All Roads Lead Here: Part 6 - Killed in the Line of Duty

I had known David for five years. We met and became friends after working together at Dillard’s. When I first met David, he was an undercover security officer. Oh how he loved to bust a good shoplifter! His dream was to be a police officer. In 1988 his dream came true. He signed on with the Little Rock Police Department.

David still worked off hours as security, but now he was in uniform. He strutted that uniform proudly. He knew the pretty girls liked men in uniforms and he worked it! He could always be counted on for sound advice…especially the advice he gave me on sucking a penny if I’m ever out drinking and driving.

David would always dance with the girls that went stag to the company Christmas party…I think it was his highlight to go stag himself, just so he could flirt with all of them, and not be tied down to just one date. The last time I saw David before he died, we were working at Dillards and he brought me a Diet Coke and package of Cheez-its. Not because I asked him to, but because he knew I’d be craving them later.

On February 13, 1991 at 2 o’clock in the morning my phone rang. I stumbled to the phone, still in a fog and groggy. I said, ‘hello?’ The voice on the other end was a familiar one. It was Barry, an officer with whom I had been dating. Barry told me a police officer had been shot. I could hear the fear and emotion rising in his voice. He said the officer was not dead as of yet, but it didn’t look good and they were not expecting him to survive. Barry did not know who the officer was who had been shot…his name was not being released to the LRPD yet. Still in a fog, I felt I needed to be more supportive than concerned right now. I did not think the officer would be anyone I knew. I hung up the phone and went back to bed.

Around 3 o’clock in the morning, one hour later, the phone rang again. I knew it wasn’t good. I hesitantly picked up the phone. I didn’t even say, “Hello”. The voice on the other end of the line was Barry’s. He said, “I wouldn’t have called you back this late, but there is something you ought to know.” My stomach knotted up and I took a deep breath. “The police officer died. Trish, he was very close to you. It was David Barnett.” Silence. “Trish, David was shot and killed at Waffle House.” I could not speak. I could not cry. I hung up the phone and lit a cigarette. I felt exhausted, yet could not sleep. I felt numb…I felt like I was floating and watching someone else’s life play out in front of me. Still, I could not cry.

Two days later, I attended the funeral. Elizabeth walked up to me and handed me a card as we were walking into the church. She said it was the Valentines Day card David had picked out for me, that she and he had been shopping the day before he died and he said this one was perfect for me. I opened it and read it. It was one of those hilarious cards. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. Elizabeth said, “David would have wanted it that way.” My tears turned into sobs as I began to cry for the first time. I could not speak or breathe. I felt I might hyperventilate. I tried to stop but couldn’t. I did not want to cry now…not in front of all these people.

The ceremony was beautiful. Every possible officer from all branches attended. Police, fire, MEMS…they were in their ‘Dressed Blues’. It was very proper and respectfully. A guard stood at attention saluting David at the foot of his casket the entire time. David was dressed in his ‘Dressed Blues’. A Medal of Valor was pinned to his breast, and in his white gloves he held a Harley Davidson patch. A flag covered his casket. The Chaplin spoke of hard regards on how this man laid down his life to save a stranger. On the left sat the officers…to the right were the Harley Davidson dudes from his bike club, and in the middle were all the pretty girls that David charmed so well. The horns played “Taps” as the officers slowly exited.

I made my way through all the cameras, television, and news reporters. Finally, I got to my car. Slowly, we assembled our cars in line for the procession to the gravesite. What an unbelievable experience this was… Police cars, fire trucks, MEMS and wreckers all drove with their sirens blaring and lights flashing. State troopers blocked all exits on the freeway for the processional from West Little Rock over the river bridge to North Little Rock. Five o’clock traffic had come to a halt. Some of those in traffic got out of their cars and stood saluting the processional as it went by. Chills ran down my spin. As I rode with Nancy, Wendy and Becca, I looked behind me and saw three miles of procession…and it was still going.

At the gravesite, David’s precinct stood at attention saluting him. On the other side of the creek, stood seven officers holding rifles. I was too far away to hear any of the Chaplin’s words. But I saw and heard the seven officers as they raised their rifles and shot three times. This was David’s twenty-one gun salute. Behind me, men were playing “Amazing Grace” on the bag pipes. The slow eerie-like sounds from the bagpipes chilled my soul. My heart felt heavy and I was having a hard time breathing. I could not bear the thought of David actually being dead, but it finally began to seep in as I saw them lower his casket… was he really in there? This could not be… David was really gone. It was not all a dream.

It was very difficult to talk about David after his death…and it was hard to remove myself from it, as I tend to do sometimes to cope. The media and newspapers kept daily updates on the two men who shot David. We were given interviews from the cook who was working at Waffle House that night…as he recounted the entire event on live T.V. I could not escape the depth of grief that seemed to consume me, of losing this very dear friend.

David was an incredible man. What I remember most about him was his pursuit for happiness and his dream. He dreamed of being a police officer. He thrived and he lived his life to the fullest. He also didn’t think twice about helping those people at Waffle House. He laid down his life for a stranger…something not many of us could or would do.

~“God hath no greater love for a man who layeth his life down for another.” ~

Thank you David for being the man you were and showing me through your life the purpose in pursuing our dreams. I’ll always take that with me.

(Below is one of many articles that appeared in the newspaper after David’s death.)

Slain Little Rock police officer David Barnett was honored posthumously Friday night with the department's highest honor, the Medal of Valor. The award was presented to Barnett's mother, Rita Barnett of North Little Rock, by Police Chief Louie Caudell. The ceremony was held at the lodge of the Little Rock Chapter of the Fraternal Order of Police. Barnett was killed Feb. 13 at the Waffle House at Interstate 30 and Scott Hamilton Drive when he tried to stop a robbery. Two Little Rock teen-agers were arrested within two days of the shooting and charged with capital murder. " None of us wants to dwell on the incident that took David from us," Caudell said. " But tonight we want to focus on a different aspect David's bravery. " The Medal of Valor is the department's highest award for service above and beyond the call of duty, and there certainly can't have been a situation where it was more deeply deserved.(" The FOP also honored Barnett with the Supreme Sacrifice Medal of Honor, the highest award given by the FOP. Sgt. Farris Hensley, FOP president, presented the medal to Rita Barnett. " The police officers have been absolutely fantastic," Rita Barnett said after the ceremony, which she attended with Barnett's brothers, Allen and Phillip. " They've been there for us every single day. They've helped the whole family," she said. Barnett was buried wearing his Medal of Valor ribbon, and his mother said it was a fitting tribute. " I first saw it when I saw David at the funeral home, and they asked me if I wanted the ribbon," she said. " But he lived and died for that medal, so his valor ribbon stayed where it belonged, on his shirt.I was proud of David. We were all proud of David.(" Rita Barnett said that David died doing what he always wanted to do be a cop. " I remember when he was a senior in high school and he came into my room one night and I asked him what he was going to do with his life," she said. " He said he was going to join the Marines to get all the skills he could, and when he got out he was going to join the police force.(" After 4 1/2 years in the Marine Corps, where he became a sergeant, he worked different jobs, including being a paramedic, before signing on with the police department in 1988. " He was thrilled to death when he was finally able to do what he always wanted to do," she said. Rita Barnett said that it had been hard to accept the loss of her son. " You try to do what the person would want you to do," she said." We've all tried real hard to be what David would want us to be. " It's difficult to talk about. It's hard to describe to people the things that you're feeling inside and put them into words.(" Phillip Barnett said that news stories about his brother that quoted his co-workers and friends had done a good job in capturing his brother. Rita Barnett said that even though David was only 33 years old when he was killed, "he lived a lot in his life and he did a lot of good for a lot of people. And a lot of people did good for him. He had a lot of good friends.”

What Just Happened? Originally Posted December 8, 2006

It’s been a whirl wind since Chicago… and I’m just now coming up for air…

I’ve not taken a moment to face the demons from Chicago…I’ve buried them so I can get through all the school, PTA, catch up at work, Christmas Parades, home décor, and garage sale things going on the past week. It’s been busy… but I’ve kind of made it that way on purpose.

Last night, for reasons I cannot explain, I broke down. I literally fell apart... I don’t remember the last time I’ve done this… perhaps when grief overtook me at my grandfather's funeral…which is what scares me to death.

I remember in s lo w m o t io n, but in a blur... taking the stairs two at a time to my bathroom upstairs...but for the life of me, I don’t remember what triggered the surge of emotions that sent me up the stairs in the first place. I felt the overwhelming grief hit me in the stomach like a semi-truck. A hollow, bottomless pit… my chest tightened up… my breath shortened up…my eyes started to water…then the flood gates opened up wide… I found myself gasping for air.

I don’t cry easily. I’ve been called a Steel Magnolia before.

So why did this happen? I remember getting angry with myself for even having this self-pitiful moment in the mirror… I took a hot shower and was fine.

So I thought.

Laying in bed, it hit again… out of freaking no where… a complete overwhelming urge to cry…to bawl… a rush of loneliness, disappointment and isolation flooded into my body. I flipped over onto my stomach and buried my head into my pillow, so my kids and husband would not hear me. My pillow was soaked when I woke up… It’s all still a blur…what just happened to me?
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Friday December 8, 2006 - 02:43pm (CST) Edit | Delete | Permanent Link | 13 Comments

It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To! Original Post: November 20, 2006

I can make a celebration out of anything and I do tend to make a celebration out of everything. Sometimes it drives people around me nuts. I love making celebrations! And holidays, although they are commercialized like crazy… I still love ‘em. I love to decorate…to put my creative spin on things in an artsy, funky, “you are special to me” kind of way.

Family birthdays will call for a special birthday breakfast - like chocolate chip pancakes with chocolate sauce, whip cream, syrup and powdered sugar with curly candles on top. Cakes will be that person’s favorite, with candles exploding on it. I’ve been caught singing “Happy Birthday” on many answering machines and voicemail boxes for friends and far off family. And…at my house…we always hang the “Happy Birthday Banner” in the kitchen window which can be seen as soon as you walk through the front door, announcing the celebration of that person’s life!

At Halloween, I’ll have spider webs and pumpkins galore - fake creepy family photos on the wall - the whole nine yards. My kids will make spiders out of egg cartons to hang from the dining room chandelier, and black bats with purple glitter to tape to the kitchen windows.

When Thanksgiving rolls around, I’ll purchase 6 ft. corn husks to adorn both sides of my walk way leading up to the house, with bushels of mums bursting with autumn color at their base! Brightly colored fall garland with leaves and berries are strewn over the front door frame. A big burly red berried wreath gracefully hangs as a signature of Thanksgiving as you walk through the door. Cornucopias overflowing on the table and mantel scream abundance and thanksgiving! The warm colors of orange, brown and yellow welcome you into my home and YES pumpkin and cloves are in the air…

At Christmas, I’ll have a tree in my living room, a tree in my family room and the girls will all have trees in their bedrooms. This year I even bought ornaments specifically for their interests for their own trees. One daughter has cowgirls, cactus, boots and barbed wire for garland. The other has shoe and purse ornaments, crystal beads, and a fluffy boa strand for garland on a pink tinsel tree. Green pine garland and velvet stockings will adorn the mantel with glittered name tags for all five kids, mom & dad, as well as both dogs and the cat. And… you are guaranteed that the scent of cinnamon and pine will fill the air as you come through the door.

Yes, I love making celebrations out of celebrations.

So that brings me to this year.

Thanksgiving this year is different. This year, my birthday falls ON Thanksgiving. I’ve known this for over a year, since I calculate the number of days to my birthday and announce it to all who know me for months ahead of time. I love the count down and anticipation. This year, you would think since there is a Birthday AND Thanksgiving it should be doubly bubbly with holiday cheer and celebrations. This year you would think tiny presents would be tucked inside the cornucopias. You would think candles would adorn a pumpkin cheesecake, or something...
or so you would think.

But…

This year, my kids will be at their father’s house for Thanksgiving.
This year, my mom and dad will not be cooking dinner, it’s her “year off”… (whatever!)
This year, I won’t be home at all for Thanksgiving. There are no decorations, no cornucopia, only leftover fall leaves from the Halloween decorations last month.
This year, my husband is taking me to Chicago – the windy city – for Thanksgiving and my birthday.
Neither of us have family there… it will be just the two of us.
Some people would kill to be in my shoes… to get away from family and traditions…

But…I’m a little uneasy about it all.

As spontaneous and full of life and energy that I am… I’m a woman of traditions. Chicago - for me - is totally untraditional. I will be totally dependant on my husband to meet my expectations of birthday and Thanksgiving, which I already know will not be met. He is complete opposite of me. He would rather not make any ‘ta-do’ about anything. I’m trying to prepare myself so I won’t be disappointed… I’m trying to not focus on the fact that there will not be any small feet coming into my bedroom singing “Happy Birthday” to me with a cup of orange juice and a pop tart on my birthday morning. I’m trying not to focus on the fact that there will be no sloppy wrapped Dollar Store presents of what ‘they’ picked out for me on my birthday. I’m trying not to focus on the fact that my mom won’t be wearing her apron hustling about with her little limp, barking out orders in her loud Portuguese Yankee accent to all of the family, as she does every year, before we sit down for our Thanksgiving meal. I’m trying to not focus on the smell of the turkey as my dad carves Big Tom and I sneak a piece out off the platter as he carves. I’m trying not to focus on the little “I caught you” look we exchange every year as he playfully goes after my fingers with the carving knife. There won’t be any off color jokes made by my brother in law as he, my sister-in-law and myself drink a little too much red wine before dinner. And I won’t be able to watch the expression on my brother’s face as he quietly sits back and kicks back a few beers - taking it all in - the ‘Family Thing’.

I wonder what it will be like to wake up in Chicago on Thanksgiving morning, my birthday morning, and realize it is a holiday.

I’m sure it will be just fine. But I know it will be different… it will be quiet… and I’m trying be okay with that.

It’s not my hearts desire. Celebrations mark me. They speak to me. I love the noise and the family oddities. This year will obviously be quiet. This year, I will be forced to be alone, without all the hustle and bustle to occupy me. I’ll be forced to be alone with my husband… just us. I know it’s not fair to him, and it puts a lot of pressure on him. I hate to be alone, especially on holidays. He doesn’t mind it. He actually prefers it. I’m actually a bit scared – a tad bit uneasy. I won’t have anything to hide behind... no one to laugh at my witty jokes or another family member to deflect the attention off us and the fragile state of our marriage. The thread that it hangs from will be totally exposed… and I don’t know how either of us will deal with it… miles away from home…

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Original POST: Monday November 20, 2006 - 02:43pm (CST) Edit | Delete | Permanent Link | 15 Comments

I am Extraordinary!!!!

I am Extraordinary

if you ever get to know me...

Yep... Trish's Mojo is Back!

(enjoy the 'extraordinary link')

Hot Mama!

The story you are about to read is based on a true story. The characters are not actors.

About nine years ago, I had a newborn and 3 year old at home. Life was a little insane to say the least. Trying to manage the two, along with my ‘not-so-organized’ life had its moments. One of my bad habits was/is to drop my dirty clothes in the floor and let the dirty laundry pile up. (It's a work in progress... what can I say?)

One afternoon after being a lazy mother - watching soap operas, eating bon-bons, and shopping on QVC (NOT!) … I decide I should probably go to the grocery store before hubby got home. I had less than 30 minutes to go and get back. Nothing like waiting til the last minute.

Since I was still in my PJ's at 4:30 pm, I ran upstairs, found a pair of cut-off blue jean shorts from yesterday on the floor (still clean) and threw them on with a T-Shirt. I threw my hair up as I descended the stairs, then tucked the kids in their car seats, grabbed my purse, and dashed out the door to the store.

Now, most women don't feel too attractive after having kids... it's a baby fat issue... nothing is in the same place... and sometimes, well you get tired of looking in the mirror or...
you are just too damn tired from sleep deprivation to care.

I parked, got out and proceeded to go to the back car doors to unbuckle my babies. I notice these two young handsome guys staring at me. They had to be in their 20’s (which I was not). My ego immediately sky-rocketed. I start to think, “Man, I do still have it!” Knowing my legs and ‘back-side’ can be considered one of my best assets; I worked it as I unbuckle my babies. I grab the nearest shopping cart and load up the girls. The guys are still gawking and smiling.

So here I am...

Thinking to self: "Oh yeah, I got it! I'm hot, that's right! I still got it! Yeah Baby!" Strutting into the grocery store, kids in tow, a woman out of no where comes up to me… and frankly I was a bit annoyed that she was interrupting my shining moment! She says, “Excuse me ma’am… you have a pair of underwear stuck to the butt of your shorts…just thought I’d let you know before you walk in the grocery store.”

Talk about an ego deflator! I wanted to die! At this moment I’m standing in front of the sliding doors of the busiest grocery store in our area. There are (what felt like) hundreds of people going in and out of the store, probably all snickering. I casually reach behind me and grab the panties that are stuck to my butt and place them in my purse - chin up and smile as I stride on in to the grocery store!

Oh, and to think I thought I was oh so HOT! Put me in check real quick! LOL! And don't even ask how I handled paying for the groceries when the panties in my purse were exposed!

Sad to say that this moment is only one of many... but that's okay...
I enjoy laughing through life, it's good for the soul!

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones...

Sticks and Stones can Break My Bones but Words can never Hurt Me...

Whoever wrote that is a complete idiot... I believe words are the most powerful weapon we ALL possess. Words can lift up or tear down... be careful how you use them...

This has been around before, but I got it from an old friend this week and found it a good reminder...

As the father guided his son through the childhood years, he observed that his son supported a strong temper with much verbal abuse. So to teach his son the error of his ways, he told the lad that each time he lost his temper he was to drive a nail into the slats on the old fence out back. Placing his bucket of nails and hammer in the shed, the son agreed to his father's request. Each time he lost his temper during the next few weeks, he would go to the old fence and drive a nail. He became weary having to stop and drive a nail every time he would loose his temper and began to struggle to gain control. Finally the day came that he didn't have to drive a nail and he was so excited as he shared his accomplishment with his father. The father commended his son and told him to now remove the nails from the old fence. The obedient son agreed and had soon removed all the nails. His father walked his son over to the fence, pointing out the deep and hollow holes that were left behind by the nails. He explained to his son that there was no way to undo the damage and that each nail had weakened the link between the two solid posts. His words of wisdom rang clearly in the heart of his son as the father associated the post as family and friends and the slats as the love and respect that holds us together. The son then realized that his uncontrolled temper could do irreversible damage to the hearts and lives of those he loved. With a tear streaming down his cheek, he leaned his little head against his wise father's waist and warmly said, "thanks daddy".