There are single moments in time that have the potential to either define us or destroy us. December 6, 2019, was another hectic morning in our home; getting ready for work and school, preparing lunches, and hurrying to get the kids on the bus on time. My husband was leaving for work. His shift started at 6am. He didn’t want to be late. We didn’t kiss goodbye or say “I love you” before he walked out the door in the hurry of the moment. I didn’t tell him to be safe. Instead, his loud voice boomed down the hallway that he had to go, and I hastily replied to have a good day.
About an hour later, my phone rang, which was unusual for that time of the morning. It was my close friend and fellow law enforcement wife asking me if there was an active shooter situation in Pensacola. Surely she means active shooter training, I think, not an uncommon exercise for our law enforcement husbands. But I hear something unmistakable in her voice, and my stomach drops. Both of our husbands were on duty.
Turning on my police radio, what I heard next changed my life forever. Gunshots. Lots of gunshots. That’s when I knew. I couldn’t bring myself to check his location on the phone app. My heart knew where he was. I didn’t need geography to tell me.
Hearing the loud and chaotic radio, my young daughters find me in the bedroom, their eyes wide with fear and panic on their faces. They knew just like I knew. Their dad was on duty.
But, it was time to go to school, and the bus was a few minutes away. As a mother, it was important for me to send my girls to school with as little worry in their hearts as possible. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. With tears in my youngest daughter’s eyes, she asks, “What about daddy?” And with tears in my eyes, I had to tell her the truth…”I don’t know.” Because I didn’t. It was a moment, as a mother, I couldn’t prepare my children for because I wasn’t even prepared myself.
With the school bus barely out of sight, I pull out my phone. After a moment of consideration and resisting all my instincts to call, I decide on a simple text to my husband instead…”Please tell me you’re OK.” No response.
Without hesitation, I quickly leaned on my incredible village. Calling family, friends, and my daughter’s teachers. I knew the day would be long, and I didn’t know when either of us would be home. Or if only one of us would ever make it home again. As a crime victim advocate with the sheriff’s office at the time, my day was just getting started. And I still hadn’t heard from my husband. I needed help with the kids after school and for someone to check on them during the day because I sent them to school, not knowing whether their father was going to be home for dinner.
Nervously, I waited for his call as I drove in to work, my body tingling with fear and anxiety. My heart felt like it was ripping from my chest. I was so consumed with worry that I couldn’t even mentally prepare for my own workday ahead. I hadn’t heard from my husband. But as a police wife, I’ve learned to be patient and wait for his call.
Waiting is the hardest part. Until the call comes, and you must face the awful reality of what is next. Just hearing his voice tells me it doesn’t matter what he says next. We will get through it, whatever it is.
He was one of the deputies to exchange gunfire with the terrorist at NAS Pensacola.
The call is quick. I struggled to understand even the basic details of what he had said. He is on his way back to the department, but I will be leaving soon to begin my workday with the victims and their families. I just want to see my husband. I want to touch him, look in his eyes, and know he is physically well. By chance, I see him in the parking lot. He arrives as I am leaving.
My emotions explode as I run into his arms. It’s cold outside. Between his leather jacket and bulletproof vest, I find it difficult to embrace him fully. I can’t hold him close or hug him tight enough. I’ve never wanted a moment to last as long as I wanted this one to. He was in my arms. He was safe. I knew what he’d just been through. Or so I thought.
My husband did make it home in time for dinner. We sat at the table, all of us mentally drained from the day. Never much for formal religion, my husband wanted us to pray. So we did. We prayed for the victims who lost their lives, the families who lost their loved ones, the survivors, and all of the first responders who risked their own lives to save others. We thanked God for His blessings.
The impact of December 6 would be with us in the days and weeks ahead. In all honesty, that day never goes away. The aftermath of a tragic event will affect people in different ways.
There isn’t a single day I don’t find myself reliving a piece of that day in my mind. I can’t speak about the day that changed my life and almost ended my husband’s life without tears and overwhelming emotion. I probably always will. Maybe time will weaken the memories I still keep. Or maybe they will remain vivid to serve as a reminder of how fragile life is and how quickly it all can change. The journey to get here today has been long, and there is still a long way to go.
These are the moments we learn what we are made of. We are strongest in our weakest moments. As a wife and mother, there wasn’t any other choice than to be the rock my family needed. There were many sleepless nights, crippling panic attacks, and indescribable feelings of fear. And those were the good days.
In times like these, you learn who your village is. They wrap you in comfort like a warm blanket on a cold night and check on you day and night because they know how differently this almost ended. Meals show up on your doorstep from out of town friends. The hugs feel tighter, and some friendships are forever etched in stone.
I struggle with enormous guilt, carrying it like an invisible weight on my shoulders. You see, he wasn’t supposed to be at work yet. He had recently adjusted his work hours to support our family life and my new career. I’ve learned it’s easier to forgive others than it is to forgive ourselves. I know one day I will find forgiveness in myself, but it will take time.
This is an anniversary but not one to be celebrated. It is a reminder of a day unlike any other. Many lives were forever changed that day. But their stories are not mine to tell. This is my story.
When my husband is on duty, my phone is never far from my hand, and I answer every call. I don’t breathe until I hear the rip of the Velcro, which tells me my husband is home safe and sound. Even if for one more night. I believe that love is stronger than fear. The fear will wear you down and leave you broken. Love is what we have today, even if we don’t get tomorrow.
Our mornings look different now. They are still hectic. But life is in the details. We make time for the kiss. He never walks out the door without an “I love you” and “be safe.” We look into each other’s eyes. And we know. We know today may be the last day.
December 6, 2019, had all the potential to destroy us. It tested us individually, as a couple, and as a family. Instead, it defined us. Who we are and what we mean to each other. You can either step forward in faith or step backward in fear. I’ve decided not to live in fear. I choose faith. Faith that my husband knows how much I love him and that he will come home tonight. Today has to be enough because there are tomorrows that never come.
