Faces

By Richard Hannibal, Retired Police Sergeant

I begin with a quote I heard recently. "Cops wake up every morning different than the rest of us. Our worst nightmare is their Wednesday." Many retired police officers go to bed each night in a sea of faces. The faces arrive in dreams, the result of a long police career. Some of the faces smile — some cry. Some appear from the distant past when the officer assured a victim that everything would be all right just before their final breath. Some of the faces rage with anger and some whimper in defeat. Cops see them all, and they haunt them far into retirement.

Like military veterans, cops suffer the ravages of war, especially those who police urban areas. However, cops and soldiers are different. Cops come and go from the war-zone on a daily basis. They leave the comfort and security of a loving home and become immersed in a hostile, threatening environment. If they survive their shift, they return to loving friends and family. However, there is always a remnant of their experience that tags along with them and joins the cumulative effect. This constant juxtaposition takes its toll. By the time cops retire, they have many demons nipping at their heels and dragons left to slay. I often think there should be a national day to commemorate all of society's first responders, not just police officers. However, like Veteran's Day, it would probably just end up as another day of sales promotions at local chain stores.

Police retirement brings with it a growing league of troubled souls, all seeking to reaffirm their purpose, and wondering if they really made a difference. Most cops have had partners with whom they shared every emotion — tears, laughter, excitement, boredom, tragedy, and injustice. Even in retirement, the memories remain by their side. Some have lost dear partners — killed in the line of duty. They have passed on, but still remembered, a snapshot in time, filled with energy, enthusiasm, and hope. Others were involved in fatal shootings or pursuits and forever lost their innocence. Alcohol and drugs are their crutches.

Most cops have tremendous identity with the public's sacred trust. However, in retirement, they struggle desperately, seeking the meaning and challenge that police work once gave them. Some unfortunately give up and take life's "emergency exit."

Cops see life from a very different perspective. Some see life begin in the beam of a flashlight, as a milky white head emerges, and eyes squint in reaction to a new world. Some see life end through the smoke and flame of their service pistol. Cops hug mothers when they must tell them their child will not be coming home — not ever. And, all have held the hands of victims, as life slowly drains from their bodies.

Cops fight a thousand fights, physical and emotional. They try to see a glimmer of justice, and often to their surprise, see it. They feel joy when they help an old woman back to her feet, or a terrified motorist stranded on a desolate highway. Most police retirees know their life had the meaning and purpose that only police service can provide. However, many cling to fond memories. At the same time they fight dragons from the past.

Cops, present and retired, will not admit it, but they do not perform the job alone. The police dispatchers hear the calls, "officer down," "roll me a backup code-3," "the child isn't breathing," or "this is a multi-fatal traffic accident." They are the guardian angels who hear an officer scream for help and send gladiators, with engines sucking air, sirens screaming, and tires smoking. Cops, dispatchers, and support people are all part of a team that gives society a chance to breathe and grow.

Police officers are not the only victims of urban warfare. Their spouses, life partners, and loved ones, emotionally drained, wait for the officer to return home. At the same time, they suppress their worst fear . . . a knock on the door.

Police retirees have good memories of camaraderie and being somewhere when they are most needed. There are the bad memories of just clearing a fatal accident and drowning in the emotions of rolling to another. There is the "yahoo" of an exciting pursuit, and the confusion of feeling good after surviving a fatal shooting. And, there are memories of the dreaded dispatch, "Respond to the Watch Commander's office," and the "oh shit, how am I gonna get outa of this one."

Again, come the faces, rushing before the retiree's eyes — never ending. The thousands of snarling, calm, happy, sad, energetic, lifeless faces that make up the memories of a cop's career. These images really do not go away, but hide in dark places ready to emerge.

A friend and ex-partner of mine told me about a recurring dream he has. He sees the faces almost every night. In his dream, he makes one last round of the streets at the end of his shift. He hopes for one last adrenaline rush. In his dream, he reluctantly heads for the station and pulls into the parking lot, not wanting the night to end. Sitting in his darkened car, his mind drifts to the times he survived, after the job took him to the limit. He takes a deep breath, suppresses the image of the faces, and steps out into the night.

My friend is jolted awake. The fog clears. It is 2014; he has been retired for ten years.