I Missed The Call

My job was to search for clues, to find evidence, to dig until no rock was left unturned.  It was my job to protect people; most often from other people but sometimes from themselves.  I resolved every call I went on to some degree.  I made an entire career out of helping people. Sometimes I was a marriage counselor and other times I would be called to intervene when parents lost control over their own children.  And still sometimes I would drive my patrol car through the darkness in hopes of finding something malignant, hunting for that which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up because it was then that I knew I was onto something.  Those moments were filled with a competitiveness and an excitement that is hard to explain but it was those moments I lived for; I was fulfilling my purpose and I couldn't believe I got paid for such an adrenaline rush. 

25 years I spent in the business of helping people.  It was my calling.  It’s what I did.  It’s still who I am.  Twenty five years and counting....

And, yet I missed the most important call of my life.  

How many women did I help survive when I pleaded for them to find some place else to go for the night, knowing her husband would return home even more enraged that he had to flee his own house to avoid arrest when she called the dispatcher begging, through her busted lip and face, for the police to come?  How many people in danger of harming themselves did I involuntarily commit to get them help during my career?

How could I have missed the most important call of my life?

How could I have missed the clues that I so easily uncovered throughout my career?  How did I dismiss the behavior that I knew on some level wasn’t rational or appropriate given the circumstances?  How did I miss the opportunity to intervene?  

I’ll never stop asking myself these questions.  They demand answers every time they’re asked.  And each time I quarrel with them in my mind, I begin replaying situations and conversations over and over and over again trying to pin point what I missed, fantasizing about the ways I could have intervened, trying to somehow will a different outcome into existence.  I didn’t recognize the clues; at least not in the context in which I was viewing them.  I didn’t fully recognize the behavior; instead I made excuses for it.  “He’s just stressed.”  “Soon things will become easier for him”  “He’s a fighter, he’ll get through this”.   When that didn’t work, I offered suggestions and options but when they were ignored I didn’t press, push or intervene.  

I missed the call.   

I carried a Glock .40 for most of my career after we transitioned from our 9mm weapons.  My Glock was my most loyal, trusted partner.  It either rested nicely in its holster or I cleared leather and had someone in my sights within seconds.  Only twice in my career do I recall pointing my weapon at someone while taking the slack out of my trigger, most certain that I’d have to continue that trigger pull.  But by the situation's end, my weapon was holstered without incident. Despite some close calls, I finished my twenty-five year long career without claiming any lives with my duty weapon.  

Off duty, my gun provided me with the same protection and peace of mind.  It secretly hid in my purse when I drove around in my truck, ran errands inside malls or while I sat in movie theaters with friends.  I couldn’t sleep unless it was on my nightstand, within arms reach at night; always there, always faithful.

It protected me, my family and my friends. 

But in the end, it took the life of the man I loved most.  

I missed the most important call of my life.