His photo is washed out and pixelated on the copy announcing his memorial that they hung in the dimly lit basement corridor where we have our academy. Two youthful eyes peer out at you from behind a motorcycle helmet, it looks like he's revving the engine. And when I walk past the photo to go to class, I find myself wondering who held the camera.
The street in front of the church was lined three deep with shoulder-to-shoulder police blue as far as the eye could see, until the heat and humidity of the day claimed the horizon in heat waves, making it impossible to focus. Sweat ran down my face, along the veins on my neck, pooled in the hollows of my collarbone and spilled out, soaking my shirt. If I lead, will you follow? We stood watch with thousands of police officers and when the bagpipes started we moved as one to attention, and held a long and sorrowful last salute.
They carried his casket into the catholic church, bagpipers and all, and the air outside became still, weighed down with the humidity and the mourning. We stood there in the oppressive sun, sweat bleeding through our clothing, wishing there was more suffering we could take on for his family, for his department.
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. And although it means a paltry little, he will never be forgotten.
Hang on tightly, let go lightly.
About Me
- porfiry
- The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too, but there will be no special hurry.