It wasn’t until beer number seven when the phone finally rang in my pocket that it finally had hit me. I knew what kind of a job you had. That every day you walked out that door there was a chance that you may never come back. I knew that, but still, I never thought it could happen to us.

What a lie I was living.

I answered the phone, dread tingling in my spine, to hear the words I hoped I would never hear. You had been shot pursuing an armed robber on foot.

I remember thinking then–begging to Berry–”Please let him be alive” It didn’t matter how bad it was as long as you were alive.

Now? I wonder if it would have been easier if you had died that day.