I work double shifts at the hospital to keep my boys fed and housed, and every day, I carry a quiet fear that something will go wrong while I’m gone. The day a police officer stood in my driveway holding my toddler, my worst fear had come true… just not the way I’d imagined.
My phone vibrated in my coat pocket at 11:42 a.m. that day, right in the middle of attending to a patient in room seven. I almost let it go. I had three more patients, and my break wasn’t until two.
But something made me excuse myself, step into the hallway, and check the screen.
It was an unknown number. I still answered.
My phone vibrated in my coat pocket at 11:42 a.m. that day.
“Ma’am? This is Officer Benny from dispatch. Your children are safe, but I need you to come home. Your older son was involved in a situation, and I’d rather explain it in person.”
I pressed my back against the hallway wall.
“Are my children okay? What happened?”
“Theres no immediate danger,” he added, “but it’s important you come home as soon as you can.”
The call ended before I could ask another question.
“Your older son was involved in a situation, and I’d rather explain it in person.”
I told my charge nurse it was a family emergency, and I left in the middle of my shift, still wearing my hospital badge. I drove through two red lights on the way home, barely registering them until I was already past.
The drive was 20 minutes long, and I spent every one of them rehearsing the worst.
My oldest, Logan, was 17. He’d had two run-ins with the police, but nothing serious.
When he was 14, his friends organized a bike race down the street. It ended with three of them nearly taking out a parked car. An officer gave them all a talking-to in the hardware store parking lot.
Logan still says it was the most embarrassed he’s ever been in his life.
He’d had two run-ins with the police.
The other time, he’d slipped out of school to watch his best friend play in a regional soccer tournament two towns over and hadn’t told anyone until afterward. He was 16.
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