I’m Not a Screamer

Normally I am not a screamer.

But on this day, I screamed.  And I didn’t stop for a long time.

It was several months after my son, David Glasser, who was a Phoenix Police Officer, was killed in the line of duty.  I remember sitting, staring off into the distance with my mind swirling with pain and grief and anger and confusion.  I don’t know how long I sat there but I know I gradually realized that I had been sitting there a significant amount of time.  And I didn’t feel like what I was doing was helping me deal with my shattered life and my broken heart.

So I thought about an article on grief that I had wanted to read and I eventually found it in a pile.  I am usually an organized person but those few several months after Davey died were the most unorganized months of my life.  Nothing seemed to fit anywhere anymore so everything went into a pile.

I’m sorry I can’t tell you the title of this article or the author or where I found it.  This just shows you how well my brain was functioning back then.

One of the suggestions in the article for dealing with extreme grief was to try screaming.  After surviving a tragedy, we often have a lot of emotions that we keep all bottled up inside of us because everyone around us is also hurting and we don’t want to add to their struggle.

So we keep it inside where it tears us apart, roars in our ears and keeps us awake at night.

The article suggested that screaming might help me get out my emotions and feel better.  I was ready to try just about anything.

They mentioned finding a time when I was alone – for obvious reasons.  I also needed to find a place where I could scream and not end up with the neighbors calling the cops.

Wow- I definitely needed to avoid that scenario.

I went in my closet but it was too small.  Don’t ask my why but I wanted to lay face down somewhere and scream into the floor.

So I laid down on the living room rug, closed my eyes and started screaming.  And I kept screaming.  I had the biggest pity party of my life – screaming my head of as I went through every negative and painful thought and feeling that was rolling around in my head.

I screamed a long time.  When I finally stopped I was exhausted and I had a sore throat.

And I felt lighter.  It felt good.

I got up on the couch and decided that this needed to be a turning point for me.  From then on, I was going to focus on life, not death.  From then on, I was going to be grateful for all I had while Davey was alive and all I still had.  My life was not going to be about what I had lost.

Davey was gone but, for some reason, I was still here.  So I needed to figure out what purpose God still had for me here and do it.

I have cried a million tears between then and now but no more screaming.  The swirling in my head gradually stopped, the piles in my house found their place and I am slowly getting used to the hole – some days are harder than others.

I am so extremely grateful for the 34 years we had Davey.

Miss you, Davey.

#8144loveyou

Happy Man Christmas!

Today is the day!

Man Christmas is traditionally the first day of professional football.  I know football officially started earlier this week but David Glasser, my son who was a Phoenix Police officer who was killed in the line of duty in 2016, would be celebrating today.

He considered this to be the best day of the year for men who like football.  From their perspective, Christmas is good, football is better.  Of course, a lot of women like football, too, but I’m thinking that not very many of women would put football before Christmas.

Davey loved the Arizona Cardinals.   He was definitely not a fair weather fan – he was there, cheering them on year after year whether they were having a good year or not.  He had season tickets every year.  He knew all the stats and kept up with all the tweets.

Davey loved to tailgate before the games with all of his buddies.  There were lots of games of washers and corn hole.  Lots of food.  Lots of shots and beers.  It was a good time to blow off some steam with his friends since he was going into the 3-hour game where he didn’t drink any beer because the prices were too high.  Davey was always looking for the best deal.

If you sat next to Davey in a game, you were in for some extra entertainment.  He kept track of anybody sitting around him with the opposing team’s hat or shirt on.  He would regularly yell comments out to these fans of the other team as the game progressed – especially when the Cardinals were ahead.  They would also hear from him when they went out to get some food and when they got back with their food.  He and his buddies often had an extra ticket or two because someone from their pack couldn’t go.  They were very diligent in making sure that the people who were given those tickets would not be cheering for the opposing team.

It just wasn’t done.

I love this picture because it shows Davey’s pure delight in being at a game surrounded by Kristen and his friends.  It truly was one of his happy places.

So we gather to watch the Cardinals game today – some of us in the stadium and some of us at home.

And we remember……..

We remember our favorite Cardinals fan and celebrate his love for football.

Miss you, Davey.

#8144loveyou.

In the Dark

The fence is down.

I”m talking about the fence around the Phoenix Memorial Cemetery where my son, David Glasser, a Phoenix Police Officer killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016, is buried.

I hope the management of the cemetery doesn’t read this blog because the truth is that the fence never kept anybody out anyway.  The cemetery opens at 8 am and they close the gates when the sun goes down.

But the closed gates don’t keep anybody out.  I know of several night visits by groups of Davey’s friends who jumped over the fence.  There are ripped pants to prove it.  You know who you are.

After talking with other people visiting this area of the cemetery where several fallen officers are buried, I have discovered that jumping over the fence for a night visit is not an unusual occurrence.

This doesn’t surprise me.  Darkness highlights the emptiness we feel.

The hole in our lives feels huge after the sun goes down.

As the night wraps around us, loneliness grows.  Sometimes we’re surrounded by people but our heart longs for that one person.  The person who is missing.

And their spot on this earth is at the cemetery……

this is where we said our last good-byes……

so we go over the fence.

Before the fence came down, it was in bad shape.  So I’m assuming the cemetery will be putting up a new one.

I hope it’s not a very high fence.

I guess it doesn’t matter.  On those difficult, lonely nights a fence won’t stop anybody.

Miss you, Davey

#8144loveyou