Parts of the craziness surrounding us because of the pandemic feel very familiar to me.  It feels like I’ve been here before.

The uncertainty.  The concerns.  More bad news coming at me every day.  The world as I know it being gone.

I felt this after my son, David Glasser, who was a Phoenix Police Officer, was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.  So many unknowns.  Painful changes.  Dark days and even darker nights.

First came the unbelievable shock of his death.  Next was the huge funeral -the majority of that day is covered in a fog of pain and grief in my memory.  And then- somehow – those of us that loved him had to find a way to start moving through our days – shell-shocked by what had happened.  My mind swirled daily around the hope that it was all a nightmare….. a long nightmare.

Bad news grew as the reality of life without Davey become clearer.  So much lost – how can we possibly go on?  All of my plans and dreams for the future included Davey.  Every one of them was ripped away.

When our framily (family and friends who are family) got together in those first months, we would often sit in silence….staring.  There was nothing to say.  It was all too horrible.

For months after Davey was killed I wondered why people I saw in public were smiling.  What did they have to laugh about?  It was hard being out around people who were happy with all their dreams still intact.  I felt like an island of pain and grief moving among people who had no idea what it feels like to have your whole world explode.

That’s one of the big differences about our situation today – we are all in it together.  We are all affected.  We are sharing this experience and – for me – this makes it a little easier.

Another huge difference about our situation now is that we are figuring out how to get back our favorite things.   We are playing sports again, we are going out to eat again and we are having parties and seeing our family again.

But Davey will not be coming back. There is no future on this earth that includes him.

That makes it so much harder.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

I was talking with a friend recently and the topic of whether we were ‘happy’ or not came up. I remembered that I used to ask my husband if he was happy every once in awhile to see what he would say.

But I don’t do that anymore. Since our son, David Glasser, who was a Phoenix Police Officer was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016, I know what his answer would be.

No.

That’s my answer, too.

I have good times and happy moments. I tend to be a positive person with a smile on my face. I know I am blessed in many ways. But the general feeling ‘I am happy about my life’ is gone now that Davey is no longer here. I cannot imagine a time this side of heaven when I would say I am ‘happy’ about my circumstances.

Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’m just being truthful. If you have not lost a child, you may not understand this and I hope you never do. If you have lost a child, you are probably shaking your head ‘yes’ as you read this.

I don’t think the word ‘healing’ fits a situation like mine. My heart is broken and it’s not going to ‘heal’. It’s been over 5 years and my heart remains broken. I’m gradually getting used to living with a broken heart.

I’ve never been much of a crier…..until Davey was killed. Now my eyes fill with tears very easily whenever something touches a piece of my broken heart. Tears stream down my face regularly – especially as I write these blogs. And I know that’s healthy – letting the emotion out and dealing with the grief is a good thing.

I have learned to be grateful for 34 years with Davey because that’s all I’m getting. I am grateful that I’m getting more than 34 years with my daughter and I cherish any time I get to spend with my 4 grand darlings because life is short. We never know. Everything could change tomorrow – or later today. I’ve been there.

The fact that my son is dead will not be changing so I don’t see my overall ‘happiness’ level concerning the circumstances of my life changing, either. That’s just how it is.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

That’s one of my main goals.  Don’t get stuck.

I have to figure out how to move forward – even when I don’t want to.

It’s not easy.  My world shattered when my son, David Glasser, who was a Phoenix Police Officer, was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.  Each day that followed was empty and the pain intensified each night. My mind wanted to focus on all of my broken dreams. The future I had expected was filled with fun and great times with Davey is never  going to happen.  What I had lost created a huge hole.

And I wanted to stay there.  That felt like the place I was supposed to be…..

Until I looked at my grand darlings, Davey’s son and daughter.  They have their whole lives to live and their lives cannot be all about what they have lost.  Their future is bright and full of possibilities and I need to be a positive, encouraging part of that future.

I also looked at the rest of my family.  We have all been left behind on this earth to accomplish what God has planned for us.  We have a purpose.  We’re not supposed to get lost in the dark places on this road and live there the rest of our short time on this planet.

So it became one of my goals – don’t get stuck.

It’s not easy, moving forward.  As the list of things Davey is missing grows, so does the sadness of not having him here.  As the years go by I lose more and more parts of him and it hurts.  There are days when I don’t want to go forward because it’s just too much of a struggle.

But it’s worth it.  I have met many people on this tough journey whose worlds have been blown apart by a tragedy…. and they are still living in that tragedy every day.  They are angry and bitter and negative.  Honestly, they just are no fun to be around.  They have traded the good things of today for the pain of yesterday.  They have refused to rebuild their dreams for the future and they are mired down in the dark times of the past.

I know that getting stuck and living like that could be easy to do.  But I’m refusing to go there.  I have found that it really helps me to focus my mind on all the good things I had and all the good things I still have.  When my thoughts start to dwell on all of the good things I have lost, I have to stop myself.  None of that thinking is helpful.  That is the slippery slope that slides into the muck where people get stuck.

Being a part of the David Glasser Foundation has also helped me move forward.  Honoring Davey’s legacy by doing positive things in his name really helps the future look brighter.  Sponsoring sports teams and seeing his name on their jerseys brings a lot of joy to me because Davey played basketball and baseball and loved all sports.

There is still a lot of work to be done.  Not everyone needs to start a foundation, but I have suggested to other people who have experienced a huge loss to think about possible ways they could honor the memory of the person they lost and create a positive future.  College scholarships are a great option to remember someone who loved education and help someone else reach their educational goals.  Sports scholarships are also great to remember someone who loved sports and give other kids a chance to improve their skills in the sport.  Remembering the person we lost by helping someone else can reclaim some of the future that was stolen from us when the person we loved left us.

Rebuilding a positive future.  That’s the goal.  That’s the struggle.

And it’s worth it.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you

May 18, 2016 – the real date when my son left this earth.

My son, David Glasser, was a Phoenix Police Officer who was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.  His official End of Watch is May 19th, but he died on the 18th.  You would know that as well if you had seen him.  His body was hooked up to all kinds of machines that were keeping his lungs moving and his heart beating but Davey – the fun, smart, wonderful son, husband, dad, brother and friend  – was gone.  He was already with his Father God.

I am thankful to modern medicine which gave us time to start coming to terms to our new reality.  We had several hours with him in the hospital to figure out how to start to say good-bye.  It helped.

I am thankful that the machines were able to keep his organs alive so that he could fulfill his wish of being an organ donor – giving the gift of life to so many other people.  Our families have been blessed by other organ donors so we know what an important thing this is.  Knowing that helped.

I am thankful for the doctors and nurses who treated Davey with care and respect.  They also were very helpful and understanding to those of us who spent the darkest hours of that night in room next to Davey in unbelief of what was happening.  It helped.

I am thankful for the rooms full of police officers and friends at the hospital who prayed for us and supported us through those awful hours.  It helped.

I am thankful for the family and friends all over the country who prayed for us through that night.   I am thankful for all of the people who prayed for us and didn’t even know us.   It helped.

I am thankful for Dave’s squad who, disregarding their own pain, had the worst job of making telephone calls and getting us to the hospital.   I am also  thankful for the Employee Assistance Unit led by Sgt. Dave Osborne.   Both of these teams promised support and they meant it.   It really helped.

I am thankful for the entire Phoenix Police Department who supported us that night any way they possibly us in any way they could.   They parked our cars so we could run right into the hospital, they brought food, they picked up family at the airport, they took care of the press, they drove us home, they never left their watch on Dave’s room and much more.  It all helped.

I am thankful for Pastor Mark Grochoki, one of our pastors at the time, who somehow found a way through the crowds and lines of police to pray for us in a small, dark corner of the hospital lobby.  It was an oasis of peace in a very long, terrible night.  It helped.

I am thankful for the Police Chaplain, Bob Fesmire, who is so clearly called by God to walk families like ours through the most painful hours of our lives. His words of wisdom cut through the shock and helped us move forward.  He prayed for us through the night when we had no words.  I will never forget his prayer as we said our last goodbyes to Davey before leaving the hospital.  I don’t recall the exact words but I remember God reaching out through them to wrap his arms around me to comfort me.  Bob was God with skin on that night.  He really helped.

May 19 is Dave’s official E.O.W but May 18th was his last day on earth.  Now he lives in our hearts and our memories until we see him again in heaven.

I’m not saying that we need to change the date on all the plaques and forms.

I just wanted you to understand why I always use May 18th.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.