After passing the facetime call with Dan’s parents to the Deputy Chief, I went to sit down on the sofa. It was basically 5 steps from where I had been stood but it seemed like it was so far away and my body felt tremendously heavy. The conversation and their voices began to fade into the background and my mind went blank. I was completely numb.

There was a constant stream of people entering the house. Police officers, friends, friends of friends. Every one of them crying and grabbing me with a big bear hug and a kiss. I wasn’t crying. At least I don’t think I was. This whole period of time is such a blur. Every so often, a little piece of information from a certain moment in time enters my head.

A moment I won’t forget is when the friend who, I was talking to on the phone when the police came. She had finished her shift and rather than making her journey home, she decided to come to me. She was- at that time- more of a friend to Dan, but that didn’t matter. I don’t remember her coming into the house, but we sat on the floor. Our legs stretched and our toes touching making a diamond shape on the floor. Or maybe we were crossed legged and our knees were touching? Either way, we made a diamond shape on the floor. That’s what I concentrated on. We were hunched over with our hands grasped tightly in the middle. It was all that was needed.

All these things were happening around me. People comforting each other. Talking about their friend that had gone too soon. Talking about the next steps in the coming weeks. Talking about the media. A whole mix of compassion, professionalism and despair. A group of Ex-Pat ladies- my British ladies, and also now my forever family- rallied around and took charge of the situation unfolding around them. Not on purpose, it’s just the way it worked out. They wanted to help in any way they possibly cloud. From one of them being voluntold {edit:apparently I was insanely bossy and ordered this lovely lady to take charge because I simply couldn’t} by me to take charge of the formalities, because I knew she would be level headed and keep me from decisions I would have regretted. One or two of them cleaning around so people had some place to sit, place their belongings and take in the news. One or two of them sitting next to me on the sofa, just keeping me coherent. The rest simply asking everyone if they wanted a cup of tea. Tea?! Yes. Tea. A hot cup of British stiff upper lip. Now… If you know anything about the British, you know that any issue can be solved or at least put into perspective over a good cup of tea.  Failed your exams? Have a cup of tea! Got fired? Have a cup of tea! Had your car towed? Have a cup of tea! You get it.

Anyway…

At one point I remember speaking with the police Chaplain. He had walked over to me in a calm, professional manner a few times and suggested that all these people left. He did it at least 3 times. To the point where I actually wanted him to leave. Did he not understand? I needed all these people around me. Every single one of them, I didn’t care that they were flooding out into the street. I needed them. And they were staying right where hey were

Slowly, people began to leave. A few stayed behind- they didn’t want to leave me and I was grateful for that. Even if I had shouted and screamed, I know they still would have stayed. Those that couldn’t stay felt terrible for leaving. I could tell. They shouldn’t have felt that way. No one could have suspected anything like this and hey had other unavoidable things. Like that thing you need to earn money. I eventually went upstairs to try and get some sleep. Being alone in my bed during the night was normal due to his shifts. Not this time though. I felt like a lead weight lying down. My body unable to more. Rolling over, I noticed his pillow. Grabbing it tightly I took a deep breath-it smelt like him- and cried myself to sleep.

When I woke, it felt like I’d only slept for a second. I couldn’t stay in this bed. Knowing that he would never sleep next to me again. That he’d never piss my off by continually snoring made me feel sick. I needed people. grabbing one of his tshirts from thw washing pile I walked down the stairs. Two of my ladies were lay on the sofa’s. I stopped on the stairs, just looking at them. At the early morning light coming through the windows. They awoke. I must have scared them to death. Walking down the final 3 steps with my arms heavy by my side, I  slumped onto the sofa into one of their arms. Finally I felt that rush of emotion. That release. The tightness in my chest released itself. She held on to me tightly and the tear began to flow.

Cx

It was roughly 11 pm- I say roughly as I didn’t know the exact time to start with. But the month was June, it had been dark for at least an hour and a friend I was speaking to was over halfway through their shift that finished at midnight. That’s when I was told. Told that my husband, a Police Officer had died. He had been shot and killed ‘in the line of duty’.

All I remember is the screams. I don’t even think I was crying at that point. Just yells of Oh God… Oooh God! Oh, my god! Then crouching down onto the wood floor of the porch with the Deputy Chief Inspector cradling my hands in hers. Did he have any pain? Did he suffer? To which I was told no. He died instantly. It’s not advisable that you view his body she said, as he would be unrecognisable. Basically, meaning that the brunt of the injuries were to his face. Yeah, no wonder it was instant.  I wouldn’t get to see his wonderful face. I wouldn’t get to say my final goodbye.

These people who I didn’t know, stood all sullen-yet very professional- at my door surrounding me. Various high ranking, white shirted Police Officers with their hats tucked firmly and professionally y under their armpits and the Chaplain, his arms in front of him making and X and in his hands a large binder held tightly across his torso. All very official.  And all obviously hating the situation they had been put in.

With them were some of our friends, fellow Police Officers that became close to us. Their eyes bloodshot and their faces red from all their crying. I looked at them all and thought why am I not crying? Why am I not wailing like a banshee? Does this mean that I don’t feel the way they do? I couldn’t cry. I tried. It was the shock.

The door remained open as a stream of people started to enter my home. So many people. All with the same face. Desperation of wanting to see me. Wanting to try and take this pain away, praying that they got it wrong, hat it wouldn’t be their friend. Yet when they did see me, and realised it was true, having the devastation of wanting to say something other than sorry as that didn’t seem enough. Wanting to cradle me in their arms and try -even just a little- to take that raw pain away.  How on earth did they know about this so soon?! I had only just been told myself. At the time, I didn’t really put things together. (that is for another time) The night was just too bizarre. Honestly though, having all these people there offered me the very support I needed. I was simply grateful that they were there. Every one of them. There for me, leaving their own families at home to be by my side… All crammed into my little home. All wanting to make sure I was ok and try and take the Burdon of the night’s events away from me in any way they could.

I don’t really remember much of that night. I remember telling my parents back in England that Dan had been killed over the phone and the horror that pierced intensely through my mother’s voice. I remember being amazed at the fact my children hadn’t woken up to see what all the commotion was about. They would wake up hearing the crinkling of a food wrapper but this they slept through. Typical. I had to then tell his parents. Tell his parents that their only child was dead. He did his job at protecting us and for that his life was cruelly taken away in the worst possible manner. It’s bad enough doing this in person but to do this via facetime?! Nothing was going to make this hideous news any better. They needed to hear this from me rather than the media (again, we will get to that later) so I just had to get on with it. I called them. I was advised with some severity I might add, not to do this.  It was 6:30am in Manchester-

There’s been an accident. Two officers were shot and one didn’t survive.

I’m so sorry. That officer was Dan..

Cx

Dan was scheduled to do a 5pm start on this day. Which meant whilst I worked my regular daytime job, he was working in his own way by looking after the boys. My job was fantastic. It was with an amazing radio station in the heart of Edmonton. I had worked there part time from home for several years and when this opportunity came, I couldn’t pass it up. Weirdly enough, Dan also knew some of the staff there so all in all it worked well for us. They knew our situation and would accommodate if needed. My position was a little of everything. Basically, admin staff. From manning reception, meeting all the listeners and clients that came into the building, to helping the sales and management team with whatever was needed. Also, social events- which were always so much fun. The station’s used to call their listeners and staff their family. It was completely true.

Dan was scheduled to bring the boys to my work at 4:30pm. He had been with Callen all day and Gabe had been at school. I would bring them home with me and Dan would go off to work. The boys (and our respective workplaces) were well used to this routine and it usually worked like clockwork. Today though, of course, it wasn’t. I was running behind schedule with things that needed completing before the end of the day and Dan seemed a little impatient. He was clearly a little flustered, like myself when I came out through the security door. The boys were running around the big reception area like lunatics. I heaved a sigh and said I’m so sorry. I suggested that he leave as he was obviously needing to get to work sooner rather than later. He went to leave as I was shouting the boys to come and say bye to their dad. He was bolting for the door. WOAH! Where is my kiss. I spotted a little eye roll as he doubled back and gave me a little peck on the lips. I would have normally made him come back again- I hate those kisses. They aren’t real kisses that sometimes don’t even make contact. I’m also a firm believer that you should always, always kiss each other goodbye or goodnight. Usually, I would tell him to come back for another one, but he was in too much of a hurry for that. How I wish I had…

The evening went as normal. Going home, making supper, getting the kids ready for bed in-between their fighting. Dan would normally text or call at around 7:30 to say night to the boys and to see how I was- seeing as we hadn’t spoken for the day. There was the odd time that he didn’t get chance until late into the night but he would always try by about 10pm. Bedtime came around and no message. No big deal… he is obviously busy. Then weird things started happening. Message after message asking if Dan was ok. Asking if I knew anything about the situation going on in the west end of the city. These started from about 5:15pm. It was unusual. I had only been home an hour. The messages just kept coming.

It was so very strange. No one had ever messaged me, well not my friends anyway. Similar messages started appearing on my phone. Alarm bells started ringing. I decided to go to social media in case anything was on there. News were reporting an incident in West Edmonton. Dan was based downtown. It didn’t occur to me that his position took him all over the city. Maybe I blocked it out on purpose. I decided to look at one of the Facebook pages I followed, EPS Wives. It was a page for support and general information. They were also commenting on the events of the night. Now I was getting worried. I couldn’t concentrate on it though as the boys were up and down the stairs. Mum! Gabe did this! Mum! Callen did that! It’s too hot in my room! Looking back, it was a welcome distraction…

More text messages and Facebook messages appeared. So much so that the battery on my phone was close to empty. I decide to message one of our mutual friends, he and Dan had worked together in the UK. He tried his best to calm me stating that if it was Dan, I would have found out by now. The time seemed to stall but before I knew it, it was past 10pm. Another close friend of ours called me. I picked up and her first words were “are you ok?”  I can’t even remember what I said. Pretty certain that my phone died during the conversation. She was on a night shift and completely stressed out with her job that night. She didn’t need to be calling me and comforting me but she was. And I was grateful. With all the calls and messages, I went to make sure the boys were asleep, their fans were making that wonderful white noise so I closed their doors. Walking into our bedroom, I plugged my phone in and waited for it to turn back on. Sitting on the bed, a shiver went down my spine. I suddenly felt incredibly sick. It was warm out so I opened our large bedroom windows and sat in the dark. Waiting for my phone was like waiting for my lifeline. Waiting for my life support to turn back on. It was my only way of comfort. The only way I could talk to people and try to calm myself down. Finally, I saw the light of the phone come on and scrambled to call her again. The cord wasn’t very long and I couldn’t get comfortable. I felt awful calling her in work but I needed to talk to her.

She simply said hello and I broke down. Again, I can’t remember what I said but I remember what I saw. I was knelt by the bed on the floor (stupid short charging cord) The window was in the corner of my left eye. I saw what looked like car lights and peered over. There they were, police cars. Parking outside my house. Would they come up the path to my house. Oh, my god, of course they will, there aren’t any other police officers that live down our street. I just remember a blood curdling scream, hanging up on her and running down the stairs.

Cx

I have been back in Manchester for a couple of months now. The boys are enjoying their time here. Now and again they decide that they want to return to YEG (Edmonton for you non Canada peeps) and usually it is on a random date. It’s ‘because it is this person’s birthday’ or ‘this is when they do this thing over there’ I usually just go with it and mutter the words we’ll see what happens and we will go back at some point, just not sure when. Today though, I had enough. I didn’t want to hear it. So, I exploded.

I don’t know when we are going back to Canada, but when we do, it will be up to me- not them-me. I often find that I am fighting with my own emotions regarding where I live in the world. I imagine people will think I sound very ungrateful about my next sentence.

I am the luckiest unlucky person in the world.

I have a place to call my own in two different countries. How many people can say that?! I have a city that has been so amazing since Dan died. That rallied around myself and my children. Took us into their hearts and minds and made us feel so much love. That said “We are here for you” during such a tragic event. By moving back to Manchester, I almost feel like I am telling them that all this wasn’t worth it. I don’t care about it- like I’m saying thanks for everything, but, yeah, I’m outta here ! but I do care about it. I really do.

Now, I am back in Manchester. One part of me can’t help but wonder what Dan would say. What he would think about it after all those years of being there. Making a new life for ourselves and new opportunities for the kids. Why are you bringing them back here? You were doing so well over there on your own! You had friends that were like family! They helped you! Why lose it all and go back to something that we left behind for a reason?! For ourselves and our children to have a better life?!  Why- well because you’re not here anymore and I need my family. The boys need their family. It’s not like they didn’t see their grandparents. We had facetime sessions weekly (god bless technology) and they got used to it. It was so expensive to go either way on a plane, they became the people that were just on the iPad screen. No real relationship. That isn’t what a grandparent does though is it. The kids were missing out on that family connection. That whole thing of going to grandmas on the weekend or staying over there for the night.

It doesn’t seem like much but thinking back to my childhood, I saw my grandparents all the time. Basically, every day. The boys didn’t have that. Now they do and they adore it. We live close to my parents and my mum works as a lunch supervisor at their school. It just worked out that way. We mainly see my parents. I’m not sure why but that seems to be the way it works right now. They call us to come around to their house for a takeaway or to see if I need a break from the kids. Other times we stay home and get on with our life as we would have anyway. Just having the opportunity to go around to your grandparent’s house and be allowed to watch what you want, do what you want, eat chocolate for breakfast is a wonderful thing for them to experience.

If I worry that I have made the wrong decision, I go back to that one word that we need right now.

Family.

C x