I am not a public defender.
I do not wake up each morning, and lace up my boots. I don’t wait for a radio to tell me the next location of some rational emergency happening in the surrounding community. I have never sat behind a computer preparing myself for when the phone rings, calming myself and my voice before the storm. I have not dispatched anyone to a loose dog, or a house fire, or a life alert button being pushed. I don’t carry a gun, I don’t call out license plates that look suspicious. I have no clue who sits behind bars waiting for trial, or know the roster of who has court today. I have not listened to my co-workers being attacked, knowing I was unable to help.
There are no major events in my life that I can pinpoint for depression. No scenes that I have run up on, gun drawn. No accidents that I have arrived at, not being able to help a dying victim. My children won’t gloat about what line of work I do. It will not be part of projects, or of meme’s shared around the internet. I have not walked on foreign land, following orders of the Commander In Chief. I have not witnessed anyone die, or been a shoulder to cry on for a stranger. I do not receive thank you cards from people addressed to my business place. I have never taken a parents child away from them. I don’t make the front page of the newspaper. Being ridiculed for my decisions by people I don’t know, for a law I didn’t write is never in my daily schedule. When I die, my funeral will not be surrounded with people of whom I do not know, the obituary having a gleaming report of my accomplishments.
But what I do is my own kind of important.
I listen for footsteps upstairs all through the night. I pay attention to my children crying, about nothing, multiple times a day. I make sure the oldest has socks, when he loses 15 pair. Our cupboards have food, fancy or not. I make sure the bills are paid, and when it seems impossible they all get paid, I find a way. I align our calendar, making sure we can be at every event, no matter how small or ridiculous it seems. I keep my schedule open, for when the ex’s find a way to shut our children out, we can be there. I pick up the endless mess around the house, even if it isn’t mine. I schedule pictures, and birthday parties. I make sure holidays are remembered, and an impossible number of sports and activities are signed up for. Clothes are washed and trash is taken out. Dinner is made making sure that each of the 5 breathing bodies in our house receive what they prefer.
I put on my decent clothes, while making sure the kids have done the same. I brush my teeth, double checking for the smell of fresh breath of 3 others. I style my hair, and cut theirs. I go to work. A work I love to do, even though the pay sucks, and the benefits are minimal. I just punch in numbers, and pick up the phone, but each of those numbers help people survive. I make sure that the individuals that can’t pay their bills, or brush their teeth, or shop for themselves have a way to do so. 53 sets of teeth I am in someway responsible for.
I am not a public servant, but my actions do matter.
*image taken by Miranda Young Photography*