That Dreaded Knock at the Door from the Police

So, what do I have to say, other than blogging really stinks (starts to feel like homework)… it is sooooo difficult…waaah, waaah, waaah, Yeah, I know, cry me a river… Anyway, I recently had an experience that I have had described to me by my clients but I’ve never come close to understanding it until this Sunday. I thought I would share that experience with y’all.
When my son woke me up on Sunday, so he could do his two hours running for cross country, and get credit for it, I had no idea that my day would end up as it did. (The special irony here is that my son wasn’t going to do cross country at all this summer, despite his natural talent in this area, and informed my husband and me of that position, to which we respond with YES YOU WILL AND WE DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT, or the parental version of “don’t give me that crap”.) ANYWAY…., I could not begin figure out what was in store for me this Sunday when he left for his run.

Sunday, 5:40 a.m, the door to my bedroom opens, startling me from a dream – I’m running … towards something…away from something… I will never know and I don’t remember because my dream is disturbed by my son. Jake bursts into my room, he opens the door and moves forward like the kid lives – balls to the wall and full speed ahead (yes, I’m mixing my air force and naval terminology). He pats my arm and says, “Mom, I’m going on my run.” He is like a shadow in my room. I say, “Jake, you can’t run in dark clothes, go and get on something light and reflective.” He blows me off, as kids his age tend to do, and rushes back out of the room.

I roll over in bed and his dad says, “Yeah, he’s ignoring you…”. I haul my tired butt out of bed and tell Jake he has to put on a white shirt. He argues about it but in the end he puts one on and runs out the door. I go back to bed thinking he’s probably also ignoring that whole ‘look both ways when you cross the road’ stuff that we’ve taught him since birth. How much more basic can you get than don’t run in the dark in dark clothes? What the heck?! Does that Y chromosome mess you up forever as a teen or can I hope for a quick ending when he hits 17? Anyway, he runs out and I try to go back to sleep.

I am back in bed. It is 6:10 a.m. approximately. The doorbell rings. I am just about to doze back off and I think to myself “What the heck?! Who is ringing my doorbell at this hour?!” I get out of bed and throw on my robe… throw open my bedroom door… and see….

Four police officers standing on my porch.

In that brief window of time, between opening my bedroom door, walking those twenty feet, and opening my front door, a million different and horrific possibilities occur to me. Jake ran out in front of a car and is in the hospital… Jake was jogging through an intersection and a guy who was texting or on the phone or drunk didn’t see him and ran him over and he’s in the hospital… so many scenarios, so many bad endings, so few good ones, and the last, most horrible thought that passed through my head before I opened the door… “Jake was hit by a car and he’s not in the hospital… he’s in the morgue.”

I threw open the door and the first thing I said to that poor police officer was “my son just left for a run! He JUST LEFT! Was he hit by a car?! Is he OK?!”

The rest of the story isn’t important. The very nice police officer explained that he wasn’t here for me or my family, but that window of time, that horrific, frozen in time moment…
I pray for everyone who has been trapped in that moment and were not given a reprieve, whose worst nightmare came true,… be they friends, family, clients or strangers. No one should have to deal with that situation. And I pray for the police officers, who sign on and hope to protect and serve, and then have to deliver the worst news ever. As the nice officer at my door told me, “I’m so sorry ma’am, no one ever wants to see us at their door, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we aren’t here for you or your family, is _____ here?”

Hoping for only good doorbell rings, but if it’s a bad one, or it’s one you need a helping hand through, all I can say is that i’m here to pay it forward as I’ve been nothing but blessed since my doorbell rang on Sunday….It wasn’t for me, but God placed me in a position to help the people it was for and I hope that I can continue to be there for them and others in their situation.

Misty Borland Phiffer

 

This post is also available in: Spanish