DRT

As a dispatcher, one thing you never ever want to hear is that your officer.....whether it's your conservation, your troopers, your ems, your city pd, your deputy, or your sheriff....."has been hit," or "officer down."   These are your "guys."  These are members of your family.  Like it or not, that's how it is.

As a dispatcher, our main goal is to get our guys home after each shift.  Nobody...and I mean nobody...wants to make that call to the spouse and nobody wants to be on the receiving end of that call either.

One week ago from tonight, I was working the 4-midnight shift and nothing in particular was going on in my area.  The radios were hammering out their usual mindless chatter when all of a sudden, I heard a familiar voice.  A friend, and fellow dispatcher from Taylor County.  The crack in her voice not only caught my attention, but it caught the attention of my jailer, Beth.  We both stopped what we were doing and started listening. 

Something was wrong.  Something was really wrong.  There was just something about her voice.  I learned shortly that there was a high speed chase going on and she was very very emotional.  I had no clue, at this point, why; because it always gets my blood pumping and I get very excited about the details and events. 

This was no ordinary high speed chase.  It seems this guy, Rodney Long, escaped in the wee morning hours on Friday, from a minimum security lodge in Clarinda.  He waited until headcount was taken and away he went.  Over a fence and gone when he could have just walked...or ran...out a door or two and had the same result.  Anyway, from what I have read, he committed a burglary and stole a gun in that area after his escape.  Then he was nowhere to be found.

I don't know about you but if I were in that situation, I would have gotten myself out of that area and FAST!  But that's just me.  I pray that I am never in that situation to begin with.  This guy, Long...well he had different plans, I guess.  Because it took him, basically, from 4am Friday until 11:45ish pm to go roughly 16 miles.  He was on foot, I realize that.  I can even walk faster than that and I'm fat.  Not 144 lbs. soaking wet!  Oh well, whatever.

Someone spotted a man walking alongside Highway 2 and called him in so that he could be checked out.  I will just go out on a limb and say that the call was made BECAUSE there was an escape from Clarinda.  So the dispatcher tells her deputies and they head that way. 

Now...at this point, I know nothing.  Until Mary talks in that voice that relayed to everybody in radio-land, something was very very wrong.  As she gives the other responding officers, information about where this guy is at, I am wondering....."How does she know this?  How does she know every road he is turning on?"  I know they have GPS in their patrol vehicles so I chalk it up to having someone behind him.  Whiiiiiiiiich turns out wasn't the case at all. 

I was set upon staying at work until this chase came to an end.  I heard my nephew out there and well...I don't get to hear him very much on the radio, so it gave me reason to smile.  If only for a short while.  And I wanted to make sure he was ok.  So, I got on the 911 map and followed them on every road they went on.  It was quite a chase.  I think the dude got totally lost because he turned around in the same area a couple of times.  About 10 after midnight, I hear that the vehicle went in the ditch so I stop holding my breath and head home.

As I am brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed, I get on Facebook only to see status after status, from my hometown friends, talking about this chase that is going on.  Of course, I assumed it was over since he wrecked but it seems it wasn't.  And it wasn't long after that, that I was told a deputy had been shot.  Now that hit hard and fast.  That isn't supposed to happen in small towns.  That isn't supposed to happen to the "family."  I laid in bed and read post after post, reading anything I could find about what was going on.

"Lock your doors."
"Don't go out driving around."
"I am getting my guns out."

Now that made it so surreal.  I contemplated getting in the car and going down to help at the office but knew after being up all day and night, I needed to get SOME sleep before going.  And I was worried about being in the way.  So I eventually drifted off to sleep.  When I awoke...about 2 hours later...I immediately scolded myself. 

"How could you go to sleep Shellie???  Daniel has been shot.  Shot!  You don't need to sleep.  Josh is out there.  ALL those guys are out there.  You need to be awake and strong in case anything else happens.  You need to do something to keep busy.  You need to get to Bedford."  This was 4am.  I was so tired but felt so bad for Dan and his family.  I found out that he had been life-flighted but knew nothing else. 

And that's when all those memories come back.  I remember when Daniel was a baby, playing at the flower shop his parents owned.  I remember when he was just starting school.  I remember him growing up with my nephews.  Daniel is as much "Bedford" as any of the rest of us.  But I wasn't counting him out.  No way, no how.  I know he's good at his job and I know he wears a vest.

So I tossed and I turned.  Then I turned some more.  I got out of bed at 6am and did my dishes, straighted up the house, got laundry started and then got myself ready to go southbound.  I sent a text to sister Cindy asking her if I should come down or if I would be in the way.  No answer.  I was gone.  Halfway there, she sent me a text saying to come down if I wanted to.  Almost there sis.  Almost there.

So, for those of you that don't know.  Here's what happened.  Daniel got out of his truck to talk to this guy that was walking, only to be shot by this d-bag.  Said d-bag then took Daniel's truck and took off.  Luckily for Daniel, his back-up Eric, was right behind him and got him in his car and took off.  He radioed in and told dispatch that Daniel had been hit.  It was immediately after this transmission that we heard that dreaded dispatcher voice.

The chase resulted in Long wrecking Daniel's truck.  Then he took off on foot.  That was the part I missed.  He ran into a cornfield and from there, the manhunt began.  Homes, garages, sheds, any and all out-buildings being searched top to bottom.  They had, not only, all surrounding county deputies there but some from two to three counties out, present and involved.  They had DCI there.  ISP was there.  Missouri deputies in attendance.   Nebraska doing fly-overs.  It was amazing and awe-striking to see them all working together.  Walking, running, driving, searching, flying. 

And for just a little bit, I got to be part of it.  I got to help field phone calls, to relaying information, to assisting anybody coming in the front door.  It was either complete chaos or it was completely silent and to tell you the truth, I think the chaos was better.  Because it didn't give anybody time to think about what was going on.  It kinda made the pain of wondering how Daniel was, not so hurtful.  I don't even work for this county and I was madder than hell at this man.  I wouldv'e gladly shot him for shooting "one of mine." 

For that day and night, everybody and their brother was going armed and locking themselves in their homes.  I prayed and prayed for Daniel.  For his family.  For all the law enforcement involved.  I prayed for this shooter because I knew that if anybody outside of police came into contact with him, he was a goner.  I just wanted him in custody.  I wanted him to pay for what he had done.  But I wanted to shoot him.  Sorry if that's confusing but that's how I was feeling.  I think I felt like most anybody else that night/day. 

Conflicting emotions all the way around. 

I have known Daniel's parents my entire life and my heart went out to them.  What an awful phone call to get.  I prayed for them.  I prayed for his wife and young family.  I prayed that Mary, the dispatcher on duty when this happened, would be able to get a little sleep while this mess was going on.  I prayed that my sister, who was up all night and all day, would be able to sleep when she finally got a chance to lay down.  I prayed that all of my family and friends in the area, stayed inside and safe.  Even the ones that don't like me.  I don't wish people dead.  Usually.

Except for Rodney Long. 

One part of me wished he would be taken into custody so he could see the people that he hurt.  So he could pay.  Because if he died, that would be too easy.  And another part of me wished someone would just blow him away.  Into a million pieces.  So we wouldn't have to look at the animal that didn't think twice about putting a bullet into one of our own.  So the taxpayers didn't have to pay to feed and house this animal.

Today I still pray for Daniel and hope that he makes a complete recovery and is back to work ASAP.  I also keep his wife in my prayers because it can't be easy being the wife of a cop.  I don't care who you are, it has to be stressful.  I pray for the dispatchers that have to worry about getting their own home each day and night.  I pray for the family of Rodney Long.  Because they thought this guy was "just" a common prisoner.  Just like Otis from Mayberry. 

As I have always been told, "Otis is the one that will get you."

To finish out the story, for those that don't know...Long broke into a farmhouse in the area on Monday night and held a couple hostage in their own home for four hours, while he talked on the phone and God knows what else.  It seems the man of the house is a retired prison guard.  And he ended up shooting Long.  DRT.  Good job Jerry.  You are definitely on My Gift list this year!  If I knew how to make you a medal, I sure would. 

How fitting is it that he died at the hands of an ex-prison guard anyway?  I think it's an AWESOME story!

And I pray for that couragous couple.  Jerry and Carolyn.  That did what they had to do and when given the opportunity, did what was necessary to save their own lives.  You are heros to many of us.  And I pray for you daily as well.

Until next time.....stay safe and stay strong.  Thanks for reading!

Saying goodbye is hard enough...

We said goodbye to Grandpa Henry this week.  He passed away on Thursday with all of his grandchildren around him.  Well….the ones that cared enough to be in his life.  Some of the spouses were there as well.  I was there.  I didn’t want Quintin to go through that alone.  His Grandpa was like his dad in most ways.  Grandpa gave him direction and advice.  Good advice.  Not that “have another drink, she’ll get prettier,” stuff that his birth dad would give him. 

 As we went through the funeral planning stage, the visitation stage and right down to the service stage, I counted my blessings.  Over and over.  For having parents that didn’t give up on me.  For having  so many loving people in my life, as I was growing up, that didn’t walk away.  That didn’t tell me I don’t have a home to come back to.  That didn’t raise their hand to beat me.  That didn’t push me down a flight of stairs.  Didn’t whip me until I had scars and was bleeding.  I thank God that my parents entrusted me with friends…..good friends…..that didn’t want to do ugly things to me.  No, my parents never once turned their backs on me. 

That’s not to say they didn’t get angry with me and some of the stupid things I did.  There was one time in my life that my parents didn’t talk to me for a few months.  That just about killed me.  But it didn’t.  And we came back to each other stronger than ever.  Sometimes you just have to let bygones be bygones.  Forgive…even if you don’t forget. 

Grandpa and Grandma have two daughters that have chosen to walk out of their lives.  They did that eleven years ago and never once looked back.  They were invited to Thanksgiving dinners, Christmases, family gatherings…but chose to stay away.  Chose to snub their noses at the people that gave them life.  Gave them a meaning in this world.  And would have given them anything they could have given.  These girls took pride in letting people know they didn’t speak to their parents and even let their spouses treat Grandpa and Grandma like crap.  Even in public.

The only exception to their parents giving them anything they could, was that the daughters wanted their parents to hand over their hearts and let them control who they could love and who they couldn’t.  Grandpa and Grandma couldn’t do that.  They were asked to walk away from their Grandson.  Could you walk away from your own Grandchild simply because of some bad choices they made?  And by walk away, I mean NEVER have anything to do with them again.  Disown.  Could you do that with an honest heart? 

I don’t have children but I know this much.  If I had a child and they turned out to be a sex offender…I would hate that choice they made but I couldn’t HATE my child.  If my child turned out to be a murderer…I would hate that I would have to visit him/her in a prison, probably for the rest of my days…but I would NEVER abandon my child because of it.  If my child came to me and told me that he/she was gay/lesbian…I wouldn’t like it one bit…but I would love my child until my last breath.  And I would pray to God...even more than I do now...for their salvation.

You see, I don’t have to support 100% of every decision a person makes in order to love them whole-heartedly.  And neither does anyone else.  So why does one, two or even twelve decisions that a child makes in the course of his young life, decide how a parent feels in their heart.  Obviously there wasn't much love to begin with.  What she should have done was walked away a long time before she did.

Quintin’s mother and sister came to Grandpa’s funeral.  So did his aunt but she isn’t worth my time because she doesn’t directly affect me.  Quintin’s mother, on the other hand, affects me greatly.  And I have so many mixed feelings about that, I don’t know how to react sometimes.  Quintin’s mother abandoned him when he was young.  She told him he didn’t have a home to come back to.  After she had him put away in a facility.  Because she didn’t know how to handle her own child. 

For starters, if she couldn’t do her job, then it’s good she got him somewhere that he could get help.  It’s good he got away from her because obviously she sucked at being a mother to him.  She chose to attempt the good mothering thing with her daughter though.  She chose to give her daughter love and attention and time.  She walked away from her son.  And the love he so desperately needed to give. 

Lady, if you ever read this, I want you to take one thing away from here. And that is that you have a lot of explaining to do to God.  You poison people’s minds instead of talking out the facts.  You make people choose who they “should” love and it has backfired on you.  You have to be dead inside.  You surely can’t have a soul.  But may God have Mercy on your soul if you really even have one.  I know Quintin hurts so much when he has to talk about her to anyone.  He literally cringes when someone asks him how his mom is.  I'm just waiting for the answer "she's dead," to come out.

It wasn’t long ago that Quintin and his sister actually had a somewhat sort-of relationship.  They spoke and he mowed her yard for her.  If she needed something fixed, he would fix it.  Until mommy found out.  Sister soon moved and from that point on, she won’t even look at her brother.  It’s so sad that someone can force another person to think like them instead of for themselves.  *sigh*  Oh well. 

When the two sisters came to the doors of the church, they were told they were not wanted at the service.  Not by us even though we wanted to say it.  The funeral director was very nice about it.  Mommy dearest looked him straight in the eye and said, “Pastor said nobody is turned away from God’s house.”  And nobody should be.  It was followed up with, “That’s fine but just so you know you aren’t welcome by the family.”  And she said they were going in anyway…and they did.  I don't have one problem with them actually coming to the funeral.  What bothers me is that when they were contacted and asked to go to the hospital to say goodbye, the response was "we weren't invited."  Really?  Well, you weren't invited here either but you chose to come and make a jackass out of yourself anyway. 

 

Explain the logic to me, please!!!

And here’s my problem with the church right now.  Although nobody should EVER be turned away from God’s house, they shouldn’t have been able to join in the service if that was the wishes of the family.  If they were there “to repent,” as the Pastor put it, they could repent in one of the classrooms, out of the way.   Am I wrong???

Let me ask you this.  If it was YOUR Grandpa and he stated that he didn’t want  his neighbor Barney Garney at his funeral because Barney wasn’t nice to him ever and actually went out of his way to make his life miserable, would you want Barney at the service?  How would you feel if the Pastor told you that he wouldn’t abide by that “last wish” of your Grandpa?  You can’t just up and move a funeral, now can you?  And then, how would you feel when ole Barney showed up with a fat smirk on his face, eating up all the sympathy from mutual friends and/or family and then having the audacity to stay and eat at the luncheon afterward just simply to make a mockery of himself?  I have never in my life witnessed people whispering and gauking like I did at that luncheon.  My goal was to keep my husband and my little sis Lisa from exploding. Thankfully neither did.

Now you see what kind of circus-freak daughters they are.  I have always been assured that they never used to be like this.  By judging what Quintin goes through on a daily basis, I would venture to guess his mother has never been quite right.  Ever.  It explains a lot of the problems he deals with.  I couldn’t love my husband anymore than I do right now.  I will forever be the love and support that he needs to face the days ahead and I will love him UNCONDITIONALLY.  Just like his Grandparents did. 

Back to Grandpa now.  He lived a beautiful life.  He was a God fearing man who prayed many many times a day.  Grandma wrote a beautiful poem that was printed on the back of the folder.  Quintin and Lisa both wrote a letter to Grandpa that was read aloud as was a poem that I had written. 

From the very first time I met Grandpa, he loved me like I was his own.  And I guess I was his.  And I love that.  <3

 

What motivates you

So.....for the past several weeks, I have been looking for something to really motivate me to get back to working out and eating better.  Nothing I seemed to try would get me back "into it."  I had gained about 12 pounds back, of the weight I had lost and I couldn't be more disappointed in myself. 

Quintin gave me a little motivation...or he tried to.  And he was on the right track.  I really thought he had hit the jackpot with this one.  As you know, we are getting ready for our 2nd annual stay-cation.  It is August 30-September 1.  Friday until Sunday.  It was a lot of fun last year and I can't seem to get it out of my head as it nears.  Super excited!

Anyway...Q's idea was that for every TWO days that I worked out and ate healthy, he would spend an hour working on the upstairs.  NO BRAINER, right???  Yeah...that's what I thought.  I wish diabetes wasn't so hard to live with.  I was stoked when he first came up with this idea.  I couldn't wait to get home and get started, getting back on track. 
 
Now...for those of you with diabetes and/or love someone with diabetes...it isn't always as easy as it may seem.  I was stoked but I was still exhausted.  I still didn't want to put anymore into anything, than I needed to.  I would sleep 12 hours at a time because at least I knew I wasn't eating and my blood sugar would be forced to go down.  I wasn't willing to go the extra mile.  And so...there sat my AB lounger...in the corner...just crying for my attention.  I gave it a little bit of attention though.  I put the walker on top of it. 

Yes...there it sat in my livingroom with a flattened out walker sitting upside-down on top of it so I could keep Miss Bella from trying to get in it and getting stuck.  The walker...not the AB Lounger.  Many of you may know that this situation ate at me.  It drove me crazy that my house not only isn't back in order but if ANYONE stopped by, they were going to see my crap piled up on top of my exercise equipment that I obviously am not using.  Because I still have what some call a spare tire. 
 
I like to think of myself as the Midas Mom. 

*Breathe*

A couple of days after Q had presented me with this idea, he started working on the upstairs.  I had no choice but to help him.  After all, he had TRIED to motivate me.  It just didn't work.  Yes, I can hear what you're thinking.  "Poor Q."  Don't worry, I hear that all the time!  This time though, I was the one thinking it.  Here I had let him down too.  The only thing I could do at this point was to just bust my ass and help him get these projects dwindled down.

I'm not so crazy as to think he's going to get all his "in-the-works" projects done before my friends show up to have an adult weekend but I am just crazy enough to push push push until we get as many done as possible.  So I started pitching trash and sheet rock out of the upstairs bathroom window, into his trailer.  I didn't stop until ALL of it was out of there.  Some of the stuff was heavy but I made myself do it.  Me and my weenie arms. 

He got the "bastard joints" done in the new closet and got it textured.  That makes me laugh.  Bastard joints.  As soon as that dried, I got busy painting it.  Chocolate brown.  It's gorgeous.  I may never come out of the closet again!!!  About a year and a half ago, we got some hard wood floor laminate on a FB swap site and I had forgotten about it.  Q pulled it out and got it put in the closet.  It's amazing.  All I am waiting for now is the trim to be cut and put on and my clothes rack installed.  Then I can USE it! 

Now...it won't be done then, but it will be USABLE!  I am so excited!!!  About a closet!!  Maybe his little plan was back-firing on me.  The more I looked at what was getting done, the more I wanted to do.  I wasn't exercising though.  I had incorporated more fruits in my diet than what I was doing before, but still wasn't getting any "exercise" in. 

Then I get a phone call. 

Someone I love very very much called with some news that they were just diagnosed with diabetes.  I could have fallen over by the stroke of a feather.  The last person on earth that I ever would have imagined getting this stupid diagnosis.  And it hurt my feelings.  Bad. 
I know it has nothing to do with me; the part that they became diabetic.  Because I know that if we are taking care of ourselves, it wouldn't happen. Well for the most part anyway.  For some reason, I had to hold back tears as they told me what their doctor said.  And this person has it easy right now.  What I wouldn't give to go back to that point and start over.  "No meds at this time.  See if you can control it with diet and exercise."  Oh yeah...and lose some weight before you come back in a few months. 

So easy for a doctor to spit out when they don't have to deal with this stuff.  Conversations about what to eat. What we get tired of eating.  What are the do's.  What are the do not's.  What about substitutions.  What about eating at restaurants.  What about when you're in a group setting.  It all came up and I did the best I could...considering I'm a really bad person to turn to when it comes to eating "right."

So...I'm not sure why this hit me as hard as it did.  When I hung up, I cried.  I felt like I had not only let myself down (HUGE) but I had let this person down.  This person I love with all of my heart.  I felt like...I don't know how to put this...as long as I have been dealing with this...I should have been a better "role model," so to speak. 

I should have been taking care of myself and never stopping so this person could have maybe prevented this...or fought it without knowing.  Does that make sense?  I feel like I have betrayed us.  I feel like a big fat loser.  An ugly, out-of-shape loser that has let down all of her loved ones.

So I'm back on the wagon.  THAT phone call was the thing that lit the fire under my ass.  Under my heart.  Under my heels.  It has me going strong right now so I am just going to go with it.  Because I don't know how long this spurt will last.  I can only hope this was the last motivating reminder I will ever need.  Today, the walker got put away and the AB lounger got pulled back out. 

I have my alarm set for every half hour...since I haven't exercised for a long time...and then I have five minutes to do fifty crunchers.  So far today I have done three hundred and fifty crunchers.  I still have to go to work later today so I am limited on what I can do but at least I've started back up. 

Tomorrow, I will add fifty weight lifts...with my five and ten pound weights...for my arms.  Since I don't own a kettle ball or whatever those things are called.  Make do with what you have, right?!

So say a little prayer for me please.  Pray that I will keep on keeping on and I will continue to lose weight and get healthy.  Not just for me...but for those that I love; and love me.  And while you're at it...say a prayer for all of those around us that are dealing with internal killers...both silent and not-so-silent.  Life is hard but having the added pressure of illness makes it even harder. 

Until next time...thanks for reading!