A Cop's Christmas Story

Forwarded to CoffeeCops From Retiree, Harry Smart To my brothers and sisters and son in Law Enforcement: >> >> It was many decades ago when I first joined the >> police department, I knew there would be special occasions >> my family would spend without me. Knowing that fact >> didn't make the task any easier. The celebrations I >> missed that first year depressed me and sometimes made me >> feel bitter. Working on Christmas Eve was always the worst. >> On Christmas Eve years ago, I learned that blessings can >> come disguised as Misfortune, and honor is more than just a >> word. I was riding one man patrol on the 4 pm - 12 midnight >> shift. The night was cold. Everywhere I looked I saw >> reminders of the holiday: families packing their cars with >> presents, beautifully decorated trees in living room windows >> and roofs adorned with tiny sleighs. It all added to my >> holiday funk. >> >> The evening had been relatively quiet; there were >> calls for barking dogs and a residential false burglar >> alarm. There was nothing to make the night pass any >> quicker. I thought of my own family and sunk further into >> depression. Shortly after 2200 hours (10 pm) I got a radio >> call to the home of an elderly, terminally ill man. I >> parked my patrol car in front of a simple Cape Cod style >> home. First aid kit in hand, I walked up the short path to >> the front door. As I approached, a woman who seemed to be >> about 80 years old opened the door. "He's in >> here", she said. She led me to a back bedroom. >> >> We passed through a living room that was furnished in >> a style I had come to associate with older people. The sofa >> has an afghan blanket draped over its back and a dark, solid >> Queen Anne chair say next to an unused fireplace. The >> Mantle was cluttered with an eccentric mix of several >> photos, some ceramic figurines and an antique clock. A >> floor lamp provided soft lighting. We entered a small >> bedroom where a frail looking man lay in bed with a blanket >> pulled up to his chin. He wore a blank stare on his ashen, >> skeletal face. His breathing was shallow and labored. He >> was barely alive. >> >> The trappings of illness were all around his bed. >> The nightstand was littered with a large number of pill >> vials. An oxygen bottle stood nearby. Its plastic hose, >> with face mask attached, rested on the blanket. I asked the >> old woman why she called the police. She simply shrugged >> and nodded sadly toward her husband, indicating it was at >> his request. I looked at him and he stared intently into my >> eyes. He seemed relaxed now. I didn't understand the >> suddenly calm expression on his face. >> >> I looked around the room again. A dresser stood >> along the wall to the left of the bed. On it was the usual >> memorabilia: ornate perfume bottles, a white porcelain pin >> case, and a wooden jewelry case. There were also several >> photos in simple frames. One caught my eye and I walked >> closer to the dresser for a closer look. The picture showed >> a young man dressed in a police uniform. It was >> unmistakably a photo of the man in bed. I knew then why I >> was there. >> >> I looked at the old man and he motioned with his hand >> toward the side of the bed. I walked over and stood beside >> him. He slid a thin arm from under the covers and took my >> hand. Soon, I felt his hand go limp, I looked at his face. >> There was no fear there. I saw only peace. He knew he was >> dying; he was aware his time was very near. I knew now that >> he was afraid of what was about to happen and he wanted the >> protection of a fellow cop on his journey. A caring God had >> seen to it that his child would be delivered safely to Him. >> The honor of being his escort fell to me. >> >> When I left at the end of my tour that night, the >> temperature seemed to have risen considerably, and all the >> holiday displays I saw on the way home made me smile. I no >> longer feel sorry for myself for having to work on Christmas >> Eve. I have chosen an honorable profession. I pray that >> when it's my turn to leave this world there will be a >> cop there to hold my hand and remind me that I have nothing >> to fear. >> >> I wish all my brothers and sisters who have to work >> this Christmas Eve all the joy and warmth of the season. We >> have all been there. God bless you all. "Blessed are >> the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God" >> (Matthew 5:9). >