Tag: police officer line of duty death

The Pain of Permanence

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 older brother.

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 7 times. I know what Christmas and Mother’s Day and Father’s Day are like without Davey.

I know the heartbreak behind the smiles when we celebrate 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.  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 new life, a new reality, a new normal. I’ve been writing a book about my journey of surviving Davey’s death and it’s bittersweet. The sweet part is all of the great memories I have with Davey – fun times, lots of laughs. The bitter part is all we have lost, the extreme grief, the impossible reality of living without him.

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 goes away.  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 –

the pain of permanence.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

On By Judy GlasserIn When the Worst Happens10 Comments

His Final Words

I am painfully reminded almost every day how short life can be.  How quickly things change – permanently.

My son, David Glasser, was a Phoenix Police officer who was killed over 6 1/2 years ago.  He was doing his job just like he had done every day for 12 years.  But on May 18, 2016, his life ended.

The worst happened.

Those of us who were left behind will never be the same.  Our worlds blew up and the emotional fall-out continues.  Every time I visit Davey’s spot in the cemetery, I am reminded of  all the families whose heroes are buried in the same area and are on this painful journey with us. 

It’s a struggle.  Some of my steps moving forward really hurt.

If you’ve been reading this blog, you know that the last thing Davey said to everyone that he cared about was “love you”.  He even said it to his squad members and waited until they said it back.  It has been such a blessing for us to have that last ‘love you’ echoing through our heads as we deal with the grief and loss of Davey’s death.

If you have been reading this blog, you may also know that one of the things I wish Davey had done was write me a final letter I would receive if he didn’t come home one day.  It would be something I could get out to read over and over again on the dark days when I need some encouragement.  I have now written letters to everyone who is dear to me in my life and they will receive it after I’m gone. I’m going to date them and write another one every ten years or so if I stay on this planet for a while longer.

I know Davey loved me.  He and I thought alike so we didn’t have to say a lot to communicate how we felt about each other.  Now, I would really love to have some of that written down in a letter.

So imagine my amazement when I was recently searching through our small document safe that holds our important ‘stuff’ and I found an envelope with Davey’s handwriting on the outside.  In the envelope is a list written in Davey’s handwriting.  The bottom of the page says, “Sunday School 1999.”

He was 18 years-old.

He had written what he thought his life would be like “40 years from now”.  He gave a couple of options of what he wanted as a career and one of them was ‘police officer’.  He described the woman he would marry, how many kids he wanted, and his desire to continue to grow his relationship with God and be active in a church family.

It’s amazing to me that I kept this.  It’s definitely a God-thing. I’m an anti-hoarder so I’m very selective of the things I choose to keep. The number of old things I’m willing to move and store goes down as the years progress.

I shared the list Davey had written with my husband and Kristen because this is as close to a letter as we’re going to get.

I have discovered that this list encourages me.  It reminds me of Davey and sparks great memories of how his eyes would light up when he talked about his plans and dreams.

He didn’t have 40 more years.  But reading this list makes me so grateful that we took full advantage of the 16 more years he had at the point when he wrote this.  No regrets.  We had 34 awesome years with him here on earth and that’s going to have to be enough until we see him again in heaven.

Thank you for the letter, Davey.

Miss you.

Love you!

On By Judy GlasserIn When the Worst Happens2 Comments

Look Up!!

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 of duty on May 18, 2016.  Those of you who knew him realized that he was unique – he blended integrity and faith with loving people and having a great time in an unusual way.  My husband and I lived 1 1/2 miles away from Davey the last 5 years of his life so we got to spend a lot of time with him and his family. We were very close.

And suddenly – without warning – Davey was gone.

Every day, I am reminded of just how much of the light and joy in my life went with him.

Once a year, as a memorial to Davey, a group of our family and friends visit his spot in the cemetery and release balloons into the sky.  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.

Every year, as our balloons covered with messages of love rise high into the sky and finally disappear, I am reminded that this is what I need to do.  Look up.  And I invite those of who have experienced a huge loss in your life to join me.

I look up and see the sun shining on all of the blessings God has given me that are still here.

I look up and remember how important sharing messages of love and encouragement are to those of us left behind.

I look up and 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 my journey since Davey was killed and I have decided to name the book I’m writing, “Then I Looked Up”. The subtitle is Losing a Child, Finding His Legacy of Love. We are on target to publish it in March and it may be possible to pre-order it.

You will be the first to know!

As this first month of 2023 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.

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When There’s No Tomorrow

The pain is burned into my memory.

The grief is deeply etched into my soul.

That day – the day my son, David Glasser who was a Phoenix Police Officer, was killed in the line of duty.  May 18, 2016.

It’s the day when my life as I knew it exploded.  All my expectations for the future had Davey in them so it was all ripped away, leaving a huge, hurting hole in my life.  After almost seven years, I know that nothing will ever fill that hole.

I totally understand why people like me get stuck in a pit of despair.  I’ve been there.  I was violently pushed into a deep, dark place of grief by Davey’s death …. and I wanted to stay there.  Clutching his smile, his jokes, his integrity, and his love for others close to my heart, I didn’t want to move.  The dark felt good and right – my shattered heart felt right at home.

But my head knew that – somehow – I was going to need to crawl out of that pit.  I knew I could not let myself get stuck there.

With God’s help, I moved toward the light.  One step at a time.  Some days my steps went backwards but I was moving.  I made myself look up instead of back and, when I looked up, I saw my two little grand darlings – Davey’s children – who needed me.  I saw my daughter and husband who needed me.  I saw other family members and friends who needed me.  There is a reason I was still here and it was not to stay in that dark, terrible, but somehow comforting pit.

Looking back I realize that lying under the need to stay in the pit was a numbing fear that, if I moved forward, I would leave Davey behind.  That hasn’t happened.  All of my love and memories of him have moved forward with me.  He was and is and always will be a part of me.  He’s not here but he’s not gone.

For Davey, there are no more tomorrows here on earth but those of us left behind have important tomorrows where we need to be engaged and loving and – somehow – find hope again.  It’s the hope that only faith in God can give.

So the challenge for me and for you is to love others around us like there is no tomorrow because, someday, there won’t be.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

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They Don’t Know

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How could they possibly know?

I just heard it again. Several different people who have lost a child have shared with me that a person in their lives has said to them something like “you’re still crying about that?”

Unbelievable.

This is a critical, mean and unhelpful thing to say to anyone who is grieving – especially someone who has lost a child.

Only those of us who have lost a child understand that the painful hole in our lives doesn’t go away. My son, David Glasser, was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016. Birthdays, holidays, and special family times touch the broken pieces of my heart every year. It doesn’t matter how many years ago it happened. It doesn’t heal. In some ways it gets harder because he is missing more and more. He was supposed to be here.

Losing a child is different from losing a grandparent or a parent. We always expected that there would be a time in our lives when our parents were going to be gone. But our children were supposed to go to our funeral, not the other way around.

When we lose a child we lose their whole future. All their goals and dreams are ripped away, leaving an emptiness that doesn’t stop aching in our souls.

How could anyone who has not lost a child know how it feels? It would be great if people would just not say anything if they didn’t have something compassionate and understanding to say. Unfortunately, our culture is breeding a large number of people who think they should say whatever they want to say, even when its inappropriate and they don’t know anything about the situation.

Can you tell that it upsets me to think of someone saying “are you still crying about that” to a parent who has lost a child? I have a direct personality and that may be the reason why none of the people who say things like this has had the guts to say it to me. They’re not sure they want to hear what I would say back to them.

Actually, my response would be, “I’m glad you don’t know what losing a child feels like. I’m glad you haven’t experienced a loss so great that you are reminded of it every day of every year for the rest of your life. I hope you never know what it’s like. But, if it ever happens to you, I will not say ‘Are you still crying about that’. Because then you will understand.”

And I will want to say, “It would be a good idea to keep your mean, critical thoughts about something you know nothing about to yourself.”

But I won’t say it.

How could they possibly know?

I’m Excited

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Are you wondering how my book is going?

Several months ago I told you I was writing a book about my journey of surviving the death of a child. My son, David Glasser, was a Phoenix Police Officer who was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.

The book is about halfway edited and on target to be published sometime in March. I’m excited to see what God is going to do with it.

The working title (it may change) is “Picking Up the Pieces – the story of one parent finding hope in their worst nightmare. Here is my picture for the back of the cover. I’m glad I got the picture taking done – it’s definitely not my favorite part of this process.

I have two main prayers for this book. First, that it will help parents who have lost a child find hope and not feel so alone. Second, that God will draw people closer to him through my story.

The fact that I have been blogging about this journey for the last 6 years has been a big help in remembering the wide spectrum of feelings I have experienced. I wasn’t prepared, however, for the overwhelming emotions that came from writing it all down. There are many parts of my story that I never included in a blog. Blogs are more of a ‘thought’, so some of my experiences never fit.

Losing a child is the worst thing that can happen to a parent. I never imagined that this would happen to me. I realized early on that God was writing this story in my life and someday I would be putting it in a book.

This book.

He gave me a purpose for the pain.

Peace

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Seven hundred years before he was born, God gave Isaiah this beautiful prophecy about Jesus Christ. (9:6)

It all came true –

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given.”

Thank you, God, for giving us your son. Thank you for sending Jesus who has opened his arms wide to the entire world, offering salvation and love.

“and the government will be on his shoulders.”

We know Jesus rules the world, Father, with truth and grace. He is in control. Everything that happens comes through his hands. In both the good and the bad times, we say ‘thy will be done’.

“and he will be called Wonderful Counselor,”

Thank you for being my Wonderful Counselor, Jesus. You have always been there for me, especially these last 6 1/2 years since my son was killed in the line of duty. You have comforted me and guided me on this very dark path of grieving the death of child.

“Mighty God,”

Thank you for always being my Mighty God. I have watched you do the impossible this last 6 1/2 years as you have started putting the broken pieces of my life back together. My world looks very different and I’m claiming your promise that you are working all things out for my good.

“Everlasting Father,”

Thank you for being my everlasting Father. You have been my rock during the most horrific storm of my life. I was shaken, I was lost. You never shook. You always knew the way.

“Prince of Peace”

Thank you for bringing peace back into my life. I trust you with whatever happens to me, now and in the future. I rest in your love and grace.

Thank you for the gift of your son, Abba Father.

The Most Difficult Time of the Year

Each day, as we get closer to Christmas, the hole in my heart grows a little bigger,

and a little darker.  The pain becomes a little stronger.

It becomes increasingly harder not to focus on what I have lost.  What my family has lost.

David Glasser, my son, was a Phoenix Police Officer who was killed in the line of duty May 18, 2016.  My journey since then has been a uphill struggle.  And this struggle intensifies during the holidays when happy memories haunt my days.  Davey is 7 in this picture and our daughter, Katie, is 3.  They were both so excited about Christmas!

Sometimes I just wish the holidays were over.

I know many of you share my feelings.  Since I’ve had this very public and tragic loss in my life, more people have been telling me about their own heartbreaks and the losses they have experienced.  And others haven’t talked about it but I can see the private pain in your eyes when we talk about my tragedy.

We both know the struggle, we share the struggle – especially at Christmas.

So I force my attention away from my loss and focus on all the blessings God is giving me right now –  my four granddarlings are at the top of that list.  They are so precious and they distract me from thinking about who is NOT here.

One of the several life-changing lessons I have learned from this tragedy is just how short our lives can be and how quickly someone can be gone.  The painful grief I feel reminds me that I need to make the most of the time I have now with the people that are still here.  This is not the time to get stuck in yesterday.  I have new memories to make because there is no guarantee that we’ll have tomorrow together here on earth.

My heartache also reminds me that you and I shouldn’t ignore the difficult days that so many people around us are experiencing this time of year.  I read that this week of Christmas has the highest rate of suicide across our nation.

That is so wrong.

So I pray for those of us who are feeling additional pain and loss during this tough season.  And I am trying to be extra patient and kind to people in my world this week – on the freeway, at the store, in the parking lots.  Many of them are going through hard times and I don’t want to add to the difficulties they have in their lives.

Can each of us think of a way we can reach out helping hands to others who are not enjoying ‘the most wonderful time of the year’?

And please join me in praying for a little more peace on earth during this holiday season.  We need it.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

On By Judy GlasserIn When the Worst Happens6 Comments

It’s a Quadruple Whammy

This will be my 7th Christmas without my son, David Glasser.  He was a Phoenix Police Officer killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.

If you have experienced loss, you have probably heard this many times – “the first year without them is the worst”. Crowds of people told me this during that first Christmas season after Davey’s death.  And, yes, it was very tough.   The Christmas season lasted forever.  It was hard to be around so many smiling people who were celebrating and having a fun time.  I was not having a fun time.  My smiles were few and far between.  I felt a huge amount of relief when that first holiday season was finally over.

So I was hoping that what people told me was true and the coming years would be better.  It surprised me when the second Christmas was even more painful than the first as the permanence of the situation started to become a reality.  The permanence of the pain has become increasingly real during the 3rd,  4th , 5th and 6th years of living with the growing hole where Davey should be.

This will my 7th Christmas without Davey – and it’s happening again.  It’s my Quadruple Whammy.

One punch, two punches, three punches and then – the final punch.

The first punch is Davey’s son, Micah’s, birthday in the beginning of November.  I still don’t want to believe that Davey will never be at any of Micah’s birthdays, graduations, wedding, or hold his own grandchildren.  We have lost so much.

Next comes Davey’s birthday in November – a couple of weeks after Micah’s.  It was his 41st birthday this year – full of great memories laced with the pain.  He should have had 60 more birthdays.  We have all been robbed.

The third punch is Thanksgiving.  There are times when I struggle to say, “Happy Thanksgiving” to people.  For me, it’s compounded by the fact that my father died on Thanksgiving 44 years ago.  I ride an emotional roller coaster up and down during November.

And then the final whammy – Christmas.  So many great Christmas’ with Davey!  He was a light in my life and now it’s hard to ignore the darkness.  So I focus on how grateful I am for the birth of God’s son, Jesus, my Savior.  Jesus is the light of the world and the hope he gives me lights up the dark places in my life.

I’ll just say this right out loud for me and for people like me – I’ll be glad when New Years Eve is over and another holiday season is past.  I feel pretty beat up by the time January rolls around.

People like me are called Survivors.  I’ve spent over 6 years so far learning just how much surviving goes into this.  Every year, we have to ‘survive’ the holidays and birthdays and other special days.  We never know when something is going to reach out of a perfectly normal celebration and punch us in the gut.  It comes out of nowhere and spins us into the dark hole of grief we had hoped we left behind.

You have heard this from me before and you are hearing it again because it’s still true.  I have discovered that the best way for me to survive and deal with the whammies is to focus on all the good I had in my life before Davey was killed and all the good I still have.  When I focus on all I have lost, the pain intensifies.

I have also decided to get as close to God as I can and he comforts me each time my heart breaks a little more.

Because my quadruple whammy is not going away.  It’s happening again this year.

Miss you, Davey. 

Love you.

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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 remember gradually realizing 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.

I remembered 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.

I laid face 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 gradually getting used to living with the hole – some days are harder than others.

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

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

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