Sometimes

Y’all… I believe there is no one that knows my heart who could question my support of my husband and what he does for a living.

But some days… y’all. Some days it gets to me. Today is one such day.

Sometimes seeing my precious little boy miss out on his nighttime hug because someone was driving drunk gets under my skin.

Hearing him ask if he will get to see daddy today, when dinner didn’t happen like we thought it might, and seeing his understanding eyes dim a little when we have to make alternate plans breaks a part of my soul I don’t get back.

(Thank God he is such a champion of a good pb&j)

Knowing that a DUI means daddy will be tied up way past bedtime and not having the heart to tell him “maybe tomorrow,” when you really don’t know what tomorrow is going to look like because this job is so dangerous, can start to chip away at you until there is little left.

And, sometimes, mama just needs a moment of solace, too. Sometimes I need him, but I know he’s not mine right now. He belongs to our community for 10+ hours a day. They’re counting on him to keep them safe.

So, sometimes (like now), I sit and cry on my bed until I can get it together enough tuck little boy in myself. Rationally, I’ll remember that someone else’s family is going to be safer on the road because my husband was there. Selfishly, that moment of enlightenment comes later. Sometimes, if I’m brutally and the ugly kind of honest, I have a hard time reminding myself that people are worth what he sacrifices for them.

It’s only compounded when I read things about him or his department. I have even heard them with my own ears coming from the back of his cruiser.

“(Expletive) pig.”
“(Expletive) racist piece of (expletive).”

Not to mention the threats he bears against himself and his family. Heaven forbid they take responsibility for the fact he’s dealing with them, right?

I just sit and pray that God reaches these same people before they run out of chances. If they only knew how he’s fed the hungry, put himself in harm’s way and spent hard nights wondering about those he’s come across. I can’t explain to them why they’re wrong. It doesn’t matter.

Sometimes seeing all the Saturday group dinners and date night posts makes me want to throw my phone violently against a wall because it’s only our Tuesday.

So, now I’ll wait for “10-7, signal 1” and breathe easily knowing that he’s mine for a minute. Then he will sleep until it’s nearly time for “10-8,” and we will do it all again.

I am so proud of all he does, but some days are harder than others. God bless every police wife who understands.

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