Transitions

By Richard Hannibal

To me, retirement has always been a four-letter word. When I left my beloved police career, I was not thrilled. Some folks drift into retirement with few problems. Usually, they were in jobs that they hated, or they had a second career or hobby waiting for them. I was not so fortunate. Retirement to them was at the top of a mountain they struggled to climb throughout their life. For me, my entire career was already at the top of the mountain; a mountain I never wanted to descend.

A cop's career is different then most. I admit there are some who considered their retirement from law enforcement a welcome relief. However, others consider the job a ‘sacred trust’ and the ultimate life fulfillment. I was one of them. That is why I struggled.

So many things changed when I removed the badge for the last time. Suddenly I saw the camaraderie that sustained me through the years drift away. I still feel a part of that fraternity, but it is no longer available to me. It is now like a sign on a child’s tree house, a sign that reads, "No ‘Gurls’ Allowed." After many years identified as a police officer, life thrust me into the abyss of obscurity.

I recently spoke to a friend who is a divorcee. She told me her life changed when her last child moved away from home to attend college. My friend remarked, "I lost a husband and now my child is gone." She went on to say that she felt like she no longer mattered as a mother. And so it is with a police officer's retirement. I experienced it when I retired from a police agency in Los Angles County. That was when I moved to the Central Coast and wallowed in my despair for almost a year. One day my telephone rang. It was an old patrol car partner on the other end. He said that he just wanted to tell me "goodbye." I asked him if he was going on a trip. He hesitated and then told me that he had a gun to his head. I learned that he was about to take the "emergency exit." A decision made by many police retirees.

I spent the next hour and a half talking to him. Mostly I listened. I was finally able to convince him to put the gun away. We continued to talk, like brothers, each one feeding the other with hope. It was during those intense moments that I made the transition from focusing on myself to focusing on the needs of others. That was my Renaissance. That was when I became a butterfly.

My friend went on to become a psychologist. He specialized in the treatment of police officers suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I would be lying if I told you things have been peachy-keen since those moments, but my life has gone in a positive direction. I began a newsletter for retired police officers. It was my humble attempt to maintain our golden thread of fraternity. Because of the newsletter, I received several telephone calls from retired officers. Most were going through various stages of depression and some were considering suicide.

Out of the many who reached out, one lost the battle with his demons. Regardless, the writing and contacts gave me purpose, and contributed to my healing. I can only hope it had a similar effect on my many readers.

There is a butterfly theory in physics. It suggests that when a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world, it affects the weather thousands of miles away. It indicates that everyone and everything is connected in one way or another. I try to apply this butterfly effect in my life.

Like "ripples in a pond," I suspect that what we do and think has far reaching effects in the world, and perhaps the universe. That telephone call from my distraught friend changed my life. My flapping wings changed others, who in turn passed it on into eternity. In my humble worldview, I know this is the reason to keep a positive purpose in one's life. My retirement made "purpose" more relevant than perhaps it had been during my career. I now think of retirement as merely another transition from a cocoon into a butterfly.

I will continue to look for those renaissance moments that cause my butterfly to emerge. I have lived long enough to realize that the traumas we experience always bring us back into the light. Like many of you, sometimes I forget.

So, I am writing this not only as a reminder to me, but for those of you out there who have retired or find yourselves in some life transition. I have learned to relax, heal, and continue my search for life’s many purposes — which could come with my next telephone call.