Meaning

Meaning

As I was typing this last week, all I had in mind was to write about a fun pursuit that I was recently in in.  Jacked adrenaline, reckless speeds all in a snowstorm, all that good jazz.  I even left my computer open as I went to work to remind myself that when I was home I needed to finish the writing that I started.  That won’t be the case this week.

You never know what’s going to happen.  Everyday I’m learning that more and more as I work the job, that it’s always best to be prepared for the unexpected.  On this particular day last week, I signed up for a Holiday overtime shift. I decided to get to the post a bit early to catch up on paperwork so that I could get as much road time in a possible.  By 11 P.M. my shift start, the “Blue goose (patrol  car)” as we call it, was affectionately steaming in the winter night, loaded and ready to go.

My partner and I had decided to stay in the post a bit longer before going out on the road.  I had just settled in my chair at 11: 15 when that hair raising emergency tone (See my last post for audio on it) that possibly freezes life itself went off in my ear.  “911 call, PI (personal injury) crash, I-94, mile marker 52. Unresponsive male, not breathing.”

I flew out of my chair with my partner hot on my heels.  We were probably less than a 2 minutes away. In my ear piece I heard my partner pipe up over the radio “County, 51, we’re headed that way from the post.”

Every crash scene is different, but as I’ve learned the job, I can usually tell right off the bat which ones are serious.  I got a sickening feeling in my stomach as I rolled up to the scene on the side of the interstate.  A blue semi-trailer was pulled off to the side of the road with his hazards on…about 50 yards up the highway was a crushed car about 25 yards off the highway on the “ditch side” of the road.   Our blue and red lights bounced off a man who was frantically waving his hands at us.  I could see the panic in his eyes.  My partner had already started for the medical kit and I sprinted towards the car.  As I got closer, I saw that this car was crushed on the back end with an individual slumped over the passenger seat.  The semi-driver was frantic on the shoulder side of the road, almost as if he couldn’t believe himself what had happened.  “I just didn’t see him man, he came up so fast, I just didn’t see him…”He started sobbing and walking back and forth along the highway. “Sir, get in your semi, get your seatbelt on, and stay there until I come and get you do you understand?” No sense in getting another person injured…The semi-driver, who was obviously in shock, looked at me and nodded on auto pilot as he retreated to the cab of his semi.  

It’s in panic moments again where I’ve learned that you have to remain calm, and establish some sort of sense to a situation.  By this time traffic had slowed to a crawl as onlookers stared.  My heart was pounding in my ears as I waded through snow to get to the vehicle.  As I got closer I saw that it was a male slumped over the vehicle.  One thing that I’ve noticed about myself when a chaotic scene takes place is that everything gets quiet on the inside for me, and I latch on to that.

As I turned this male over to examine him, lifeless ice blue eyes looked back into mine.  In that brief second I wondered who this man was, what he did for a living, and what his story was.  I glanced down checked for a pulse.  None…by this time my partner had arrived up to the car and broke out the medical kit.  Together we lifted him out of the car and onto a snowbank…It was there, on the side of Interstate 94, in 25 degree weather   that I gave CPR compressions for 8 minutes to try and save this man’s life until an ambulance arrived.  Those 8 minutes felt like an eternity. I’ll spare the details this time.

He died.

Now, I didn’t write this to tell you of a cool story, or for you to feel sorry for me, or any of that.  In fact, I write this as a challenge to you.

Every life has meaning.  Every  life that is lived has value.  Live a life that reflects your soul.  Live a life of abundance, joy and perseverance.  Every life should be a celebration of our fullest potential. 

Recently, I’ve decided to become a military nerd again and have been reading any book that I can get my hands on regarding combat, brotherhood, and the struggle to make it back home.  Several of these books include “American Sniper,” “Fearless,” and “Into the fire.”  In each book, it talks about a military service members sacrifice towards their fellow brother in arms, and their selflessness.  I’m always inspired by these stories of bravery.  It always inspires me and encourages me that life is not nearly as tough as I think it is.  But I always walk away from a book like that thinking “Wow, what an incredible life that they lived.”

We can get sucked into living a life for ourselves.  I’m guilty of this.  But what I’ve learned is that the more we help others, the more we live our life to its truest meaning and potential, the more our story is shaped into what we were created for. 

In the end, if you look back on your life, can you ask yourself “Has what I’ve done made an impact or difference in someone else’s life?”  If you can answer that question honestly, I think your grasping the idea.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future! – Jeremiah 29:11”

*I do apologize for the short post, since the case is still open.  I will make sure to write another one shortly*

Death

When there is an emergency in Van Buren County, dispatchers press a button at the dispatch center that sends out an emergency tone to every State, County, or Township car.  This emergency tone blares in every portable radio and car radio in the county.  I don’t know why, but the pitch is a high pitched warble that fluctuates between a piercing scream and an erie mournful  wail. The hair on the back of my neck stands up every time I hear it.  The tone itself can stop any one in their tracks…If I’m at the post when the tone goes out, I whip out my pen and start writing on my hand or whatever is closest.  If I’m driving in my State Police patrol car, regardless of if I’m on the highway or regular road I pull off to the side of the road and begin plugging in the coordinates on my computer.

On this certain day, myself and my partner were at the post at around 4:45 A.M on a Sunday  morning, doing report writing, gun cleaning, and doing a few odd things before our shift ended.  For a Saturday night, the night had been a steady flow of arrests and busy per usual.  I remember us both being exhausted as we set in doing our report writing at our respective computers.  However, the day shift wouldn’t check in for a couple more hours, so we were still the only car on in the two counties for the State.

I remember the emergency tone as it came through  my ear piece that was connected to my radio-that shrieking, screaming, wail and my hands froze mid typing.  The dispatcher on the end droned out “911 call of single vehicle into a tree,  unknown injuries,  called in by an off duty township firefighter.”

My partner radioed up our coordinates and waited for a response as we headed toward our already running patrol car.  We knew that jurisdiction issues would arise and we would be taking the crash.  “Van Buren to 51, looks like you’re going to be our closest car if you could head that way.  “En route from the post,” my partner responded.

It’s interesting when you’re dealing with high stress situations, you quickly find out what you’re made of.  As I activated our emergency lights and siren and screamed out of the parking lot into the darkness, my partner was calmly talking on the radio as if he were having a casual conversation with a friend.  Above the scream of the siren, the roar of wind, it’s impossible to hear anything, much less think.  I still was able to pick out certain details dispatch was telling us.  Car fire…unknown if occupied…  I looked at my speedometer…100 mph…110 mph…120 mph…130 mph…finally the 2010 bright blue Ford Crown Vic that we punished every night hit her final gear and settled into a cruise…. 130 mph was going to be the fastest we were going…Inwardly I cringed and wished we had a Dodge Charger as those hit 150 mph like it was an every day speed….every mph faster I went I figured would be a chance to save someone.

My adrenaline was rushing but on the outside I tried to not show it.  My partner and I were conversing of simple strategies.  “I’ll get the med kit, you get to the car.” “CPR and then stabilize.”  Already Van Buren advised us that fire and an ambulance were en route to the scene.  I covered 15 miles in a matter of minutes…As we rolled up on the scene, a dark county road, my brain processed everything in real time.   Our emergency lights danced off the canopy of trees that were overhead, and off to the right side of the road around a single tree, I saw a metal object-twisted, charred, and disfigured.   Small flames licked around a metal object that was completely wrapped around the base of a 2 foot tree.  There was smoke everywhere, as if someone had set off one of those fog machines that football players run through.  I flicked off my siren and left my lights on as to alert others to our location. 

“Van Buren County, this is 51, you can show us on scene.”  My partner and I rushed up to the car, our blue and red lights from our patrol car penetrating through the smoke.  Through the smoldering smoke I could barely make out anything inside.  The heat coming off the vehicle was incredibly hot. Everything inside the car was black and cooked, like the inside of a grill catastrophe.  The vehicle was completely wrapped around this small, 2 foot tree, like a bow around a Christmas gift.

The first thing I smelled was something burning…it took a minute, but I figured it out… burning flesh.  It’s a smell that is unmistakable.  It’s thick, and hangs in air, penetrating and clinging to everything that it comes in contact with.  I braced myself as I worked from the front of the car around to the trunk.

The second thing that I felt was death.  I eventually located the body, pinned back in the trunk.  The impact had caused the driver to get pushed through the backseat and into the trunk.  My brain couldn’t grasp how forceful of an impact it was.  The body was burned badly, and the only thing I could make out was bleached white ribs and teeth…it’s like it wasn’t a real human being, like a body from the TV show “Bones.”  Immediately I grabbed onto that thought.  “It’s not real.”

My partner in the meantime had confirmed for himself what I had already discovered.  He ripped the license plate off the vehicle and after the scene was secure with fire, ems, and other police officers, we went to track down, identify, and notify whoever it was in the vehicle.  My bright orange medical kit was in the front seat, mocking me as I looked at it.  I threw it into the trunk and slammed the lid shut.  Frusturation had set in for both of us.

The actual crash site in the daylight

The vehicle license plate came back to a house less than 3 miles away.  “They were three miles away from home…what a cruel joke.”  Outwardly my partner and I knew it was a job we had to do.  We tried to joke with each other as we had in many circumstances as we drove to the house.  This was different.  No jokes could cover this one.  The home whose driveway we rolled into was modest.  Nothing special.  One thing I did notice was several vehicles in the driveway.  My partner cussed aloud.  I felt his frusturation.  After spending over an hour and a half at the scene, emotionally exhausted, we knew were about to deal with a ton of family.

Inside I was heavy hearted.  At 6 A.M. we were about to deliver news on someone’s front door that someone was gone from this world.  The door opened to a middle aged man in his 50’s.  His face was marked with confusion. “Sir, can we come in and talk to you?” He cordially invited us into his living room, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Inwardly I could still smell the smoke and burning flesh on my uniform. 

“Do you know a Diego Rodriguez?” His face was marked with confusion. “Yes, that’s me.” My partner shot a glance at me and I shot a look back at him. “Ummmmm, what do we do now?”

“Sir, who was driving your car last night?”

 “My daughter.” 

“Is she here?”

“She went out last night, let me check.”

He left and trudged to a nearby room and knocked on the door.  “Maria, the cops want to talk to you.”

Inwardly I prayed for a response…”Maria!?”

A few moments later a college aged girl rushed from the room, on full alert.

“What happened!” She gushed out. “Ma’am, who was driving the vehicle last night.”

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I watched her frantically call her boyfriend who had dropped her off a few hours earlier.   She explained that she had received a text from him saying that he was only a few minutes away from home.  

By this time, 5 other siblings, a set of grandparents, an uncle, and both parents were all sitting down in the living room with solemn looks on their faces as they watched their family member frantically call every person she knew was with him.  Every report came back “No, he’s not here, he said he was going to your house.”

She crumbled to the ground sobbing, clutching the phone to her chest as my partner told her that her boyfriend was dead.  Her family members all sat in shock,  3 of her siblings holding her as she wailed.  I still remember those cries.

Next we had to track down his family and inform them.  We gave the girlfriend strict instructions to not contact the family until we had notified them.  As we pulled into the driveway, the sun was just coming up. My partner pulled over the car.  His face was grim. I already knew… “Don’t worry man I’ll do this one.”  I told him. He nodded and put the car back in drive.  Even in hairy situations, we had always maintained a pretty good attitude about things.  This one for some reason had sunk in with both of us.

 I remember the 4 stairs I climbed felt like an eternity.  I remember knocking on the door and meeting another 45, proud looking, man with jet black hair.  He already knew something was wrong.  “He didn’t come home last night,” he told me in a soft tone, that had an accent to it.  “Is he ok.”  As he spoke these words, I knew that he knew that his son was dead.  A thousand, charged, non-verbal communication signals were going back between us in those three to five seconds.  I’m sure the look on my face said it all.  They teach you on death notifications, to be straight to the point.  So I was.  My heart broke for him. “No he is not. I’m sorry sir, but your son, Jamie, is dead.” 

A father’s love for his son was on full display as this man cried on his hands and knees on his porch.  As we pulled away, I remember thinking that the worst feeling in this world was being a parent and having to bury your own child.

I wanted to destroy my uniform as I came home midafternoon.  I could still smell the burning flesh.  I was exhausted and mentally drained.  I took a shower and went to bed.  I ended up staring up at the ceiling for 3 hours replaying the body, cries, and the pain that these family members displayed.  I remember thinking “Someone just died, and I can’t even show any emotions.”  Frustrated with myself, I went to the gym and took it all out on a set of weights and a 7 mile run.  Still nothing.  I had no feeling left, I was numb. I showered again, ate and tried to sleep. Nothing.  This process continued.  I was awake for two days straights while my brain processed it all.

Peace was only achieved when the good book was opened.

“Hebrews 4:16-Let us then approach God's throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.”

That was the first verse I read two days later and the last one too; as I passed out for 12 hours straight in deep sleep.