May 18, 2016 blew up my world – thrusting me into a dark, confusing, very sad place.  A place of grief.  A place I never wanted to go.

I have had other people very close to me die – my mother, father and all three of my older brothers.

But this was not the same. It is not the same. Not even close.

My son, David Glasser, a Phoenix Police officer, was killed  in the line of duty.  And I can’t even explain how much worse it has been compared to other deaths in my family.

Yes, the first year after he was killed was a long and horrible year of very difficult ‘firsts’.

But then the pain of permanence set in.  The reality of life long-term without Davey didn’t seem possible.  Ten years later, tears drip down my face when I remember that I will have to live the rest of my life on this planet without him.

I now know how terribly empty his birthday feels without him.

I know how relentless the ache is every year on Christmas and Mother’s Day and Father’s Day when Davey’s not here.

I know the heartbreak behind the smiles during the birthdays of his children when a very happy and proud father is missing.

There are no words to describe how awful the permanence of this situation feels.  

In the months following May 18, 2016, I had no idea how my family and I would find our way back to our normal. It didn’t take me too long to understand that we will never go back.

That time, that place is gone.

My life – our life – back there is gone.

So we have been moving forward – a new life, a new reality, a new normal. Without Davey.

Sometimes this new place is filled with sadness as the unending reality of the situation etches itself onto my soul.  Other times I’m filled with gratitude for the 34 1/2 years we had him here with us.

In some ways each year seems a little tougher than the year before….

another year without Davey.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you💙💙

 

The question is not ‘if’ something bad is going to happen to us.

The right question is ‘when’.

Because something bad is going to happen sometime in our future.

Failure, separation, broken relationships.

Disease, accidents, illness, pain, death.

It’s going to happen.  And most of the time it will happen when we least expect it.  I was on my normal commute home from work on May 18, 2016 when I got the call that my son, David Glasser, a Phoenix Police Officer, had been shot. Davey died that night. One day he was here and everything was normal. By the next day he was gone and my entire world had crumbled into ashes.

A very close friend of mine received a huge shock the year after Davey was killed when her beautiful daughter-in-law didn’t wake up one morning.  33 years-old.  And she didn’t wake up.

She was fine the day before.

She left behind a husband, a 3 year-old son, and a large number of family and friends who never expected something like this to happen. There was no warning.

You probably have your own stories like this.

It’s not ‘if’, the question is ‘when.

So do we live our lives with a cloud of worry and fear over our heads just waiting for the next ax to fall?

Or do we ignore the inevitable and deal with it when it happens?

Neither of those sounds like good option to me.  The tragedy that blew my life apart is not going to cause me to spend the rest of my life focused on dreading the next bad thing.  But I’m also not going to pretend that there are no more hard times coming.

I have chosen to try to find a balance somewhere in the middle of those two extremes.  I am continuing to work on growing my faith – getting closer to God.  I’m growing my understanding of grief. Since I’ve been thrown into this unthinkable situation of losing a child, I am figuring out a way to successfully navigate this painful journey. Since Davey’s death, I have learned how to be resilient in the face of adversity by creating a process I use when bad things happen. Because they are going to happen.

I tend to lean more in the positive direction than the negative – life is more good than bad.  I like to focus on good things – they make the struggle all worth it. Maintaining a positive perspective really helps.

Having a close relationship with God really helps. He has been my constant Rock and my Comforter these last 10 years. I would still be living in a crumbled, bitter and angry world without him.

And I have learned a lot about love since Davey was killed. When we show love to those around us – even when we don’t know them – it really does matter.  Each expression of love, every hand that reaches out, any show of kindness and love – it all matters.

Davey knew that flying across the country to celebrate his step-grandfather’s 90th birthday and putting his arm around Merle so I could take a picture mattered – especially when 90 was the last birthday his step-grandfather celebrated.

It’s all worth the effort. When we love each other, we’re on the right track.

Because it’s not a question of ‘if’.

The right question is ‘when’.

And, as we love each other, it makes ‘when’ better. It makes it possible to smile again. Love helps us move forward into a positive future.

All of you have proven this over and over to me this last 10 years. Thank you.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

 

He was there when my son, David Glasser, a Phoenix Police Officer, went to work on May 18, 2016.

It felt like just another day.

He was there when Davey took his last call.

It seemed like just another call.

God was there when Davey stepped out of the police car and a bullet ripped off the back of his head.

This just can’t be happening.

He was there when responding bullets eliminated the evil that was standing on the driveway.

So no one else was hurt.

He was there while Davey’s squad members protected and cared for Davey as his blood spilled out onto the pavement.

The well-trained officers responded quickly even as their hearts were breaking.

God was there when the police and firemen revived Davey’s body and took him to the hospital.

They did everything they could…. and more.

He was there, right beside me, when I received that call telling me Davey had been shot.  He was beside each of us as we received that call. It’s a call we’ll never forget.

It haunts my dreams.

He was there beside each of us as we each made our way to the hospital through a sudden, dark fog.

 It can’t be true.

God heard my terrified cries followed by urgent prayers for a miracle as the news and the night unfolded.

He heard and he cared.

He provided family, friends, our Blue family, doctors, nurses, and a chaplain to help all of us hold together as we entered hell.

It felt like a journey into hell but I know hell is worse because God is not there.

God walked the corridors with us as we cried and prayed.  The halls of the hospital were lined with people crying and praying.  Several waiting rooms were packed full of people crying and praying.

He heard and he cared.

He wrapped his arms around us as the long night dragged on and Davey’s brainwaves gradually………disappeared.

This can’t be true.

The night finally ended and the sun rose once again.

I was still alive.

The rest of us were still alive.

Together, we were going to have to figure out how to go on without Davey.

Impossible.

It’s impossible to go on without Davey.

But what felt impossible on that day, God has made possible.  He has been there through everything, loving us and giving us strength.  He has heard every prayer and He has held us each time we have cried.

And He has given us a purpose for going forward.

He was there.

And He is here – making the impossible possible.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

 

 

 

What am I thinking about?

What am I focused on?

I ask these questions when I find myself in a dark place.

When I’m sad.

When I’m stuck in yesterday.

When the list of what I have lost seems way too long.

When my shattered dreams fill my head as the tears drip down my face.

David Glasser, my son, was a Phoenix Police Officer who was killed in the line duty almost 10 years ago.  Those of you who knew him realized he was unique – he had a high level of integrity and knowledge of what was right and wrong and he also loved people and loved to have fun.  His dad was one of his best friends. We lived 1 1/2 miles from Davey and his family the last 5 years of his life – we were very close.

Then, suddenly – without warning – Davey was gone.

For the last 10 years we have been discovering just how much of the light and joy in our lives went with him.

On Davey’s birthday 1 1/2 years after he was killed, a group of us visited his spot in the cemetery and released balloons into the sky.  Police Chaplain Bob Fesmire explained that this is a very old tradition reaching back to biblical times when incense was burned so it could combine with the prayers of God’s people as they floated up to heaven.

That’s when I realized God was speaking to me – telling me this was the direction I needed to focus on.

I needed to Look Up –

Look up to see the sun shining on all of my blessings that are still here.

Look up to remember that my prayers – our prayers – go to a God who loves us and who wants the best for us and who can do the impossible.

Looking up has been vitally important to me since Davey was killed. The title of the book I published on Amazon is “Then I Looked Up: Losing a Child, Finding His Legacy of Love”. It’s the story of Davey’s life, his death and my journey to find hope after losing a child. If you’d like to get a signed copy, please contact me.

As this first month of 2026 quickly comes to a close, I encourage all of us to “Look up” to God this year and let him fill our lives with joy, and hope and love.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

May 18, 2016.

David Glasser, my son, a Phoenix Police Officer, was killed in the line of duty on that day.

And everything in my world shook.

You cannot imagine what that feels like until it happens to you.  Because it wasn’t just my life – the tsunami of his death hit everyone who was close to Davey.

His children, my two little grandchildren’s world exploded.  My daughter-in-law’s world crashed.

My husband’s world shattered into tiny pieces.  Davey was his best friend and my husband’s father had just passed away 2 weeks before Davey was killed.  Too much.

My daughter’s world tilted sideways as all of her dreams and plans with her big brother crumbled.

Davey’s close friend’s and squad member’s worlds spiraled in various directions as each person felt the blow of Davey’s death.

The world shook.  It twisted.  It filled with unimaginable grief.  It emptied of joy and light.

I needed something solid to hold onto while everything around me smashed and rocked.  And I found the one thing that didn’t shatter, didn’t tilt, didn’t explode.  He was right beside me and he was Rock Solid – my Father God.  Always there, always loving us, always caring for us.

God has been with us every step of the way as we have each had to pick our way through the devastation Davey’s death had on our lives.  I am completely convinced that God is good and nothing that has happened to me changes that.

When my world stopped shaking, I realized it was in this new place, a new reality.  My head recognizes this place and knows I have to keep moving forward.  My heart is still regularly tugged back to a time when Davey was here, making me laugh and filling my life with his special kind of love…

before my whole world shook.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

Death.  Loss.  Serious illness.  Tragedy.

When it happens to someone we know, we often don’t know what to say.   We need to say something – it has to be acknowledged or it feels really wrong – the elephant in the room.

We should think about what we’re going to say ahead of time.

I know.  Many people have said weird or not-helpful things while trying to be nice to me since my son, David Glasser, who was a Phoenix Police Officer, was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.

When tragedy blew my life apart, many of the people I spoke to afterwards would say ‘So sorry for your loss.”  I used to think that this sounded unoriginal and trite but, after experiencing some of the other things people say, I realize it’s a good option.  When you say this, you are recognizing my loss and sharing an emotion.   I say it myself now.   Actually, I often just say “I’m so sorry” to someone who has just had a loss or tragedy.  They know what I’m referring to – it’s all they can think about.

It’s been over 9 years since Davey was killed and the things people say don’t hurt anymore. I just shake my head at the craziness. Recently, I was talking to a woman about Davey’s death and she said she understood. Her dog just died and it was horrible. Can you imagine my feeling of unbelief that she would compare my son’s death to her dog’s? I didn’t say anything. She just wouldn’t understand.

In the first year after Davey was killed people said some things that hurt. It felt like they were poking at my bruises. Saying these things to someone who recently experienced a tragic death can make a dark day worse:

“There’s always a reason.”  Really?   Am I supposed to be glad he’s gone because there’s a reason?  I should stop crying because it’s all working out great now?

“Time heals all wounds.” Really?  All of this pain and grief is going to go away?   It’s going to turn into a scar that doesn’t hurt anymore?  I  personally think ‘heal’ is the wrong word to use with loss and grief. It’s 9 years later and time has not healed all of my wounds. My heart is broken and I know it’s going to stay broken this side of heaven.

“He’s in a better place.”  My head knows that.  My heart has been shattered into a million pieces and it aches a little bit more when you remind me that he’s not here with us, with me.

What should we say?

“I’m sorry” works. And sharing a good memory of the person that passed or saying something positive about them can add a little ray of light to a dark day for the person you are talking to.

Here’s a great tip- those of us that are left behind love to hear the name of the one we lost. So say their name as often as you can.

Overall, the best advice I have read is in the Bible – Romans 12:15b –

“Weep with those who weep”.

Weep with us.

Weep with me.

Let your heart break for those who are heart-broken.

Hold tightly onto anyone is who is lost in pain and grief.

Give us grace when we are not gracious.

Forgive us when the anger boils over.

Be patient with us when our frustration shows.

Understand that it’s hard to focus sometimes when the emptiness is overwhelming.

Don’t ask us to let you know if there’s anything you can do – if there’s something you want to do, just do it.

Don’t tell us about a different tragedy – your’s or someone else’s.  We are struggling to deal with our own.

Don’t give us advice unless we ask for it.

You really don’t have to say much. Just love us unconditionally, no matter how we respond.

And weep with us.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you💙💙

 

 

 

Davey cared.  He didn’t just say ‘Love you’, he showed it and lived it.

He wanted our community to be a safe place for families to live and kids to play.

When he was 12 years-old he took a summer job as a junior counselor at a Boys and Girls Club in a high-risk area of Phoenix.  He wanted those kids to have a safe summer playing games and having lots of fun.

I will never forget – on his first day of being a counselor, one of the little kids vomited and Davey had to clean it up. Yuck!  But it was an early lesson about how – when you care – you often find yourself in the middle of the yuck and mess of other’s lives and choices.

What a great lesson for a young man who would later choose to become part of the Thin Blue Line between the innocent and the evil.  He cared and he did something about it.  Everyday as a Police Officer, he stood for what is good and right in our world – pushing back the evil and often ending up in other people’s yuck.  He knew Police Officers weren’t perfect – he wasn’t perfect.  But they are willing to stand for what is safe and right.   They don’t just talk about it or throw some money at it – they are willing to put their lives on the line….because they care about making our communities safe.

Davey requested to work in high-risk areas of the city because the need for people who care is greater there.  The Thin Blue Line has to be stronger there.  He often told me that his goal was to put the people in our city who chose to put other lives in danger behind bars so they couldn’t hurt people anymore. He received several commendations for his extra efforts against the monsters who beat up babies and small children.

And he paid the highest price possible for his dedication to caring for our city when he was killed in the line of duty in 2016.

Davey made a significant contribution to our city when he was alive and he has inspired those of us who are left behind to make a difference through the David Glasser Foundation.  We are continuing the work that Davey started. 

You have probably heard that Davey loved sports – all sports.  The disciplined activity of sports helped him grow into a strong and confident and capable adult.  So the David Glasser Foundation has been sponsoring youth teams across the valley which have police officer volunteers involved with them. This honors Davey’s love of sports and ids the chance to learn the life skills Davey learned being active in sports.  This also gives the people in the community a chance to interact with Police Officers in a positive environment.

The David Glasser Foundation also reaches back into the community where Davey was killed every year to sponsor kids and their families who need help at Christmas. Davey would have loved seeing all the police officers shopping with the kids and having a great time.

Davey’s life on earth has ended but we have watched as his legacy of love continues.

Thank you for all of the support and love so many of you have shown us.  Together, we are honoring Davey’s sacrifice and continuing the battle.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you💙💙