He's Mine

"You don’t know him like I know him….

You got the surface.

I got the deep. 

You got the jokes. 

I got the belly laughs. 

You got the small talk. 

I got the conversations. 

You got the smiles. 

I got the stares.

You had a minute. 

I had a lifetime. 

You had the pieces. 

I had all of him."

In the beginning, I wrote a lot. When I say a lot I mean every writable surface around my house had some random scribbles about me or him. All the twists and turns of the insane rollercoaster I was riding every day. I remember feeling so defensive and territorial. These deaths are public and that can make things impersonal. Strangers talking about him like they knew him. News stories, some respectful, some not, plastering his face everywhere. Logistics and business to take care of immediately. Just a name on a death certificate now. Even people who did know him reaching for any moment they had. It all irritated me. Yes, he talked to you about his day. He waved to you as you passed. He pulled you over one time. So many little impressions he left on this world. But I had all of him and he had all of me. The long drawn out posts about him. It annoyed me. Not because people had memories with him, but because they could encompass it all so quickly. I could write every day for the rest of my life and still feel like I can’t justly capture what we had. It’s so complex and powerful. Everyone else had a glimpse, but I had every sweet moment. I don’t ever want to lose them.

I think when you lose someone this way you are grasping at any little piece you can find. I was looking everywhere for him. Driving my car aimlessly at night. Staring at my wall for hours. I needed all of him to come and save me, there was nothing left for anyone else to have. He was not just a cop, a hero, a martyr. He was a person. My person. I feel guilty for feeling that way in the beginning, but I also think it is a normal and natural part of the grief progression. Now I love it when people want to speak or write about him. I get it. We all want to feel close to his magic. We want to honor him. People want to relate his story to their own life and use it to better themselves. I see that now and I appreciate it.

When I found this little poem I wrote, I realized it is exactly how I have been feeling about the trial. Guarded and protective over what was mine and what was taken from me. It’s funny how these emotions tend to come back around when things get hard again. Every time I leave that courtroom, I feel violated and vulnerable. Death is intimate and personal. When you think about your death, you want to be holding your loved one’s hand. You want it to be peaceful. I should have been next to him. He should have been 80 surrounded by his children. Not alone on the concrete at 31. I don’t want it played out for people in a courtroom. I don’t want it to be a spectacle. I don’t want people’s opinions or arguments. This should not be yours to have. It should be mine. I wanted all of him forever. He was my person. Not yours. He was mine. I want him protected from all of it. I know I can’t do that. But I want to. I want to keep him safe like he always kept me. One day this will all be over and I can have him back. No matter where life takes me, I know he will always be mine.