"How I confronted the fear behind the memories"
https://cutt.ly/Mw8ByI14
The children were screaming, and their dad was at the top of the stairs waiting to put his boot in my face
As a police officer, I always seemed to be somewhere I wasn’t wanted, but this was particularly traumatic. The children’s parents were neglecting them, and social services needed our help.
When you remove children from their homes — even when their homes are terrible — they don’t thank you for it. They still love their parents, and you are tearing them away from everything they know.
The children were locked in a bedroom upstairs. Their father guarded the staircase. He promised to kick the first officer who ventured up the stairs in the head. I’d had enough and decided I would be first. He tried to kick me, but I deflected it, and he ended up on the floor in cuffs. I now had to kick down the bedroom door, knowing the children inside would be terrified.
After several kicks, the door opened, and I saw four children sobbing in the corner. The oldest was about five years old. We each picked one up and consoled them as best we could. We handed them over to the social workers and left.
As we left, the neighbors had come out to see what was going on and called us scum.
Despite such an emotional event, I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t rage, and I couldn’t show fear or weakness. The public relies on the police. We have to stay stoic. More calls awaited.
"The final straw."
Botting up my emotions came to a head on a night when I attended a double murder and suicide.
A woman and her baby had escaped her abusive husband and were staying in a safe house. After a few weeks, he found them. I saw the woman lying on the bed with her throat cut. Her baby had died from dehydration in the living room. Their killer had died from an overdose in the hallway
I had to guard the back of the house so journalists couldn’t creep around and get graphic photos of the crime scene. Yes, they are that vile.
https://tmtrcks.com/217789/1023