Glimpse

Ramble

Chicago was bleak

All was grey.

Unexpected and untimely events had a habit of knocking people off their feet. In this case, it knocked them down, kicked them a few times in the ribs and left them sobbing.

No corner of the city was prepared or ready to let this soul fade. Maybe the local gang members and some disgruntled criminals, but to hell with them.

Some wondered how life would continue as the name so commonly remembered would become a passing thought, the simple conversation at a gathering, the tattered picture in the desk drawer. The sad truth is that memorials crumble, pictures wither, memories fade, stories loose impact.

You would think that the news of being shot in the back off duty after years of selfless service would guarantee your memory's everlasting continuation. Well did getting shot in the head get Jules anything? Zip, zero, nada, the only thing that the Wilhites got was a moving van. Alec couldn't handle the grief or the memories Chicago left him with.

That's also the concerning part of it. If people take time to memorialize you if the pain isn't unbearable, what did you even mean to them in the first place? If you can mention their name without choking back tears, if you can take a picture with the unit and forget their face, what did you even mean to them? Sure, they want to remember you, but is it for you or for them? Do they just want normalcy out of the chaotic catastrophe of innocent murder.

What is life? Is it worth sacrificing our own happiness for the well being of others? I don't know anymore. There's no karma here. You wake up every morning and put yourself in the worst place possible, trying to do the most good. It doesn't matter if you go broke, lose everything or even your very soul, you get up and do your job. If you don't, god forbid, who will? Who will risk everything good in their life for miserable circumstances? My best guess is the person who believes there is light at the end of the tunnel. Is there? Can there really be peace for the person who chases evil every day of their life? Being a cop either ends in wariness or a bullet. In this case it was the latter.

I guess that's how we figure out a person after they die. It's how we know they affected anyone. Did their legacy has a 1 out of 100,000 chance of leaving an impact or a 1 in 10,000,000,000 chance? I can recall great stories of many cops who died while in the service. I can also recall touching stories of retired cops' actions while in the service but went on to die as peacefully as they could in a nursing home 40 years later. Do the men and women who die on the job only get this recognition due to their untimely demise? Or if they were to die another 40 years later would it have been just as devastating?

I saw the news drop people into panic attacks. I saw some quiver. I saw many cry softly. A few faces stood still. Many stood in denial. I did. I think I still do even as I write this, it hasn't really set in no matter how many times I write it out.

What's any of this mean anyway? My rambling bullshit means exactly that, shit.

Chicago has lost its honest cop.

Antonio Dawson is dead.

Antonio Dawson is dead.

Antonio Dawson is dead.

I can't help but wonder when the reality will sink it. It might have, seeing I'm holding a gun to my head. I don't want to die, but I don't want to feel it. I don't want to remember him, I want to be with him. He needs to be here. I want him to be here.

I think this is goodbye,

Jay Halstead