A Solo Partnership - those words do not really go together well, do they?

I have been mulling over those words in my head for over a week and it was finally time to put pencil to paper (or fingers to keyboard). When you see those words together, what does it make you think of? What can you imagine someone might mean when they string them together?

How can you be both solo and a partner?

This is an entirely possible situation, and one that is talked about freely in support blogs and small conversations between those that understand. Relationships that form as a partnership can somehow fragment into a puzzle, one in which the while picture is present, the pieces just don't seem to fit together the same way anymore.  What you get is a picture that looks normal, but doesn't quite work together the way it did in the past.

I often refer to my conversations with families and spouses in my blog that live with a loved one that survived a brain injury.  The conversations can go in many different directions, but one of the most common places they journey is to this feeling of aloneness, of being part of a marriage that is lonely.

Now, this isn't just a "brain injury" issue.  I think many of us know plenty of marriages where one person has checked out.  It happens - people get bored, complacent, and want to move on.

In the world of brain injury, both individuals may be present, but may not be able to be engaged in the true sense of a partnership.  Cognitive limitations, emotional detachment, fear, anger or memory loss can erode the daily interactions and play that occur when people are in a partnership.  Changes within conversational structure, patterns of interaction or just the difference in ones ability to help and plan throughout a day can impact a marriage.

These changes can go unnoticed by the injured partner, or if noticed, may be difficult to adjust. The caregiver may be able to bridge the gap between the two individuals, but eventually, a continuous pattern of compensating for that gap in communication and partnership becomes too much to continuously cross - and fatigue seeps in.

Partnership by definition needs two or more to participate - when one cannot participate due to a brain injury, the partnership becomes a solo pursuit of determination to keep it together.

A solo partnership cannot last forever.

So now you are asking yourself why bother? What stay around? Why would anyone stay when staying just makes you feel even more lonely than being alone?

I asked that question of those around me, and the answers that I got brought me to tears, and I realized the answers were true for me as well. When asked, why do you stay I am told:

I stay because when she laughs out loud in that way, I remember all the times we laughed together.

I stay because when he gets that bossy tone of voice, I remember all the times he would tell me to get things done, and give me a quick kiss and a smile as a thank you, and I knew that I would do anything that he asked.

I stay because when he thinks I am not looking, I watch him close his eyes and smile while listening to his music, and he looks just like he did before he got hurt.

I stay because sometimes, he looks at me, and really sees me again, and time goes away for just that second, and I know that somewhere he is in there.

I stay because he didn't ask for this, and for better or worse, we will figure out a way to make it work. And sometimes, he remembers to tell me he loves me, and if he can remember the love at those times, so can I.

A solo partnership - not what anyone has asked for, but what some have been given. The emotional strength it takes to survive is astounding, but the strength in those that work through brain injury recovery is equally amazing - and sometimes recognition of the strength in one another can be the bridge to carry that partnership again.

* It is important to both Frank and I that I are clear that not all conversation, situations or topics are part of our life and reality.  Each brain injury life is different, and with that, it is important to know that this blog reflects many families with brain injury, not just ours. In order to honor Frank, I want to be clear that when speaking about relationships and trials, I am not always referring to our family.

 

 

I am wearing dark clothes to try and blend in. I am fairly certain anyone could figure out that I am not a real cop, but at least I can sit in the front and pretend I know what I am doing.

Tony jumps in and gives me a lesson in where things are, and what I should not touch.  I find myself fascinated by the set up, and paying more attention now, when it feels more important.  I learn how to release the shotgun that I did not even know was behind me.  I joked with him about how my daughter will kill him if something bad happens to me tonight.  He looks at me and says "If something bad happens to you tonight, something bad has already happened."

True statement.  The protector is in force, and I am certain that I have not felt safer today than I do right now.

The sun is going down, and true to his warning to me earlier in the day, it is getting cooler.  The window is down as we head out of the lot, out to the streets of St. Paul.  I have no idea what I will see tonight, or how this will play out.  I notice quickly that the radio is on in the background, and that I can hear the calls, difficult for me to understand, not having quite the "radio ear" that Tony does.

As we begin our night, I try to focus on understanding the radio - I get the general concept - dispatch calls an officers number, they respond, a call or update is given, and the officer responds.  I find myself having to listen closely, while Tony can carry on a conversation while listening at the same time.  I notice this especially as we are chatting and suddenly Tony pauses, brakes hard, turns the car around and is move quickly down the road.

I have no idea what just happened. I find myself watching streets fly by, wondering what skills must be developed to do the many things I am observing happening within seconds - the response, the radio back, the update, the computer change and the driving, all in seconds of one another.  We pause at lights to ensure we are safe to cross, and I marvel at the cars that seem oblivious to the lights and sirens.  I laugh to myself as I hear in my head all of those times Frank has complained about the drivers around him.

We arrive on scene  and pull up alongside his partner, who had a car pulled over and was speaking to a female outside.  Tony stepped out of the car, and said "you can come outside" as he shut the door.  Come outside?  Really?

I sat for a minute and checked my surroundings.  Sitting at the driveway of a gas station - check.  Another squad sitting next to me with an officer walking towards the stopped car - check.  People coming and going at the gas station - check.  I decide to get out of the car.

I get out and quietly close the door.  I lean against it, trying to look inconspicuous. The other officers had the two males on the ground, chatting, and actually laughing at moments as they talked about the weather, the night and other inane topics.  What a fascinating shift of thought this is - two men that could be under arrest, yet they are casually chatting, waiting their turn for "review" in this situation.

This situation ends fairly quickly following a plea by Tony for this young woman to change her life path, as he offers his card with his number on it.  He tells her more than once that she has a life, a better life, waiting for her, if she just makes different choices.

I am sure he has seen this many time before - I wonder how many times they actually change course, and heed his advice?

We return to patrol, driving by areas and stores as Tony relays different events that have happened in these locations - drive by shootings, gang violence, and later, as the sun goes down and darkness sets in, the location of the killing of two St. Paul officers. I freeze those thoughts in my head, knowing that of all the things I hear tonight, those statements will resonate with me the longest.  His voice changes as he tells me briefly about both incidents, and I flash back to my "almost" in our lives.

The radio continues to chatter as I learn the streets, switching back and forth, stopping again to back up his partner after a car is stopped in an individuals driveway.  After some car searching and discussion with the individual, his partner gives this man a warning, and some advice to take care of his family by fixing his car and making sure his children are safely secured. An act of kindness, when a break meant more than a ticket.

I begin to relax as I become accustom to the brief stops, Tony chatting with individuals and kids in alleys, many who remark "Hey, you know you have a headlight out?" This becomes the fun of the evening to see how many times people will tell us this - it goes on all night.

As we make our way down another side street, I think I hear "shots fired" go out over the radio.  The immediate reaction by Tony and the way we begin to move through the streets indicate to me that I have heard correctly.  As we hit a main road, and the lights change as we roll through them, I watch cars part as we head towards the incident.  The car has been lost, and the officers are trying to get it back in sight.  It is found again - "We are going to be right on top of it" and there we are.  Multiple squad cars as we cross into the scene with officers out and guns drawn. We pass to the right and cut around behind the other cars, ending up in line to the far right of the situation.  Tony jumps out and slams his car door, walking to and officer to our left as another is shouting instructions to the driver of the car in front of us.

For a moment it seems that everything slows down - I glance over and see multiple officers next to their cars, as another officer walks to the right side of our car, and stops next to my door.

Holy shit.  Holy shit.  I am talking to myself in the squad car because I truly cannot believe that I am sitting here watching this unfold before me. The man in the car has complied with instructions and is being moved behind me out of sight, as the other man in the car is now walking backwards toward the squad cars.  As all individuals in the car are removed, I look around and see the relaxation in all officers, the ratcheting down of stress, and the return of guns to their holsters.  The air clears in the sense that there is a palpable change in the air pressure around this place, as officers greet one another, ask about bids, shifts and dinner.

This is their life - one minute they are in a situation that could erupt in gunfire and death.

The next they are chatting among friends, commenting on the incident, slowly peeling off to go back to their designated sections of the city.

I feel the adrenaline leach out of my system, and I get cold.  I have been in enough trainings on trauma and stress to know that this is what I do when I crash from a stressful situation.  I am thankful for the multiple layers of clothing and the hand warmers I have tucked in my pockets.

We leave the scene to return to our drive.  Tony and I chat about the event, and there are so many strings and threads that link this situation to other events that have happened in the area, it is almost impossible to follow.  But these guys know - they understand their city, and as they work, they learn the individuals that live here, and how they interplay with one another.  Whether for good or for bad, working on the East side means getting to know the people here, and being prepared to do what is right to keep them safe from those that mean to do harm.

Eventually we break for dinner, which means a visit to the department.  I am grateful to get up and stretch my legs, even for a bit. It is interesting to hear the chatter in the room, as other officers work on their computers, and relay information about their nights.  I am sure some of the chatter is tempered due to my presence, and I try to not interfere - but I know my presence changes the dynamics, whether I want it to or not.

I am not one of the them, I have been given the chance to observe.  Only those chosen truly get to become part of these teams.

We head back out into the night, and it feels different.  This is the first cool night of Fall, and people have gone inside. After another back up call to "chat" with some kids that were checking on cars ( and having Momma come outside to lay down the law) the night begins to lose momentum. I find myself starting to get tired, and realized that it is close to midnight already.

How did it get so late so fast? How had six hours gone by already? I felt like I could do this all night - the constant hope that something else will happen, that there will be another call, was like a drug. I finally realized that I needed to get home, that it was time to cut myself off, and to let Tony have his real partner back.

I didn't want it to end. It was addicting, that any moment another call could come through and we would be racing to someone needing assistance, whether it be civilian or sworn, we would be there.

I headed home, knowing more than I did before, but understanding that I was lucky tonight - as far as I knew, everyone would go home safe.  The twenty-one on duty would return to their families, hopefully without additional baggage; the load carried by these brave men and women is heavy, and time can take its toll from the things that they see.

They see the things that none of us see - and it hurts them. They bury it deep, and do their best to move on, but over time, unless the scary horrors of real life policing are dealt with, they can take a good strong officer out of commission.

It happens when the heroes are expected to be invincible.

No one is invincible.

After a safe and good nights sleep at home, I woke up to find myself feeling pretty cruddy.  Lack of sleep maybe, but also the after affects of adrenaline dumping over and over. I felt physically ill from the highs and lows of the night, and how often I swung emotionally during my time on patrol. It was an amazing realization to know that officers do this night after night, putting their bodies through a marathon of emotion and chemical imbalance, only to get up without enough rest and do it again the next day.

But I understand now why they do it.

As Frank woke up and walked across the room, and went up to him and hugged him.  I put my head to his chest, and tears began to slide down my cheeks. "I'm so sorry" I told him.

"For what?" he asked.

"I get it, I understand what you have lost. And I am so sorry."

I understand the kinship, the emotions, the risk, the elation of being part of the law enforcement family. My brief venture into the night brought with it a glimpse into the why they stay, why they love what they do, and why when it is taken away, they grieve.

My heart hurt anew for Frank; almost more painful than anything else I have felt for him.

I get it, and it sucks. To lose that is devastating.

I get it now.

I will forever be grateful for my glimpse into the night, into the darkness. I am safe at home, knowing they, the men and women of law enforcement, are out there. And for those that have been in the game and were taken out, my heart hurts for you. There are no other words.

Thank you Tony.

When my husband became a police officer, we both knew that sometime early in his career  I would be going with him to work to do a ride along.  It was important to both of us; for me to see what he did each day, how work "worked", and to remove some of the fear of the unknown that can intrude in your thoughts when you are the wife of a cop. Those fears are often unfounded, but having the experience of seeing the inside of the squad room, riding in the car, meeting the team and having a visual experience of the "office" allows spouses to have some visualization of where their loved one goes each day, even though it is a small part of the day.

Most of the day is spent on the streets, talking to people, and that is the unpredictable scary part of their job - no one ever knows what will happen outside of the department walls.

For our family, we wanted to give Frank some time to acclimate to his department before spending that road time together.  Life, as it tends to do, got really busy, and Christmas of 2011, we decided that we really needed to have our ride along soon.  I distinctly remember thinking to myself that maybe in the Spring, when it warms up, and the city wakes up a bit - that way, I won't freeze to death and it won't be so boring.  I really wanted to see him in action.

But that never happened.  Instead, January 2, 2012 happened, ending that chance to do a ride along forever.

Immediately after the crash, I spent a lot of time in squad cars - traveling to the hospital, the police department, parades and other events.  I never gave it much thought that I had not been on a true ride along because I was engaged so heavily with law enforcement, and I almost forgot.

Almost.

Recently while attending a training in Kansas City with the Executive team of my new non-profit, we were chatting about training, departments, and requirements for individuals within our program, one of which is a ride along. Without thinking, I stated "Yeah, I have never been on an actual ride along." This statement was met with astonished looks and "Are you kidding?" I remember laughing to myself and realizing how funny that sounded.  With all the time I spend engaged in law enforcement and with departments, I have never been on a ride along.

For a moment, I was sucked back into the small but potent sadness that lingers in my soul - that place that reminds me, even still, about the huge loss that exists in our world.  I distinctly felt the acute pain of sadness and grief; the heartache of knowing why I had not done a ride along took my breath away.

I quickly recovered myself, and moved on that day, but the thought still lingered.  Why?  Why not?  I can't change the past, but my future requires me to continue my education and understanding of law enforcement, why not? Why not go on a ride along, you certainly know enough people to make that happen?

I let those emotions linger for a while, and as we all know, emotions that linger tend to transform and settle at the root of what we feel.  My emotions settled on the hurt of loss, and knowing that this was something that I could never do with Frank, and I allowed that grief to unfold itself for just a little bit.  I feel that to honor our life, and the hard work we have put into maintaining our life, I had to acknowledge that loss, before I could move on.

The sadness did not overwhelm me, but coated me like a thin blanket for a while.  I am conscious of these thoughts, and allowed them to visit, then began to let them go.  I cannot change the past, but I can look to the future, and use these emotions and feelings for good.

I texted a friend of mine, a fellow high school graduate, that is an officer with St. Paul PD.  He and I became reacquainted at the hospital after Frank's accident, and have become close friends in the last few years. By fate and timing, we were able to have a late night conversation in the parking lot of a gas station and I brought up the possibility of doing a ride along with his some time - I believe the immediate response was "well, Fuck yeah!" which is cop speak for "absolutely that would be great!" I could have quoted him wrong, and I am sure he will let me know, but the sentiment is correct.

With some juggling and organizing, we were able to quickly schedule a night to get together, which just happened to be a Friday night - yes folks, a Friday night ride along in St. Paul, what could be more exciting.

The day quickly arrived and as afternoon moved on, I became aware of a new unexpected feeling in the pit of my stomach - fear.  I paused in the elevator on the way out of work trying to figure out what this was about - why was I worried, what was I afraid of?

I was afraid of dying. Dying?  What?  Where did that come from?

True to me, I spent the car ride home trying to figure it out - why was I all of a sudden worried about dying?  I will be honest, I do have a tendency to fret about dying, usually because I have an over-inflated sense of self-worth and worry that my world cannot live without me.  But this was true fear, a possibility that I could die, tonight, while out with the police.

Why now?  What about tonight was bringing this fear to mix with my excitement?

I thought about my kids, and how they see life now - fragile, not trustworthy, a place where bad things can and do happen, even to superhero dads. I thought about Frank, and how a life path was changed so dramatically, that there are still some days he cannot believe he will never drive a squad car again. And I thought about the officers I know, and how when they text me while on duty, I sometimes worry that I will be the last one that hears from them.

The culture of law enforcement today is scary -  it doesn't matter which side of the fence you sit, the smell of fear is on both sides.

Officers are being killed for being cops.  Shot in uniform while pumping gas, eating lunch, and walking out of their front door.  Life is not safe for them, and it could be unsafe for me while I am with them.

It was a surreal moment realizing that truth.  I could be in danger.

I had to make a choice in that moment - to stay home, with my family, and not go out, or to be brave, and trust that God has me where I am supposed to be, and with that comes scary times, and scary experiences.

I made my choice.

I made dinner, settle my kids, and walked out to the door.  Running late with the load I always carry, I sent a text to Tony announcing my late arrival.  As I got closer to the department, a familiar feeling began to settle into me, one that I know well, and one that has often lived alongside my fear during the last three years.

Honor. Integrity. Pride.

Familiar feelings that flow through me when I am surrounded by those that honor my family, exhibit integrity in their actions for their own, and are proud to face what may come each day.

I took a deep breath as I got out of my car in the parking lot. The air was cool, and going to get cooler as the sun went down.  I walked over to get my hug from my partner for the night, and met his "real" partner for the first time, who would be in a separate car for the night, acting in tandem as the calls came in.

Twenty one people on duty tonight here in St. Paul. My heart raced with the anticipation of what might be - little did I know that my mild elation would be nothing compared to the other emotions I would feel later that night.

And the deep level of understanding it would bring.

More to come...