Tribute to a Fallen Officer

I'll be the first to admit that I tune out the evening news. It's nothing more than a murder here, a child abuse there. It's too much to handle, too much to absorb. It's easier by far to change the channel and watch something less depressing.

So it's not surprising that I knew about the local officer's death but that it didn't affect me- and that (to my undying shame) I can't remember his name or age.

But today, as I was driving to the vet to pick up some prescription cat food, I passed the funeral at the church. At that point names and numbers became meaningless. The safe distance created by a news broadcast dissipated before my eyes and I was left face to face with a tragedy.

I made it to fifty before I lost count of the police cars and motorcycles present. Officers were everywhere, offering their condolences and, I assume, reflecting on their own lives. They probably did not speak it, but their mere presence screamed the simple sentiment that there are few things more precious than a comrade's life. They had canceled weekend fishing trips and golf matches without blinking an eye- like a train, death is able to remind us of how small we really are. In the end, all we can do is hope to be like the fallen officer- dying in the midst of a great effort done out of charity and a sense of duty I can't quite comprehend.

Let the record show that for two hours on a cool Saturday afternoon that there was no budget, no time clocks to punch, no suspects to track down- only honor, sacrifice, and glory distilled onto a patch of ground covered in carved stone.