Sundowning

These days at best are a shadow of what they should have been.

Memories of the Cradle (Dreams of the Grave)

Who I am does not equate to who I once was.

I Don't Care Where I Go When I Die

Death is no escape, it is merely trading one hell for another.

"Officers Wounded During Monday's Rampage Confirmed Dead: Source"

Officer Painter and I were browsing Twitter during our first break earlier this morning when the Buzz Feed appeared with Breaking News. We both watched in stunned silence as a picture of myself and another officer appeared on the Twitter home page, situated beneath a headline blaring in all caps, "Officers Wounded During Monday's Rampage Confirmed Dead: Source."

The first thought that came to mind was something akin to fear: "Man, I must have really messed up this time. I mean, they've got my picture up on Twitter! What on Earth did I do?"

Only then did the article itself appear, explaining that two officers were wounded in Monday's terrorist attack during a music concert in Manchester, United Kingdom. They were rushed to a local hospital where they later succumbed to their injuries.

The whole room went quiet at this development. I looked over at Officer Painter to gauge her reaction and she just stared at me for a minute, white as a sheet, her expression a mixture of confusion and horror. Honestly, she looked like she had just seen a ghost. 

In that moment I suppose she thought she had.

Word spread quickly around the station. Several officers forwarded the article to friends and family. Others pulled up a chair alongside us to read the article for themselves. About a dozen different officers asked to take a picture with me to send as an addendum, proving I was still alive and that "the Mainstream Media" had "fucked it up again."

I smiled for the camera because I didn't know what else to do.

"Dude, how does it feel to be dead?" Sergeant Chavira asked with a grin, slapping me on the shoulder with a meaty hand.

"Everything still sucks, so nothing has changed," I laughed.

After awhile I asked to be excused from the floor.

Twitter removed the article from its site about an hour later. I never received anything in the way of an apology or an explanation for it. As far as I know, no officers were killed during this particular terrorist attack.

Regardless, being told that you're dead when you are indeed very much alive is certainly an unsettling feeling. I don't recommend it.

(The British media confirmed Thursday morning that one officer was killed in the Manchester terrorist attack. At this time the identity of the slain officer is being withheld by authorities, as is their right.)

Suicide Blast Kills 24 At International Airport (On Surviving A Suicide Bombing - Part II)

I walked away with only a bloody nose, a concussion and multiple lacerations and contusions caused by flying shrapnel and debris.

Had I not taken a knee to double-knot my boot laces at the exact moment the bomber completed the circuit to his suicide vest . . . well, suffice to say mine would have been a closed-casket funeral.

Pink mist doesn't take up much room in a standard-size casket.

I found out later that the suicide vest had been packed with improvised shrapnel, a pre-formed fragmentation matrix consisting of nuts, bolts, ball bearings and nails, to ensure the maximum amount of collateral damage would be inflicted upon the target.

I know this because the navy corpsman ended up pulling six nails out of both of my forearms. Thankfully the velocity at which the shrapnel entered my body was significantly diminished prior to piercing the skin - I was left with only superficial flesh wounds that healed with time.

The woman in front of me however was not as lucky. The fact that those same nails shredded her internal organs and helped shatter every bone in her body before hitting me likely undercut most of their momentum, inadvertently saving my life as a result.

Suicide Blast Kills 24 at International Airport (On Surviving A Suicide Bombing - Part I)

The suicide bomber chose to attack a crowded aviation security checkpoint during rush hour. Most of the victims were early-morning commuters boarding flights bound for Baghdad International Airport. Several checkpoint security officers, who only moments before had clocked in for their respective shifts, perished in the blast as well.

I recall a young man in the crowd yelling in Arabic - "Get down!" - as he attempted to wrestle the initiator switch out of the bombers hand but by then it was too late. The bomber had positioned himself in the center of the crowd, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to complete the circuit and ignite the incendiary hidden beneath his jacket.

The resulting explosion transformed the security checkpoint into a bloodbath. The aftermath is a blur in my mind but I do remember  leading a group of survivors out of the airport and to safety. I also remember stepping into a puddle of something human and not knowing what it was and attempting to shield a young girl's eyes of that sight as she exited the terminal.

In hindsight that was probably a moot point.

Dying in Perspective

Everybody does it, which means it's nothing special.