by Lisa Legere

Created on: November 16, 2008   Last Updated: January 15, 2009

I stood beside him as the police cleared the street preparing for the Saint Patrick's Day parade in our sleepy little town. It was a quiet morning; the sidewalks were starting to fill up with laughing children and ladies toting lawn chairs. It wasn't until a balloon popped a few feet away, that I realized how much he was shaken. It was a split second reaction; the balloon popped and he spun reaching for his gun. I saw the shocked look on his face and the kid kept walking by oblivious to what had just happened. He clenched my hand as he covered the holster on his hip with his jacket.

It had just been a few hours since the shooting and it was still sinking in. Nothing ever happens in our little town, but this morning was a going to be a reoccurring nightmare for years to come. It wasn't the first time he had to go through a door for a search warrant with the federal drug task force, but it was the one that didn't feel right when he loaded his gear in his car.

I watched him leave at 6 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep. I sat, curled up on the couch with a gnawing uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. I could hear our son talking in his sleep. It felt like what a normal sound should be, but it didn't fit. All the sounds in the house felt flat; the clock ticking, a child rolling over in bed, the cat padding through the kitchen, all flat. I wondered about times like this. I closed my eyes for a moment. It felt like an hour when I opened my eyes again four minutes later.

I made my way to the counter to make coffee. The coffee grains fell into the filter from the spoon. The noise from the coffeemaker was a welcome sound. The smell was soothing. I felt like a kid playing with her kitchen set, trying to prove I am an adult and life is normal. I found my perch back on the couch and the cat found a warm lap. She curled up and purred, grateful for this early morning scratch behind her ears. It was a rare occasion she could enjoy snuggling without the boys terrorizing her.

I was settling in and starting to relax stroking the cat when the phone rang. I didn't breathe as I listened to it ring, once, twice, three times. This was the call. I never imagined I would receive this call. This wasn't supposed to happen. We were going to grow old and retire in the Smoky Mountains. This only happens to other people. On the fourth ring, I could barely bring myself to answer and force myself to breathe much less say anything.

He said my name. It was still hard to breathe. I was sure my ears

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