I went to bed last night, watching tragedy play out on twitter. Police officers went to make a routine arrest and there was a shooting instead.
A police officer has died.
For the record, for those of you from other places, in my city of just over a million people, a police officer has not been killed in the line of duty for 25 years. At risk of letting my Canadian colours show – I would tell you that this is Canada. Armed shoot outs are not the norm. This is simply not who we are. Our horror at this event does us credit.
I find myself silent. Thinking of a woman who did not go to sleep last night, thinking of a mother who woke up 2 young children to tell them that daddy was not coming home, that he was dead.
There is nothing I can do. Not a word, not an act that can make this better for her, for them.
Perhaps, like many of us in these situations, I think about those I know who are police officers, those men and women and the people who love them.
I believe that love is stronger than hate, optimism more powerful than darkness. I’m not sure my beliefs count for much in the face of such horrific tragedy.
I slept, with this running through my mind, my back pressed against Mr. Spit. In the small dark hours of the morning, he kissed me good bye. I woke up thinking of her, those small acts of grace and mercy in a marriage, knowing she was bereft.
I will go home a bit early this afternoon. Bake a batch of brownies. Take it to a cop I know, sending love to he and his partner. Reminding them that they are loved, cared for.
And again – trying to affirm in some small way – that love and care and concern will always be more powerful and more resilient than evil.