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

Hi there. I’m Claire. I’ve often been told that writing can soothe the soul and sometimes can offer a peace of mind like no other. A narration on life. Here’s mine.

Claire was born in 1983 on a snowy day in February. How does she know this? Because her grandad told her every single birthday. She had blue eyes, skin that was whiter than snow with freckles all over, and black curly ringlet hair. This, I’m told is typical Irish skin..

My dad met my mum when I was young. Aged 4-6 I’d say. Bio dad wasn’t around for one reason or another. Not a bad thing. It is what it is. Anyway. My mum and Dad had my brother (step brother if we’re being technical but whatever) in 1992. In 1994, my dad was killed in a motorcycle accident. I know, shitty. Don’t worry thought, the story gets better and worse and maybe worse again. Possibly a little better again. We’ll see.

Mum met a great guy who became my Step Dad, Stu. I didn’t really take to him at first. In fact, I was a complete and utter a$$. In the end we got along and I soon gained another sister and brother. Yay!

Teenage years ensued. Hormones, exams, boyfriends, heartache, illnesses, college, hormones, alcohol infused fun, more exams… Then in 2001 I met my future husband, Dan. It became serious quite quickly and we became engaged Christmas 2002. Marriage happened in 2004. I was 21 and he was 24. We were young but our wedding was amazing.

Dan worked hard and became a Police Officer with Greater Manchester Police. Something he had wanted to do for a long time. I, on the other hand, had no idea what I wanted to do. So, I went to work in a bank. His job was crazy, scary, always had something exciting. Mine? Talking to people who had more money than I did.

In 2007, we moved to a place called Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Dan was offered a job with Edmonton Police Service. He was excited, proud and hopeful for our new future in a new country. I was excited, proud and petrified.

In 2008 we moved into our first home. Braved Edmonton’s harsh -30 winters and basked in the +30 summers. 2008 was the year that we welcomed a tiny little human, extensively argued over his name but eventually settled with Gabe. Not Gabriel. Simply, Gabe. The nights were sleepless, the days filled with fun and the home gradually started to look like Babies R Us. For some Godforsaken reason- must have been the hormones-another tiny human was welcomed in 2010. The boy kind, again! This was not how it was meant to pan out. I was meant to have a girl. I was sure that he was going to be a girl!! What on earth was I going to do with another boy?! We kept him all the same. What’s a little more testosterone in the house. Callen was the name eventually chosen for him. Not Call-um… Not Cay-len… C-allen.

Life was wonderful. And busy. I changed jobs-multiple times and at one point had both a full time and a part time job. Dan was getting promotions in work and the kids were in childcare daily. We had our rough patches, like any marriage, and we had our sunny skies. The roller coaster of life.

June 8, 2015, he died. Dan died.

He was killed by a man that had lost himself. This- man-was being arrested and Dan was- in professional terms-executing an arrest warrant. This-man-fired roughly 60 bullets from inside his home, killing Dan instantly. Other officers were injured, but Dan was the only officer to lose his life. There had been no officer killed on duty for 25 years in Edmonton. The city rallied around us in a way I cannot begin to put into words. He was deemed a hero of the city and we were humbled by their love, compassion and protection of us.

January 2017, I name the decision to bring our children back to Manchester. Back to where our story began. Back to the huge family the boys didn’t know they really had.

I’m praying I don’t screw this up,

Claire x