Editorial introduction
In this post from John Cooley, a deeply painful incident becomes the starting point for a larger truth about police work and emotional survival. He reflects on the burden officers carry after traumatic calls and the quiet cost of pretending those experiences do not follow them home. It is the kind of insight that resonates most with those who have learned firsthand that professionalism does not cancel humanity.
While serving as a funeral coordinator for my department, I received a call-out late one night about an officer's teenage daughter who had committed suicide in their home. By the time I arrived, a patrol unit was there with two officers conducting a death investigation, along with a patrol sergeant. I introduced myself to the girl's father, the officers, and the sergeant, and began to provide some basic support services.
After a while, the coroner's investigator arrived, conducted his investigation, and removed the officer's daughter. After being there several hours, my job was completed. I made arrangements to return the next day to help the family with funeral planning. The patrol sergeant and the officers were also completing their investigation and ready to leave.
I went to the sergeant and asked how his officers were handling this very traumatic event. The officers didn't appear to have much time on the job and looked like they were probably just off probation. The sergeant said they were fine—that this was a good training experience for them. I asked if I could talk to them. He asked why. I replied that I just wanted to make sure they were able to cope with this very traumatic event: the suicide of a young teenage girl, a fourteen-year-old, and the daughter of a fellow officer.
His tone suggested he wasn't impressed with my concern and saw no need for anyone to interact with the officers. However, he said he didn't care if I went and spoke to them.
I met the officers at the street just as they had entered their car. I bent down to be at eye level with them and asked how they were handling the call. There was silence—that awkward pause when officers have been asked a question they obviously don't want to answer.
Then the driver said, in a very low voice, "Sarge, what a shitty call this was." After a moment, the passenger officer leaned over and said, "I have a little girl at home and I can't imagine that anything would be so bad in her life that she would kill herself." The driver continued—describing how this girl seemed to have everything: a nice home, a loving father. Her parents were divorced, but they apparently loved her and provided everything she needed. There was no note. No one could understand why.
I explained to the officers that they were both new to the job, that this was a learning experience—but that hopefully they had learned they are human, with human emotions about what happened to her. They both appeared to have feelings they wanted to express but couldn't while conducting the investigation. I asked if they wanted to join me for a cup of coffee. They declined.
I asked if they needed some time before going back out on patrol. To take a break and maybe talk to each other, since we had opened some doors. They asked if they could do that—would their sergeant approve?
I told them to take a break at the local coffee shop and log it as a supervisor's call, with my name as the initiating supervisor. I reminded them to stay alert for emergency calls, but that for a while they could sit and unwind. Maybe ask each other what they would share with their wives when they got home. Or whether they would share at all. I hoped they would.
While I was talking with the officers, their sergeant left the scene. He never came over to check on them, and I doubted he ever would.
All I wanted to do was help the officers accept their feelings—to understand that it's okay to be human. Yes, there is a proper time and place. But many times, they need to make time and find a place. I think it was fortunate they were both fairly new to the job. Had either of them been partnered with a senior officer, I don't know how the call would have been framed: "Good training—now suck it up and handle the next call," or whether someone would have acknowledged that it was a difficult call to work, with natural human feelings attached to it.
As a funeral coordinator, I often encountered situations where I realized people—many of them officers—needed permission or some help to express what they were feeling. They needed help making time and finding a place. But if I didn't give them that permission or help, who would?
It's okay to be human. It really is.
By John Cooley | Policefunerals.com