Carrying the Legacy to Save a Life

Preface Warning: This blog entry may be difficult for some to read. It’s okay, I understand. If you have stress and anxiety triggered by talk of suicide, stop here.

I’ve had a busy, but amazing, week this past week. I was offered the opportunity to speak out as a survivor to a ballroom full of Law Enforcement Agencies from 32 different agencies in West Virginia and Virginia. The Southern States Police Benevolent Association, Police Benevolent Foundation, provided LEAPS training to almost 150 people in Charleston, WV, to address Law Enforcement PTSD and Suicide, and I was invited to share our story.

I attended the same training in Winston-Salem in December with a dear friend of mine, who is also a survivor, from Greensboro. She spoke and shared her story. It was heart-breaking, but also oddly cathartic for me. I had heard her story before, of course, but this time, I teared up. I was so proud of her for being able to share it, and honored that she asked me to join her.

As I prepared to go to West Virginia, I typed up a condensed version of what happened, what led to Grubby’s suicide, and how it affected me. Abby also wrote something for me to read on her behalf. I figured I would have 5-10 minutes, maybe 15 at most, so my typed readings were the perfect fit. However, this was not the case. All of a sudden, the lead instructor came up and said, “Are you ready to go?” And, he informed me that I had the group until lunch – 40 minutes later! After a brief moment of panic, I said a few words to Grubby and asked him to give me the words… the words that would make a difference to someone.

I spent the next 35 minutes telling the story of how we met, describing the type of person that Grubby was, and what kind of a cop he was. I told them that he was the one who was fearless, that he would always have your back. He was the one they called to go talk to veterans and help convince them that it is okay to keep living. He was the one who helped everyone whether or not they deserved it, no matter what they had done or who they were. He was the cop that every one of us who ever attended a police academy wanted to be – respected by the public, fearless and tough when we needed to be, but still gentle enough to hold a newborn – the one who people look back on and say, “He saved me,” whether from an outside threat or something within themselves, “He saved me.”

Then, I talked about the events that led up to the day of his suicide, the day that my world forever shifted on its axis, and I lost my best friend, the love of my life, my person. When I talked about that day, and about hearing it and finding him in those woods behind the house, calling 911 and telling one of his OWN dispatchers what had happened and who it was, hearing her crying on the phone with me, and looking into Abby’s eyes seeing fear and confusion, I spoke honestly. I spoke from the heart. As I walked back and forth across the front of the room, I looked at the officers in that room, and there was not one person nodding off, not one person playing on their phone, but there were more than one who had tears in their eyes.

When I finished my part, I took five minutes to read what Abby had written. I ended the session and sent them to lunch with “I miss him”… “I miss my Dad.” I know that I reached at least one person. I know that at least one person in that room may find themselves at the precipice, the one where they can’t come back from, at least one person will remember, not me or my blue hair or where I live or even Grubby’s name, but they will remember those words, and perhaps they will hesitate just long enough to stop and get help.

To paraphrase the Talmud, “He who saves one life, saves the world.” For me, this is Grubby’s legacy, and I am just his messenger, but for as long as I breathe, I will carry that legacy on. For that, I am grateful.