I Just Can't Shake The Depression

I just can’t shake the depression.

I woke up Sunday evening to ready myself for work and passed a few minutes on the internet to catch up on the news when I was shocked (Why, I don’t know?) to read about the Lakewood Police Officer’s Massacre. Details were brief and sketchy but enough to be crystal clear on what happened, and future events would prove my suspicions were true.

These four police officers were assassinated in the most cowardly way for one reason and one reason only. Because they were all wearing the most recognized uniform of all, the blue uniform of an American police officer.

 You see, this uniform represents the symbol of safety, courage, and trust. The man or woman who dons this uniform is simply the physical embodiment of the will of the people in flesh and blood standing on the thin blue line that protects the civil law abiding citizen’s from the chaos and carnage of the dangerous and lawless.

This horrendous criminal thug formulated a plan in his mind to murder as many police officers as possible in the most yellow bellied and cowardly way by sneaking into a coffee shop pretending to be a customer and systematically shooting to death those officers as they quietly worked unaware of his murderous intentions. He found the opportunity he was looking for that offered him the least chance of being injured himself and he carried out his plan.

This thug creature did not see individual human beings. All he saw was the uniform that represented the only people who ever dared to stand up to him and bring him to justice for the crimes he committed against the innocent and defenseless he chose to torment for his own greed and gratification. He wanted to make them pay for his incarceration and interference of his criminal deeds. What he felt was an injustice against him merely for being brought to justice time and again. And somebody had to pay!

I went on to roll call and read the Lakewood Massacre story to my men. We discussed many possibilities of what happened yet we all came to the same conclusion that it had to simply be an assassination of the officers in cold blood. Not because of whom they are or what they had done, but because of the uniform they wore and what it represented.

Since then my thoughts keep wandering back to them, their children, and their families at home and at work. The pictures of the officers are the hardest part to take because they look familiar. Each officer in their picture looks familiar to me. They all looked happy, brave, and proud in their photos and the reality finally dawned on me. They represent all police officers in their familiarity in a way only other police officers, their families and friends can see. They are just everyday people trying to make a living in the world. Trying to leave a mark on this earth of doing good for others while we are here. They were just being that man or woman willing to risk everything to stand between the innocent and the criminal to see to the safety and well being of that innocent stranger.

They were the Good Samaritan who did not turn their heads and avert their eyes to the act of crime against a stranger, but instead defended or helped him when others could not or would not help.

I do know these officer’s that died in the coffee shop Sunday. I work side by side with them in my town. Just real people that also feel pain and bleed when hurt. Real people that have goals and look forward to raising their children and dreaming of grandchildren like other people. They were real everyday people that wish for peace and a safe community in which to live.

Only they died at the hands of a merciless coward while trying to make it all possible.

I just can’t shake the depression.