Just One More Time

My son, David Glasser, was a Phoenix Police Officer who was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.  And there are days I just don’t want to acknowledge the fact that Davey is gone.

I don’t want to try to find the strength to move forward.

I don’t want to face the issues that I have to deal with as I spend the rest of my life here on earth without Davey.

I don’t want to think about the reality that so many other Blue families and friends go through this same nightmare.  Too many.

I don’t want to visit his spot in the cemetery – I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.

I want to hear his laugh. Just one more time.

I want to see him pick up his little daughter and throw her in the air.

I want to see him playing basketball in his backyard with son and hear him coaching Micah on how to improve his shot. Just one more time.

I want to see him playing Cornhole and Washers with his sister and her husband in his big backyard every time they came to visit.

I want to see him in the car with his son picking up his dad so all the guys could go to Home Depot – they went there ALOT.

I want to see him on his riding lawn mover with his hat and his headphones on, rocking out to tunes while he cuts the grass of the lawn he loves so much. Just one more time.

I want to see him sitting on my couch with our minnie-pin puppy stretched over his chest, her head up by his so she can lay there and lick his neck.  She had a huge crush on Davey.

I want to hear him talking about which Cardinals away game he and the guys are planning to go to this year.

I want to see him wearing the crazy Cardinals hat I bought him as a joke while he tailgates before the game next Sunday. Just one more time. I want to see his eyes light up as a huge smile spreads across his face when he and his dad light up a cigar out on the green lawn by the Cardinals stadium. Just one more time.

My heart yearns to go back to a time when all these things were possible….. but my brain knows that’s not going to happen.

Miss you so much, Davey.

Love you.

The Pain of Permanence

On May 18, 2016 my world blew up – thrusting me into a dark, confusing, very sad place.  A place of grief.  A place I never wanted to go.  My son, David Glasser, a Phoenix Police Officer, was killed in the line of duty.

I have had other people very close to me die – my mother, father and 2 of my brothers.

But this was not the same.  Not even close.  And I can’t even explain how much worse it has been compared to other deaths in my family.

My first year after Davey was killed was filled with a swirl of emotions.  My heart was smashed as the light Davey brought into my life disappeared.  My plans and dreams for him were ripped away.  I was smacked in the face with situations that were extremely tough.  It all hurt.  That first year was unbelievably difficult.

I was hoping the second year would be better.  People always say that the first year is the worst, don’t they?

But it wasn’t.  In the second year, I began to feel the pain of permanence.  The reality of life long-term without Davey didn’t seem possible.  But it was happening.

And it keeps happening.  I have experienced how empty his birthday feels without him 6 times. I know what Christmas and Mother’s Day and Father’s Day are like without Davey.

I feel the heartbreak behind the smiles when we celebrate the birthdays of his children and a very happy and proud father is missing.

There are no words to describe how awful the permanence of this situation feels.  It’s impossible.  I believe strongly in the goodness of God…..but this doesn’t feel good.

In the months following May 18, 2016, I had no idea how my family and I would find our way back to our normal.  Now, 6 1/2 years later, I understand that we will never go back.

That time, that place is gone.

My life – our life – back there is gone.

So we have to move forward – a different life, a new reality, a ‘not normal’ normal.

Sometimes this new place fills my heart with sadness as the unending absoluteness of the situation painfully etches itself onto my soul.  Thankfully, God’s light and love often shines through that darkness and the blessings that fill my life today overcome the sadness.

I don’t use the word ‘healing’ in relationship to the grief and loss I’ve experienced from Davey’s death because that sounds like it fades away, becomes a barely visible scar.  I don’t think that’s a good description of this journey of survival.  Often something will happen that touches a piece of my broken heart and the tears that slide down my face are visible evidence of how much I have lost.  I’m gradually getting used to my life without Davey but this broken heart is not going away and it’s not invisible.

In some ways, each new year gets more difficult –

because of the pain of permanence.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

It Leaves a Mark

There is a cost.

There is a commitment.

Love leaves a mark.

The cost is being more concerned about another person than you are about yourself.  What I want is not the most important thing when I love someone.

Commitment means loving this person even when they are unlovable.  Sometimes it means offering help and other times it means drawing boundaries.

Loving someone well takes a lot of energy and patience, wisdom and understanding.  Loving people well is a lot of work.  And it leaves a mark.

I have discovered that this mark doesn’t go away after someone we love dies.  This mark is permanent and never leaves us.

David Glasser, my son, was a Phoenix Police Officer who was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.  The mark he left was an unusual kind of love.  It was an outspoken love – a love that broke down some of the walls we can set up as adults.  He said ‘love you’ often and you knew he meant it by how he included you and had fun with you and was loyal to you.  You knew there was a commitment being made when he said ‘love you”, it wasn’t just something he said.

The mark he has left is big.  It changed us. Loving each other means more hugs.  More caring.  Saying it and showing it.

The cost is giving up some of our ‘separateness’ and reaching out to people around us. The cost is taking our eyes off of ourselves long enough to see someone else that needs a hug or a hand. The cost is letting other people love us, knowing that this love will leave a mark. It’s permanent.

The commitment is not giving up even when its tough or strange or even a little weird.  Yes, weird.  If you’ve been really trying to love others, you know what I mean.  The commitment is setting love as a priority and letting other things that we always used to think were important slide down the list.

If I were to draw a picture of the mark Davey has left on us, it would not be a heart.  It would be a magic wand.  Because love has magical qualities that cannot be explained.

Love transforms us.  Love brings light into the darkness.  Love soothes pain and sadness and loneliness.

Love like this has changed my world. It can change your’s, too.

Thank you for leaving your mark of love on us, Davey.

Miss you.

Love you.

Let’s Raise a Toast

Davey was always figuring out how to get a bunch of his friends together and have a good time.  He loved people – all kinds of people.  Unlike a lot of guys, he had a lot of friends and he kept in touch with them. He was the type of guy that would start talking to people while he’s waiting in the concession line behind them, and, by the time his turn came up, they would all be following each other on social media.  He was always aware of other people who didn’t seem to have friends and he would invite them to join his group. Several of you reading this probably experienced this.

David Glasser, my son, was a Phoenix Police Officer who was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.  His death had a big impact on our city because his life had a big impact on our city.  People from all over the city had met him and knew him.  Many of those were police officers and there were also large groups of people who knew him because he was a massive fan of the Cardinals and all ASU sports.  There were other sports fans who got to know him on social media and then became his friend.  He was born and raised in Phoenix so he had old friends all over the valley whom he kept in touch with.

I love to tell stories that give you an insight into his unique personality and personal style.  As you can imagine, Davey liked to have people over and have a good time.  So he needed a beer frig, right?  He always said beer was supposed to be kept cold – you shouldn’t have it sitting in your pantry or garage.  It just didn’t taste right unless it went from the store refrigerator to your refrigerator.

I kept hearing about his beer frig when I would visit Davey and Kristen after they were married.  I assumed it was an extra refrigerator stashed somewhere – I don’t usually drink beer so I never used it.

They built a house in Goodyear and I still heard about this beer frig.  I never really looked for it until one hot summer day when we were visiting Davey and Kristen, I decided I wanted a beer.  And Davey said they were all in the beer frig.  So I went out to the garage to look for this beer frig.  I had never seen it but I had never actually looked for it.

There was no beer frig in the garage.  So I came back in and asked where the beer frig was and my husband told me it was in one of the extra bedrooms.  I had not had any reason to go in there so I had never seen it.  I thought it was a little strange to have a refrigerator in a bedroom but, they had two extra bedrooms at that time so it made some sense.

I checked out both extra rooms and I didn’t see any refrigerator.  Now I’m wondering if they had been playing a joke on me all of these years, just waiting for me to take the bait. (This was just like Davey)  Maybe the ‘beer frig’ was actually the back shelf of their refrigerator or something.

I was growing a little perturbed at this point – getting a beer shouldn’t be this hard.  So I walked out and said, “Where exactly is this beer frig?”  My husband walked me back to one of the bedrooms and pointed to a brown box on the floor next to a pile of other stuff.  He opened the door of the tiny brown refrigerator and grabbed a beer for me.

I couldn’t stop laughing!

Davey had saved his teeny refrigerator from college days and that was the famous beer frig I had been hearing about for so many years!

Davey loved a good deal.  He was always using coupons and discounts and figuring out how to save a buck.  He used a coupon at the restaurant he and his date went to for Senior Prom.  He would buy Fry’s gift cards and then use them for his own groceries so that he’d get the double points for gas.  He had a coupon on every trip he made to Home Depot.

We now have Davey’s beer frig in our basement next to our wet bar.  We had friends over last weekend and they had a good laugh when they saw our ‘beer frig’. It’s over 25 years-old and its still working. Davey would smile if he saw how it is stuffed full of beer and in need of being defrosted – just like the old days. That small brown box brings back many good memories of an amazing young man who loved people – and who made good use of his tiny college refrigerator.

So, remember to raise a toast the next time you pop open a brew in memory of a great man, a loving son, a dedicated police officer and an awesome friend!

Miss you, Davey.

Love you!

The Bomb

A bomb exploded in my life on May 18, 2016.

My plans were made.  I was on a course for my life that had my son’s smile and laughter plastered all over it.

And then the bomb went off – sending my life onto a whole new trajectory.  My son, David Glasser, was a Phoenix Police Officer who was killed in the line of duty on Mary 18, 2016.

That day my life was thrown onto a path I never wanted to be on.  None of my former plans fit the journey I am on now.

I know I’m not alone.  There is a large group of us who were loving life with Davey when the bomb went off.  And now we find ourselves in this other world…..which is  darker….and has an obvious empty space,

Don’t tell me time heals all wounds.  This mother’s heart is broken and its not healing this side of heaven.

But….

here I am……

  • Putting Davey’s memorial bracelet on my wrist every morning – missing him, surprised that it’s been over 6 years since he was killed.  It feels like yesterday.  Except so much has changed. 
    • Everything has changed.
  • Blue has become my favorite color because it reminds me of Davey’s commitment to be a great police officer.  Many of my house decorations are now blue, my toenails are often blue and I’ve changed my Christmas decorations to mainly blue.
  • I’ve been retired for over 5 years and my retirement looks drastically different than I thought it was going to look 6 years ago.  It’s like I stepped into a different world, a place I would never have chosen.

About 6 months after Davey was killed, I was shopping and saw a small plate with ‘Embrace the Journey’ written on it.  I stood in that store in front of this plate for a long time.

Thinking……..

About the tragedy that had smashed my life and  the lives of so many people I love.

Thinking about the pain and the grief and the tears.

Now, 6 years later, I think about the awful road we have had to travel.  Parts of it have been straight uphill …. but we have traveled it together.

The last words Davey said to all of us were “Love you”.

I think about how that love has drastically changed this journey.

I have learned a lot about loving other people in these last 6 years.  I have learned a lot about what’s really important – and what’s not.  My heart has grown bigger as I reached out in love to the people moving forward with me on this very bumpy road.

It is definitely a journey. 

I am so glad that, standing in the store 6 years ago, I decided to ‘Embrace the Journey’.  God has placed me on this extremely tough road for a purpose.  He has walked closely beside me so far and I know he will give me strength and peace the rest of the way.

Of course I bought the dish.  At the end of each day, I place my wedding ring next to Davey’s memorial bracelet on it. My wedding ring changed after Davey was killed, too.  I added blue sapphires to it. 

Fallen but never forgotten.

Looking back, some days have been harder than others depending on the roller coaster of emotions the events of the day contained.  Sweet memories.  Sad losses.  One day might have many ups and downs and then the next is filled with gratitude for 34 years with Davey.  Each day I am reminded of my commitment to Embrace this Journey.

One day at a time.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.