That House
I used to think I hated the first home we bought. It was in Maryland, expensive, falling apart and was nothing but a money pit from the day we bought it. We ended up losing the house to foreclosure. It's immature but I had so much resentment toward that house, not that there were zero positive memories there though. We had our first child there and that was her home for the first 18 months of her life.
I didn't do this for every shift but I remember sitting in the third bedroom,where he kept his patrol gear and uniform, where I'd take in the last few moments I knew I could see, feel, hear, smell him next to me physically. I'd watch him put on his black socks,then Under Armor if it was winter, next came the bulletproof vest. It's unnerving to know your husband has to wear a bulletproof vest to go to work everyday by the way. Then came the shirt with the gold plated name tag that read 'Haines.' Shirt stays came next and then the pants. The black leather belt with the Maryland State Police buckle was buckled, shiny black shoes (scuff free of course-oh the energy that went into buffing out those scuffs), 30-pound gun belt next. He picked up one end, swung it around behind him, caught the other end, rested it on his hips and pulled the leather tight to secure it. Out came the gun (lifeline) to make sure it was ready 'just in case' and placed back into the holster and snapped in (though I could never get over the anxiety of someone being able to pull his gun out from its holster in the middle of a close-contact wrestling match that he had more often then I knew. Yea, yea, yea, 'it can only be pulled out a certain angle...' I never had full confidence in that 'safety feature'. The radio was clipped onto the gun belt, microphone and it's cord swung around behind him, resting on his back and sat (as a second life line) on his shoulder. Name tag, straight with no finger prints, little note pad and pen placed in his front shirt pocket and finally grabbed The Stetson.
I'd follow him down the little hallway, through the little kitchen toward the door, his black shiny shoes would squeak as he walked and the leather from his gun belt would make noise as well. We'd stand in front of the window, next to the door, I'd kiss him, tell him to be careful and that I loved him. Every once and a while I'd ask for a hug 'just in case' it was the last. I didn't want to be that negative all the time though. The door would squeak open, along with the screen door, he'd walk across the driveway, get into his patrol car (aka baby, office, one time or another a life shield I'm sure). The Crown Victoria's engine would make it's, for me unforgettable, roar of power as the key was turned, he'd sit there while his computer loaded up and while he 'clocked in.' Three point turn, down the drive way, make a left and his tail lights would soon be out of sight but every time I sent him off to work, I made sure to watch his car disappear over the hill, just in case it was the last time I'd see him. It was as if I wanted to soak in every moment. I know this sounds miserable and depressing but once those lights are out of sight, a LEO's wife has to turn off her mind and just think of him as if he's going into the office for an 8-hour desk job, otherwise we'd go crazy at all of the 'what if's' our LEOs run into. I'd do my own thing until bed, make sure the home phone volume was up and the door to my bedroom was open so I could hear that 'knock on the door' heaven forbid. These final actions before bed were pretty much subconscious, automatic, routine behavior though as they are for all LEO wives.
Once the 8-hour shift (haha, more like 12 or 16) was over, I'd wake up to the door squeaking open, the radio dispatcher's voice, Neal's voice calling an end to his shift, the gun being unloaded, that unforgettable, comforting and welcoming sound of Velcro. Then a few minutes later his warm body collapsing next to me into bed. When your husband is a LEO, that's one thing you don't take for granted. It's senseless to ask, 'how was work' because most of the time I could tell by his body language and/or how long it took him to come to bed.
I realized just now that I need to allow that house that caused us so many financial issues, to be a place of peace as well. It was the place I countlessly sent him off to work (and unbeknownst to me, could be the last time) but ultimately it was the place he always returned to me.
I didn't do this for every shift but I remember sitting in the third bedroom,where he kept his patrol gear and uniform, where I'd take in the last few moments I knew I could see, feel, hear, smell him next to me physically. I'd watch him put on his black socks,then Under Armor if it was winter, next came the bulletproof vest. It's unnerving to know your husband has to wear a bulletproof vest to go to work everyday by the way. Then came the shirt with the gold plated name tag that read 'Haines.' Shirt stays came next and then the pants. The black leather belt with the Maryland State Police buckle was buckled, shiny black shoes (scuff free of course-oh the energy that went into buffing out those scuffs), 30-pound gun belt next. He picked up one end, swung it around behind him, caught the other end, rested it on his hips and pulled the leather tight to secure it. Out came the gun (lifeline) to make sure it was ready 'just in case' and placed back into the holster and snapped in (though I could never get over the anxiety of someone being able to pull his gun out from its holster in the middle of a close-contact wrestling match that he had more often then I knew. Yea, yea, yea, 'it can only be pulled out a certain angle...' I never had full confidence in that 'safety feature'. The radio was clipped onto the gun belt, microphone and it's cord swung around behind him, resting on his back and sat (as a second life line) on his shoulder. Name tag, straight with no finger prints, little note pad and pen placed in his front shirt pocket and finally grabbed The Stetson.
I'd follow him down the little hallway, through the little kitchen toward the door, his black shiny shoes would squeak as he walked and the leather from his gun belt would make noise as well. We'd stand in front of the window, next to the door, I'd kiss him, tell him to be careful and that I loved him. Every once and a while I'd ask for a hug 'just in case' it was the last. I didn't want to be that negative all the time though. The door would squeak open, along with the screen door, he'd walk across the driveway, get into his patrol car (aka baby, office, one time or another a life shield I'm sure). The Crown Victoria's engine would make it's, for me unforgettable, roar of power as the key was turned, he'd sit there while his computer loaded up and while he 'clocked in.' Three point turn, down the drive way, make a left and his tail lights would soon be out of sight but every time I sent him off to work, I made sure to watch his car disappear over the hill, just in case it was the last time I'd see him. It was as if I wanted to soak in every moment. I know this sounds miserable and depressing but once those lights are out of sight, a LEO's wife has to turn off her mind and just think of him as if he's going into the office for an 8-hour desk job, otherwise we'd go crazy at all of the 'what if's' our LEOs run into. I'd do my own thing until bed, make sure the home phone volume was up and the door to my bedroom was open so I could hear that 'knock on the door' heaven forbid. These final actions before bed were pretty much subconscious, automatic, routine behavior though as they are for all LEO wives.
Once the 8-hour shift (haha, more like 12 or 16) was over, I'd wake up to the door squeaking open, the radio dispatcher's voice, Neal's voice calling an end to his shift, the gun being unloaded, that unforgettable, comforting and welcoming sound of Velcro. Then a few minutes later his warm body collapsing next to me into bed. When your husband is a LEO, that's one thing you don't take for granted. It's senseless to ask, 'how was work' because most of the time I could tell by his body language and/or how long it took him to come to bed.
I realized just now that I need to allow that house that caused us so many financial issues, to be a place of peace as well. It was the place I countlessly sent him off to work (and unbeknownst to me, could be the last time) but ultimately it was the place he always returned to me.
Nice post Dhan labh ke upay thanks to all.
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