I saw my husband die today.

It started out like any other.  I was going out with friends, and your job continued keeping you away from anything social.  I remember the way your arm felt wrapped around me, cradling my waist ever so gently as you kissed my temple.  I smiled, and asked if you had any big plans that day.

“Nope, just more paperwork.”

That was your response.  Just paperwork.

Four friends surrounded me, laughing and joking about the bowling trip we had just taken and how I continue to suck at bowling every time we go.  We get dressed in our home, discussing the upcoming plans for the night, as you eat dinner and then call yourself back 10-8.  I walked out the door, listening to you get called out on the scanner to my left as I shut the door behind me following the four that had already made it to the car.

Sitting at the golf course enjoying the benefit we were attending, I watched an old high school friend as he placed cuffs on an aggressive woman in front of me, for an apparently minor charge not worth the fight.  I looked around wondering if you were somewhere there in the swarm of people mixed with  random men and women in blue, but figured you wouldn’t be without letting me know you were headed my direction first.

All of a sudden the mood of the venue changed.  People weren’t happy and I just sat back, knowing that eventually things would be under control. It was just some unruly women upset about ridiculous things, and it would surely get resolved.  But it didn’t, nothing remotely normal re-appeared today. Things were out of hand, I looked around knowing that in your position as chief you would be called in for this situation.  I noticed all of your friends, the ones I trusted to have your back when shit went down, the same ones that stood beside you on our wedding night.  Each one trying to tame an individual, each one dealing with someone fighting them for power, no one there to help any other officer.

And then I spotted you.  A woman wrestling you for your police issued rifle.  I watched, helpless from the sidelines as you fought to regain control.  In the blink of an eye, it  happened.

She fired the weapon aimed straight at you.

I ran.  No control over my movements, I ran.  I can still hear myself screaming over the crowd. My feet not touching the ground.  Screaming and running to your body laying in the street suffering as the woman took off.   I can see the look in your eyes, as you gasped for air, blood pouring out onto the concrete pavement.

Brown wavy hair, about 5’6″, red shirt and blue jeans. She ran.

It was the 6th dream I’ve had.  Sixth dream where I’ve watched the love of my life die.  Always with a bullet.  Always just out of reach.  Sixth different way I’ve woken up crying, thinking you were gone.  Six different killers, with faces I can’t bring to my memory.

This is why I can’t watch you walk around the corner downtown to get into your police truck after we eat lunch on a weekday.   Its the reason I watch you walk to your truck every morning, always watching for  someone behind the garage.  The reason I worry when you drive down a particular street.  Always with a bullet, always unexpected.  Always a dream.

I saw you die today, and then I watched you walk out the door to just do paperwork.




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