Just last Tuesday, May 17, 2011, at 4:03 PM, I was informed my whole world was about to change forever even though it had changed barely thirty minutes before.  I had just left the Police Academy to qualify for my firearm.  My son, Timmy, usually stayed after school at Archbishop Ryan hanging out with a small group of students and their English teacher, Mr. Emore.  I figured I was close by I would pick him up and take him to Barnes & Noble and maybe sneak a burger and shake.  My cell phone rang and the woman's voice told me to come to Aria-Torresdale Hospital because Timmy was in an auto accident.  I was driving right past the hospital on Knights Road having just turned off Torresdale Avenue and coming up on Red Lion Road. I walked into the hospital ER.  I seen two prison guards with a shackled prisoner and made sure my gold detective badge was still clipped to my rig because my Glock stuck out like a sore thumb on my hip. 

 

I walked up to the first nurse I saw.  I told her who I was and she told me to take a seat so she could fetch the charge nurse and doctor.  I had thoughts in my head of my Timmy sitting up in a gurney with a broken arm or leg; a half embarrassed smile on his face.  I could him apologize for ruining a vacation and I had the words to say to him forming in my mind - how I would tease him and I hoped he was going to enjoy sitting on the beach and not enjoy the ocean.  I sat there and I looked around the ER.  I saw two medics walking out to their Rescue unit.  I saw the expressions on their faces.  I knew that expression all too well.  It was the same expression I had used on numerous occasions involving serious injury or Death.

 

"I want to see my son.  Where is my Timmy?"  I was using my cop voice.  What the frig for?  Did I think I was a Jedi using the Force for a mind trick?

 

I was told to be patient and that the charge nurse would be with me shortly.  I felt my shoulders tighten.  I knew that if I stood up I would be in a defensive posture - ready to use my fists, feet, any thing next to me that I would use to protect my person.  But why?  Why?  I was in fear.  I was afraid.  I thought only of wanting to get to my son.  I wanted to protect my son.

 

A auburn hair woman, wearing glasses and in floral print scrubs came out and told me to come with her.  She led me to a room -- the family room where the severity of a patient is discussed with his or her loved ones.  A uniformed police officer stood there.  The same expression on his face as the medics.  A security guard stood next to him in a white shirt; he was a retired cop from all I could tell.  We, as cops, know sometimes who wore a badge.  There was a second nurse, tall, skinny, blonde, and attractive.  She told to have a seat.  I sat and waited with her standing next to me.

 

"Where is my son?"

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Comment by Martin Connors on May 25, 2011 at 2:00pm
I'll continue this in little bit.  I am starting to get upset.  My "wounds" are still open and it is painful right now to continue.  Just need to remember to breath.

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