In the Back Seat
31/01/12 04:48
As the sun rose after a night with all too little sleep, I found myself sitting in the back seat of a police cruiser as it drove through the hills on winding roads. It was my first time in the back seat of a cruiser. The seat is plastic and very hard with no springs or padding. Even though I had my seat belt fastened, I had trouble sitting still. I was sliding around more than I wanted. And I was feeling every bump. More than that, I was well aware that I could not get out of that back seat by myself. The doors would not open from the inside. There were no controls to lower the windows. There was a welded steel cage between the front seat occupants and me. The entire back of the car is designed so that it can be easily hosed out and sanitized in the event an occupant becomes sick. I was cold and the knees of my pants were wet from spending quite a bit of time outdoors, some of it kneeling and squatting next to a car.
I was trying to think of something to say. The deputy was busy driving and didn’t seem inclined to address me at all. It wasn’t a place I expected to find myself and so, as I rode I recounted the events that led me to be locked in the back of a police cruiser.
I have never been arrested, and I wasn’t being arrested that morning, either. I was riding in the back seat of the cruiser because we had another passenger for the front seat and it made more sense for me to climb in back than for our passenger. Whatever discomfort I had felt was nothing compared to what he had gone through.
The story is really his to tell, and not mine, but I think that enough years have gone by and enough details can be omitted that readers of the blog will not be able to make an identification of the people in the story. Actually I do not know all of the details. What I do know is that we were transporting our passenger to his parents’ home. Sometime in the night before he had been with his girlfriend at a cabin in the hills. She was suffering from multiple mental illnesses. They had argued. She had gone outside. He went out after her. She turned and he saw she had a handgun. It was his pistol. He asked her to put it down. Instead she raised it to her ear and discharged the weapon. She died instantly.
After he called 911, it took some time for the ambulance and coroner to arrive. The roads were slippery and the hill was steep. And they were quite a ways from town. I was in a third sheriff’s car to leave town heading for the site. By the time we arrived, we had been listening to radio chatter about the slippery hill and the adventures of the ambulance crew. We also knew that the woman had died and that the evidence was pointing toward suicide.
I spent my time at the site squatting and kneeling next to a patrol car in which the boyfriend sat. His emotions were raw. His grief was extreme. He didn’t know it yet, but he was headed for post-traumatic stress from what he had just witnessed. I had already seen a few too many bodies and had no desire to look at the wider scene. There were plenty of officers to take care of that part of the process. I even thought to invite the boyfriend to turn away and not look as they took the body bag to the ambulance.
Then we were on our way – heading through the hills to transport the boyfriend to a place where he could be safe and supported. After a few minutes visiting with his parents and sharing resources and information we were back in the car again. This time I got to ride in the front seat. We used the radio to find the coroner who was heading to the home of the mother of the deceased to make the official notification.
In a textbook case these events go smoothly. The coroner makes an official notification and stays with the bereaved until the LOSS team arrives, hopefully within 15 minutes. In this case, there was more than a little bit of confusion over family notifications and we ended up leaving their home and going to two different places of work to contact a sister and the mother. By that time we were all together. And, since I was traveling in the marked patrol car, we were careful to park it around the corner each time so that it wasn’t visible to the family. The coroner had an unmarked car.
Again, if the morning was hectic and confused for me and for law enforcement officers, it was much worse for the family. The news we had to deliver is news that no family wants to receive.
The reason for writing this in a blog, however, is not to focus on the tragedy, shock, and depth of loss. Those are real to be sure. What I need to say is that there was real hope visible throughout the adventure. We delivered a young man who had experienced great trauma into the arms of loving parents who were there to comfort him, to hear his story and to make sure he got the care that he needed including counseling when the time was right. As soon as we delivered our tragic news to the survivors of the woman who died we saw the community begin to gather. Co-workers offered words of comfort and offers of food and other assistance. Friends began to arrive with condolences and support. The community was showing its best that day.
And the officer and I have gained a story. The years have passed. The seriousness of our work hasn’t abated. But both of us have learned that telling the story of me being strapped in to the backseat of the deputy’s cruiser with a few key details left out raises eyebrows and eventually will get a laugh. We have become much closer friends through sharing the experience and telling the story. I may have even gained a bit of sympathy for those who ride in the backseat of that car unwillingly.
I was trying to think of something to say. The deputy was busy driving and didn’t seem inclined to address me at all. It wasn’t a place I expected to find myself and so, as I rode I recounted the events that led me to be locked in the back of a police cruiser.
I have never been arrested, and I wasn’t being arrested that morning, either. I was riding in the back seat of the cruiser because we had another passenger for the front seat and it made more sense for me to climb in back than for our passenger. Whatever discomfort I had felt was nothing compared to what he had gone through.
The story is really his to tell, and not mine, but I think that enough years have gone by and enough details can be omitted that readers of the blog will not be able to make an identification of the people in the story. Actually I do not know all of the details. What I do know is that we were transporting our passenger to his parents’ home. Sometime in the night before he had been with his girlfriend at a cabin in the hills. She was suffering from multiple mental illnesses. They had argued. She had gone outside. He went out after her. She turned and he saw she had a handgun. It was his pistol. He asked her to put it down. Instead she raised it to her ear and discharged the weapon. She died instantly.
After he called 911, it took some time for the ambulance and coroner to arrive. The roads were slippery and the hill was steep. And they were quite a ways from town. I was in a third sheriff’s car to leave town heading for the site. By the time we arrived, we had been listening to radio chatter about the slippery hill and the adventures of the ambulance crew. We also knew that the woman had died and that the evidence was pointing toward suicide.
I spent my time at the site squatting and kneeling next to a patrol car in which the boyfriend sat. His emotions were raw. His grief was extreme. He didn’t know it yet, but he was headed for post-traumatic stress from what he had just witnessed. I had already seen a few too many bodies and had no desire to look at the wider scene. There were plenty of officers to take care of that part of the process. I even thought to invite the boyfriend to turn away and not look as they took the body bag to the ambulance.
Then we were on our way – heading through the hills to transport the boyfriend to a place where he could be safe and supported. After a few minutes visiting with his parents and sharing resources and information we were back in the car again. This time I got to ride in the front seat. We used the radio to find the coroner who was heading to the home of the mother of the deceased to make the official notification.
In a textbook case these events go smoothly. The coroner makes an official notification and stays with the bereaved until the LOSS team arrives, hopefully within 15 minutes. In this case, there was more than a little bit of confusion over family notifications and we ended up leaving their home and going to two different places of work to contact a sister and the mother. By that time we were all together. And, since I was traveling in the marked patrol car, we were careful to park it around the corner each time so that it wasn’t visible to the family. The coroner had an unmarked car.
Again, if the morning was hectic and confused for me and for law enforcement officers, it was much worse for the family. The news we had to deliver is news that no family wants to receive.
The reason for writing this in a blog, however, is not to focus on the tragedy, shock, and depth of loss. Those are real to be sure. What I need to say is that there was real hope visible throughout the adventure. We delivered a young man who had experienced great trauma into the arms of loving parents who were there to comfort him, to hear his story and to make sure he got the care that he needed including counseling when the time was right. As soon as we delivered our tragic news to the survivors of the woman who died we saw the community begin to gather. Co-workers offered words of comfort and offers of food and other assistance. Friends began to arrive with condolences and support. The community was showing its best that day.
And the officer and I have gained a story. The years have passed. The seriousness of our work hasn’t abated. But both of us have learned that telling the story of me being strapped in to the backseat of the deputy’s cruiser with a few key details left out raises eyebrows and eventually will get a laugh. We have become much closer friends through sharing the experience and telling the story. I may have even gained a bit of sympathy for those who ride in the backseat of that car unwillingly.