The agony of a dial tone

Author’s Note: This is a combination of thoughts I journaled within 20 minutes of learning the news that an officer had been shot and a social media post I shared after the initial news conference.

I just called my dad, half-expecting him not to answer.

It took a few minutes to sink in. The messages from other friends alerted me to what was going on.

I knew about the standoff. I knew it was a reported arson suspect.

But I still messaged the fire department’s public information officer first – “If you or TPD need a hand with anything tonight, I’m available.”

Then, it hit me. This was an arson suspect.

My dad’s an arson investigator who likes to jump calls anyway.

He’s probably there. I glanced again at the message from a scannerhound friend – my dad is there. How did my brain miss that the first time?

1908: “You safe?” I texted him.

1909: I couldn’t wait. I called him.

I was half-expecting him to not answer.

It could have kept ringing. A stranger could have answered. I could have heard his voicemail.

As the tones buzzed in my ear, I looked out my ninth floor window at the trauma center just blocks from the scene. If he didn’t answer, I was going there.

He answered. He told me that he and another arson investigator treated the officer before getting him in a patrol car to take him to the emergency room.

My dad, who trains the academy classes on officer first-aid and is a former paramedic, current EMT. And the other investigator? A seasoned inner-city paramedic lieutenant with a military background.

No two I’d rather have working on me under those circumstances.

When I asked if he was okay, he said yes, “are you?”

I was sobbing. I told him to call me when he could. Meaning, when my crying wouldn’t mess him up. He was still at the scene.

We hung up. I continued sobbing.

After a popped a propranolol, prescribed for anxiety, I got in the shower because it seemed like a good way to clear my mind. Instead, I couldn’t help but think of how many officers’ kids, spouses, family members, friends, were all making phone calls like mine.

All over the city tonight, people were calling their loved ones who wear this patch on their sleeve, wondering if they'd pick up.

When Keith Dressel and Anthony Dia were killed, I already knew my parents were safe. Tonight, I felt the paralyzing agony a telephone dial tone can bring.

So did God knows how many others, whose mom, dad, wife, husband, brother, sister, or friend puts on that uniform and goes to work everyday to protect this city.

My heart breaks for Patrolman Brandon Stalker's family and friends who didn't feel the relief of an answer on the other end.

My heart breaks for the Toledo Police Department family and for our city.

No more of this. No more unanswered phone calls.

Please, no more.

Officer Brandon Stalker upon graduating from the police academy. Source: Toledo Police Department

Slide during a news conference providing a synopsis of Ofc. Stalker’s shooting, identifying those police and a firefighter who began to treat him. Source: WTOL/Toledo Police Department