Out of the blue

Often the things we do don't seem to be appreciated, or noticed. I, of course, spent much of my life as a member of the RCMP and many were the days it would seem a thankless job. That is mostly just perception. Many people appreciate some or much of what police do, and often it just isn't said. But it is felt.

These days it is easier to seem more appreciated. We have a guest book filled with very kind thoughts from many of guests, and running the B&B has a larger potential for making people happy than say, arresting them.

That very lack of verbal thanks in police work though made the other times very special. I remember a woman coming to the office to tell my boss (as I sat out of sight but within earshot) how my care in dealing with the death of her grandmother made it easier to bear. I even had a young man thank me for arresting him once years before, saying that the arrest made him take a long look at where he was headed, and making the decision to change that direction. Once a fellow stood up at a public meeting and thanked me for saving his life after a snowmobile accident, although all I did was hold his hand throughout the time professionals were working on him, talking to him and telling him to keep fighting and not to give up.

One of the hardest notification of next of kins I ever had was to an elderly man with Alzheimer's, whose wife had passed away. He continued to care for her, wondering why she was so cold, and bring blankets for her as she laid on the floor. He would listen intently while I explained to him that she had died, and then thanked me for looking after her. And then, because of the disease, we would do it all over again. Telling someone that a person they loved has died is one of the hardest jobs in police work, and I repeatedly did it that morning, probably twenty times. Each time watching sadness creep over his face, each time taking his hand as he thanked me. Each time his gratitude that someone was looking after his wife in death was real, and while very gratifying it still was a heart wrenching process.

Probably more than anything else the thanks that meant the most to me followed the death of a young woman I knew. She died when she fell asleep at the wheel, drifted off the road and over turned in a River. She was reported missing that morning, I went looking for her after my shift ended, found the car and her, and had to tell her sister and friends who were also out looking for her of her death. 

I had an idiot of a supervisor at that point in my career, and after I got back to town, about 8 hours after the end of my shift, he had upped the idiocy by calling me into the office and lighting into me for about 45 minutes, for reasons I'm still not sure of – apart from his panic over a death he didn't have all the details on.  Fast forward about a week and the family of the young woman took out an ad in the local paper thanking me for finding her, and for caring for her sister on the side of the road. That ad stayed on my desk for the remainder of my service, and whenever I would get to feeling that no one cared about what I did I'd look at it, reminding myself that people do care, even if it isn't always spoken.

A little while ago I had another one of those warm fuzzy experiences. Out of the blue an acquaintance called to tell me that her son's girlfriend had given birth the night before. She told me that when she got the news of her newest grandchild she first thought of me. You see a number of years ago her son tried to hang himself, and she remembered me helping the nurses, working an air bag to give him air while they worked their magic. She thanked me for what I did years before and said that because of that this child was born.

It was a doubly satisfying moment, for not only was this family still grateful for a minor roll I played years before, but it reinforces something I've long said about suicide. If you just stay alive, great things will happen in your life. Things like the birth of a child.