’s as simple as that. 

We have no control over rogue cops, street criminals, hate groups or even our own children.  Everyone has been given the freedom to operate on their own free will.  That doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences to those choices – there always is.  Some of those are good.   Some of them are not. 

So I will do my best to walk away from the television, log-off my computer and put my phone down and live my best life.  The only person I can change is myself, but I can affect a whole lot of people I come in contact with by living kindly and without anger in my heart.  

Officer Down

Officer Down – May 2016 by Natalie Stahl, police wife, Glendale, AZ PD

Those days start like all of the other days.   Alarm clocks. Jobs.  Get the kids to school. Is there gas in the car?  Is there food in the fridge?  Did the water bill get paid?  When was the last time I called my mother? 

It moves quickly from the minute the alarm goes off – we tap his side of the bed to make sure he’s there.  He is.  You can’t really remember what time he came home, but you heard the sound of the Velcro just before you went back to sleep.  The morning is a full melody of mommy nagging, with a recurring chorus of “ssshhhhh! Your dad’s asleep.”  You trip over his big black boots and curse him under your breath for leaving them out again.  You glance into the laundry room and see his uniform in a black bag.  Your inquisitive side wants to peek inside - your experience tells you to wait until he wakes up to ask about it.

When he gets up to leave for work, you stay out of his way.  You know he has a routine that can’t be disrupted to get himself in his “zone”.  When he pulls from the driveway you go through the secret hand motions that are part “I love you” and part blown kisses.  As you close the garage door, sometimes the thought creeps into your thoughts… “Was that it?  Was that the last time I’ll see him?”  But you push the thought back down, because if you let it live on the surface – it would control your every action today.  Not today, we convince ourselves. 

We subscribe to text message alerts from radio stations and push notifications on our phones from the local news channels.  Police situations are always “breaking news”.  We’ll get a heads-up if something goes south, right?  When the phone buzzes or dings – we grab for it immediately.  Does the scrolling message say anything about an officer-involved-anything?  If so, we click on it desperate to see what they’re reporting.  We park ourselves in front of the television waiting to see what it is.  The new wives listen to the reporters and believe what they’re saying.  The experienced wives read the scene, the officers, the speed of the ambulance and the looks on the officers’ faces in the hospital shots.  We know almost immediately if the situation is grave. 

But we still hope and pray that we’re reading it wrong.  That through a miracle he’s really going to be okay.  The phone rings, the texts buzz, the information finding frenzy begins.  Who was it?  Where did he get shot?  Was he awake when they got to him?  Does his wife use an alias online?  Is she one of us? 

We listen to what the reporters have to say, but we gauge our reactions on the chief’s words, then the mayor’s.  Is their face saying what their mouths are?  Sometimes yes.  Sometimes no.  Did they slip and use the word “was” when telling us he’s fighting for his life?  But deep down, we already know. 

Our officers come home in a much different place.  They are broken, but trying not to look it.  One of their own got gunned down today because of his badge.  Not his actions or his words, but because of his badge.  That badge got really heavy on their chests today.  They talk about it excessively with their squad mates at work, then they spend their home hours glued to a group text talking about the same stuff – with the television playing in the background. They try to analyze and see what went wrong.  Could anything have been done differently?  They are careful not to blame the officer for his own demise.

They don’t sleep tonight.  Or the night after that.  Or the night after that.  Their moods range from angry to scared to sad and back to angry again.  They hug us a little tighter.  Or don’t hug us at all.  They move to a dark place that we aren’t allowed to visit.  We try our best to keep things normal – whatever that means today.  And that will mean something else tomorrow. 

Then come the fundraisers.  Do we go?  Do we stay away?  We should go.  We’ll just stay a little while.  We end up staying the whole day.  It’s a relief to see people lined up for miles to get their cars washed or buy a BBQ lunch.  Or to just see people drop fists full of cash into the buckets.  See?   They don’t all really hate law enforcement officers, right?

As the funeral day ticks closer, the anxiety builds.  Do we go?  Will he volunteer to work traffic?  Will I go with him?  Will I go without him?  Can I stomach another funeral?  Another wife drag herself down the aisle in the church?  Another slide show of a life lost?  Another riderless horse?  Another missing man formation?  Another chord of Taps?  Another bagpipe? Another 21-gun salute? Another little kid asking his mommy about the folded flag as they place it on her lap? And please, not another last call.  I just can’t. 

As the officers stand in formation at his graveside, we’ll see resolve like we’ve never seen it.  They can stand at full attention and sob without making a sound.  The tears run down their faces like something foreign that doesn’t make that trip often.  Their hearts break.  And we can do nothing for them.  Not a single thing.  We stand behind them, but our sobs make a sound and our tears know the way.

And as the final officer removes his shroud and places it on the casket, they go.  They go back to the street that killed him.  To the people who hate his badge enough to kill him for it.  Away from the wives, children, moms, dads and siblings that love them.  They don’t go because they are arrogant and cocky.  They go because they’re called. 

And we go back to our homes.  And our jobs.  And our kids.  And our choruses of silence.   This time, we’re not so quick to curse him under our breath about his boots.  We know that another wife – one of us who woke up in the same world we did that fateful day – doesn’t have boots to trip over.  

I'm Offended

Is anybody NOT offended? Seriously.

It seems like it’s impossible to turn on the TV or log on to social media without something that was “offensive” that is being talked TO DEATH!

Just this week, people have been offended by a red cup, a Christmas sweatshirt, a white university president, gay Mormons and a coffee shop in Mesa – just to name a few. I’m not sure if it’s about attention or the need to be a victim of something. Perhaps is the need to “win”. (Win what, I’m not sure. Is “viral” considered a win?)

I’ve got two theories about these things – either people have perfect lives and they have nothing else to worry about or can’t believe how craptastic their lives turned out and need some misery for company.

We have people for any number of reasons jumping on the “red cup” bandwagon. (I guess I’m jumping, too, even though I swore I wouldn’t jump into the fray.) The rally cries are everything from taking Christ out of Christmas to shunning Christians. Nope. They opted for a red cup this year. The end.

Then there’s the ever-present OCD (Obsessive Christmas Disorder) backlash. I’ve seen sweatshirt with the F-word on them. I just didn’t buy it. And people who actually have OCD know they have it. And work through it. Like everyone else should.

I’m not following the situation on the Mizzou campus very closely, but here’s what I’ve been able to glean… the white president is being accused of being white and the students have demanded that he acknowledge his “white privilege” at the same time demanding that they not be accused of being black. Huh? (For the love of everything holy, please do not be offended by this. I don’t hate black people.)

Gay Mormons. The church came out with a rule. Don’t like it. Don’t join. Any questions?

Bikini baristas in Mesa. There’s a Mesa city councilman that can’t stay off the television spewing his venom about this business. Demoralizing to woman? Perhaps. It’s their choice and they’re employed. Don’t want to see it? Take another route. You also don’t have to go into strip clubs if you don’t want to. Problem solved.

We have women’s groups lashing out at stores with mannequins that are too skinny. Then the fashion world calling “normal sized” mannequins obese. What size are we supposed to be? I keep forgetting.

We have Dunkin Donut employees offended that an officer came in to, wait for it – BUY SOMETHING - then thought it best to write something ugly on the cup. Then we have police families urging everyone to boycott every single restaurant, coffee shop or gas station that ever hired an idiot employee.

So, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to take my normal-sized white Mormon butt into a local shop and buy something. It may be in a red cup. It may be in a bowl. I probably won’t buy something with a saying on the front of it. (And for the record, I DO have Obsessive Christmas Disorder and I’m proud of it – stop in and see my 12 full decorated Christmas trees this year.) I’ll hope that the Mizzou situation is resolved peacefully and I’ll hope that someday people stop hating cops. In the meantime, I’ll love my take-home cop with all I have – just in case someone hates him to death.

They Were Just Doing Their Jobs

“They were just doing their jobs.”  For some reason, that statement made me mad.  Anger came from a deep place.  I couldn’t even explain it – it was visceral, and instantaneous.  The words were first uttered by the grief-stricken station manager after his reporter and cameraman were shot on live television. 

  

How many times have WE, as police families, said these same words?  However, they never end here. Somebody almost always responds with “they signed up for it”, or,  “with all of the police brutality, what did you expect?”, and finally, “cops should know better by now.” 

Really?  I also noticed that when replaying the video of the murder of the journalists, the media was sensitive enough to freeze the frame one millisecond prior to the shots ringing out “out of respect for their families."
 
Wait – aren’t these the same group of people that will stand and scream about freedom of the press until police departments release 911 tapes, radio traffic and body camera footage?  Aren’t these the same people that show photos of crime scenes, beaten and bloodied officers and mourning families?  What about respect for OUR families?  You know -- the ones that were just doing their jobs and supporting those who do those jobs.

And every single time there’s an officer in the news, the media makes sure they mention the color of everyone’s skin and reminds everyone of the unrest and ongoing cries of police brutality.  Is there actually more?  Or is it just being reported more?  I truly don’t know.  And have we bastardized the word “brutality”?  Most of them were just doing their jobs.

I haven’t been able to turn on the radio, local or national television without hearing about what a tragedy yesterday's on air killings have been to the media family.  And I agree absolutely. It’s tragic.  It is always a tragedy when innocent people are destroyed and their families ripped part by senseless violence.  But are you aware that there have been ELEVEN police officers killed in the line of duty in the last 26 days?  FIVE of them by gunfire.  Just this last Monday, Trooper Steven Vincent was just doing his job when he stopped to assist a motorist stuck in a ditch.  And then took a shotgun blast to the head and was taunted by his killer while he lay dying.

The station manager also said that the media family would continue to do what they had to do – report on this tragedy, because it’s what they do.  And they were heartbroken doing it.  How about the officers that spend hours upon hours on the crime scene of their fallen brother so they can investigate his death?  It’s not for entertainment or the top-of-the hour ratings grab – it’s to make sure the beast that killed their brother is found and dealt with.  They have to be careful not to make any mistakes, knowing full well that a defense attorney a year down the road will question every single microscopic piece of evidence they procured.  After all, they’re just doing their jobs.

I heard many anchors talking about how it could’ve been any one of them in that situation.  And how many of them had been scared or in the middle of a volatile scene.  I agree.  I’m quite certain that when you show up to an active shooting scene or a horrific murder or the side of town nobody talks about – you were scared.  But, didn’t you sign up for it?  Were you there to assist with the loss or damage?  Or were you there to capitalize on someone’s loss and pain?  Probably just doing your job.

The stories on the news this morning were of a young reporter who was considering marriage.  And a young cameraman who had just gotten engaged.  They were both in their mid-twenties.  It is inspeakably sad, and wrong. I am heartbroken for these families and these sweethearts that will never know how their lives would have been had the events of yesterday not unfolded.

Have you ever noticed that many officers that die in the line of duty leave behind young spouses and even younger children?  Babies who never knew their daddies or mommies?  I made a cursory calculation and found that 117 children were left without parents who were just doing their jobs this year. 21 of these children experienced this life-changing separation just this month.  There have been 79 line-of-duty deaths this year – the latest being yesterday in Louisiana.  But you probably didn’t hear about him – he got upstaged by two other tragic but more media-worthy deaths.  And he was just doing his job.

So, my message to the media is this -- I’m truly sorry for your loss.  And I am genuinely heartbroken over the senseless act of misdirected rage and cowardice that took your two media family members.  Now that you know how it feels to lose family members to gunfire – do you think you could be a little more gentle with my family?   They run towards gunfire, search the dark for the boogey man, help stranded motorists, rescue children, abused women and wounded animals.  They love, they laugh, they bleed.  And they die.  But, they signed up for it.  And they’re just doing their jobs.


Natalie M. Stahl,
Glendale, AZ
Proud LEOW

My Take-Home Cop

With the media perpetually making our men out to be the bad guys, it's up to us to show who they really are behind the badge.

I’ve been with Scott for 21 years, married 20.  He’s not perfect.  I’m not perfect.  But we’re perfect for each other.  I can’t imagine a single minute without him in my life.  We have two beautiful daughters that were lucky enough to inherit his kaleidoscope blue eyes – truly, they sparkle.  He didn’t run for the hills when I suggested (after two years of marriage and a newborn) that we buy an 85 year old house for me to turn into a business.  He let me chase my dream of small business ownership – of which I’ve been able to do for going on 17 years now.  It allowed me to stay close to my girls as they grew up.  He’s a very patient and kind man – it takes a lot to rile him up.  He’s helped ground me and make me less of a spaz. I’ve always said that he hums at a very low frequency – mine is MUCH higher.

He started with Phoenix police academy when he was 21.  He failed a test and got “washed out” of the academy.  He decided that it was his “omen” and he should pursue other things.  We were married when we were 27 and I could tell that he still longed for the LEO life.  I was working close with Glendale PD on a federal grant project and it became too much for him.  He finally decided that he would pursue the dream – with a full blessing from all of us nearly 15 years after the original start.  He was “old” coming out of the academy at 36.

I have witnessed from where I sit so many things that it’s hard to narrow it down to just a few reasons why I think he’s a GREAT man and officer.  I sat and listened to him recount the horrific accident where several small children and infants were thrown from a vehicle because they were not properly restrained.  And kissed him goodbye as he headed to the morgue the next day to identify them.  I sat with him when he told me about the drowning call of a 3 year old girl who looked EXACTLY like our 3 year old girl.  The words barely came out.

We lived without him for days as he and his fellow officers searched Glendale for a missing 5 year old girl, then sent him off to Maricopa for months while he dug for her body in a landfill.  He truly believed in his heart of hearts that HE would find her.  And was devastated that he didn’t.

I sent him to the hospital the morning Officer Holly was killed to be with his brothers.  And waited until the wee hours of the morning for him to come home after another brother, Officer Jones was gunned down in a parking lot.  I stood behind the rank and file of officers dressed in their class A uniforms with their badges covered in shrouds – even though they stood at attention, their bodies wracked with sobs.  

He witnessed his good friend and his K9 being shot in our friend’s backyard.  And after he helped remove the officer and the K9 from the scene, returned to give the suspect CPR – even though he had tried to kill his friend.  Then returned days later to make sure the kids who lived in the house were doing okay after what they had witnessed.

These are a very few reasons that I think he’s amazing.  He’s very tall.  He’s very quiet.  And his heart is so incredibly large – the badge barely covers it.

They're truly NOT the bad guys.  People just tend to meet them on the days they made their worst choices.

Darren Wilson Fired a Shot

August 9th was 133 days ago – the day Officer Darren Wilson fired the shots heard 'round the world. Since then, 49 police officers have been killed in the line of duty. Again, that’s FORTY-NINE police officers killed. Thirty of those deaths were by violent means (gunfire, assault, vehicular assault). The other 19 were auto accidents and heart attacks. THREE of those murders have occurred since the sun came up yesterday. Yet, our media and politicians want to scream from the rooftops about THREE OTHER deaths – the ones of felons fighting with officers. It feels like open season on officers. The hate mongers are getting their way while the news channels talk about Sony’s movie about a dictator.

For the year, 113 officers have given their lives. That’s up 11% over last year. The gunfire deaths alone are at 46, an increase of 56%. Have you seen any protests? Any outrage from “the reverends”? Our president? I haven’t. And I’m mad. But I’m more scared than mad. And more sad than scared. If mine gets killed or injured, he’s a statistic and they’ll say he signed up for it. Or he had it coming. Or that another pig got wings today.

People want to be furious and outraged over being stereotyped and profiled, yet these officers are dying because of the uniform they wear. A color that sets them apart. And a brass badge that weighs heavy on their chests. It seems like I’ve been cracked on the head and have woken up in Oppositeville.

I urge you to go out of your way to say ‘thank you’ to any officer you may see. Put a blue light in your window. Wear blue in support. And if he asks you to get out of the street – do it. It seems so simple.

A teenage boy and a new bride will lay their officers to rest this week while the rest of us celebrate Christmas with our families. Thousands of officers across America have put on their uniforms like a target on their back and gotten back out there. Hate is the Grinch that stole Christmas this year.

If Officer Wilson died in the street 133 days ago, nobody would've known his name.