No Regrets

It’s a good feeling.

No regrets.

My son, David Glasser, was a Phoenix Police Officer who went to work on May 18, 2016 and he never came home.  He was killed in an attempted robbery.

We have a lot of tears.

A huge amount of lost dreams.

A big hole in our lives.

But no regrets.

Davey lived life to its fullest and, as a result, those of us around him were also caught up in his whirlwind of a good time.  He was always planning the next poker party, the next BBQ, the next Fantasy draft and the next trip.  We knew we could count on him to provide the spark – something fun was on its way.

We all got used to saying ‘yes’ to whatever he was planning because we couldn’t say no – then we’d miss the fun!  We also got used to helping him do whatever he wanted to do because it was going to be good.

Now we are so thankful for all those great memories.  And we have a ton of them!  Our calendar was full of good times with Davey – we have no regrets about things we should have, could have, or would have done.   None of us knew how short our time was going to be with him.

None of us ever know.

Early on as a family, we learned to keep short accounts.  If something major was going on, we talked about it.  If something wasn’t a big deal, we forgot about it.  Let it go. That way we weren’t hanging on to anger and hurt feelings.

There’s a reason why God tells us not to let the sun go down on our anger.  Because – sometimes – the sun goes down and the person we’re angry with never comes home again.

Accidents.

Heart attacks.

Aneurysms.

Blood Clots.

Getting shot.

For whatever reason, the person you are mad at doesn’t come home…

and you are left with regrets.

That doesn’t have to happen.

Davey knew that some situations he got into as a Police Officer brought him dangerously close to never coming home again.  It was very important to him that the people he cared about knew that he loved them.  So the last thing he always said to us was ‘Love you’.

The very last thing he said to all of us was ‘Love you’.

And we said ‘love you’ back to him.

No regrets.

Just awesome memories of a very special person who we miss each day.

Love you, Davey.

Miss you

It’s A Gift

The gift of clarity.

My world blew up on May 18, 2016 when my son, David Glasser, a Phoenix Police Officer, was killed in the line of duty.  My hopes and dreams crumbled into a pile of painful pieces and everything changed.

Nothing has been the same since that day.  So much grief, so many tears, such a huge hole.

But, as so many things were lost and stripped away, one thing became crystal clear.

My time on earth is very short.  I am not guaranteed tomorrow.  The people I love may not be here tomorrow.

I need to have my priorities straight.  I need to understand what is most important and make sure I’m living to make the most of each day.

The gift of clarity.

God comes first.  He is my Rock and his love for me is the only thing that didn’t shake on May 18, 2016.  He has been my constant companion as hurt and questions and change have swirled around in my life over these last 5 1/2 years.  I don’t need to understand, I just need to trust him.  He’s got this.

Next –  loving other people.  God tells us to love him and to love others for a reason.  God and people are the only things that really count.  All the other things – money, success, houses, stuff – is temporary and just not that important.   People are important.

Love is important.  Davey’s legacy of ‘Love you’ has drastically changed my life these last  5 1/2 years – saying it to others and having it said to me.  Before Davey’s death my ‘love you’s’ were reserved for only those closest to me.  After his death, I realized that its important to love all of the people around me and they need to hear to it.  So I speak love a thousand times more I ever did before.  I say it and write it to crowds of people who would have never heard those words from me.  And I mean it.  I want the best for you.  I care about you.  I want to contribute to the love in your world because you’re important.

Hearing ‘love you’ from so many of you has been a game-changer for me.  I didn’t realize how much of a difference it  made even in that first year after Davey’s death until I went to Washington, DC for Police Week  in 2017 and met with a group of other mothers who had all lost their police officer sons in the line of duty in 2016.  We had all experienced the grief and pain of losing a child suddenly, tragically.   But I never experienced the dark and hostile place filled with anger and bitterness that some of the mothers were in.  I’m very glad about that – I was very sorry to see them stuck there.  I give thanks to God for helping me avoid that negativity and I also give a lot of credit to ‘Love you”.

It’s hard to be negative when you’re surrounded by love.

It’s hard to be angry when people all around you are telling you they love you.

It’s hard to be bitter when you’re focused on loving others and being loved in return.

I am so grateful that Davey gave us ‘Love you”.  It’s a God thing – God knew it would help us not only survive these last 5 1/2 years but also thrive.  We have loved each other well and it has changed everything.

The gift of clarity.

What is important?

What should I spend my time doing?

What should I spend my money doing?

I am sharing this gift of clarity with you today because today may be my last day.  It may be your’s.

Let’s spend it wisely.

Love you!

You’ll Get Through This

No, I won’t.

One of the many things people have said to me since the death of my son, David Glasser, is ‘you’ll get through this’. Davey was a Phoenix Police Officer who was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.

A new friend I was talking to this week said that it was great that I had God walking beside me to help me get through this. The first part of that comment is very true- God has been awesome- he is my Rock and Comforter. But the last words in that statement are not correct. I replied, “I have realized that I’m not ‘getting through’ this.”

I have figured out that we don’t ‘get through’ the death of one of our children. There is no ‘other side’ of this situation where we breathe a sigh of relief because we are ‘through’ it.

When our child dies, we never move out of it. We have to move forward but we take our broken hearts with us. We live in it. Every day.

Why is this so different from when my mother and father passed away?

I know what it is.

I always knew that there would be a time in my life when my parents would pass away. I expected a portion of my life would be without my parents.

Not so with Davey.

Davey is supposed to be here, right now. He was supposed to be making my husband and me smile as we grow old. He should be filling our calendars with the next fun thing. Making jokes. Surrounding himself with friends and family – helping everyone have a good time.

There were times in Davey’s life where I felt like his social director. I would be organizing and helping with details in the background while Davey was the front man – gathering people together and having a great time with them. He always appreciated my help and I loved seeing him living life to the full. He was such a great person to be around.

I know you feel like this if you have lost a child – I should have gone first. That’s the right order. What happened is not the right order. And the pain of this reality does not go away. I’m not going to ‘get over’ this because the fact that he is gone from this earth when he should be here is not going to change.

The hole he left doesn’t get smaller, it actually gets bigger as he misses more Mother’s Days, Father’s days, birthdays and more Christmases.

Davey was a huge family man. He was always a part of what was going on. He flew to Maryland for his sister’s graduation with her masters degree, he flew to Pennsylvania several times to spend time with his last living grandmother and grandfather. He flew to Denver when his sister moved there to check out her new place. He kept track of his dad and I, making sure we were taken care of. If something was happening with our family, he was right in the middle of it.

All of that was lost the day a bullet took his life. Wiped away. It isn’t happening, it’s not going to happen, it will never happen again.

So, no….

I’m not going to ‘get through’ this.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.