Partners. Police officers. It was what we did; it was who we were. It was how we met. We fatefully got partnered together and eventually, we feel in love.
It was what we knew; the only way we knew how to be together. Wake up, drive into the barn, go to parade, patrol the streets, go home, then wake up and do it all over again.
That was how it was, until one afternoon when everything fell apart.
At first, I was unable to process what the doctor was saying. But I knew it had to be bad. I saw the whole thing.
We had been working radar all afternoon, but with the heavy rain everyone for the most part was actually driving the speed limit or close enough to it. Mostly everyone, but that never stops that one person determined to push the limits, no matter what the weather conditions are.
So we lit the car up and turned on the sirens, quickly pulling over the driver who was easily going 20 above the speed limit. When he offered to be the one go outside in the rain to write the ticket I was more than happy to let him.
The last thing I saw was him turning around to walk back to the squad car with the drivers licence and registration. The last thing I could hear was the sound of car tires struggling to brake on the slick road. Next thing I knew he was laying, thrown to the ground from the impact, feet from where he must have been standing before.
Waiting for the ambulance to arrive felt like an eternity. He had no obvious signs of trauma except for bruises and scrapes and what looked like a few broken bones from the impact of hitting the cold, wet pavement.
It wasn't until we arrived at the hospital and he awoke a few hours later when we first realized that he couldn't feel anything from the waist down.
When the doctor repeated that he doubted my husband would ever be able to walk again, I was still in shock. When the doctor finally left us alone to process what was just said, I could see only a single tear escape out of the corner of one of his eyes and roll down his cheek.
I had never seen my husband cry until that day in the hospital when the job that made him who he was, who we were, was taken away from him and us, forever.
After a long recovery and lots of therapy to get accustomed to the usage of his new wheelchair, he tired working front desk for a few months before that even became too much for him. I went back to working the streets with a new partner while he was cooped up inside filing my paperwork. Eventually he could no longer take having what used to be his daily routine dangled in front of him, so he left the force for good.
At home, things were even tenser. I knew the fact that I continued to work at 15 division irritated him, but what was I supposed to do. Give up on all my hopes and dreams as well? And someone needed work to pay the bills.
On one Thursday evening, when I arrived home after shift I tried to make the usual small talk with him. Ask how his day was, deflecting from any conversation involving my job, which I knew would only further deepen the depressed state he appeared to be within.
But today was different. As I stood to wash the dishes I watched as my husband rolled up beside me, pulled me down on to his lap and said what I was never expecting to hear him say.
"Look at me."
He used his thumb and index finger to move my chin gently so that I was staring into his eyes.
"I know this isn't what you thought your life would be like at 30. Taking care of me like I'm 80 something year old, having to do everything. I know you still want to have kids and travel and all those other things you say you no longer care about but I know I'm holding you back from. I just want you to know I want what's best for you, even if that's not me."
"What are you saying?" I said with a confused look upon my face.
"I'm saying that I would understand if you, you know-" I couldn't let him finish what I knew he was going to suggest.
"I remember that speech you gave me years ago when you were my training officer. We're partners, and no matter what, you always have your partners back. And better yet we took a vow, in sickness and health. So it doesn't matter, even if you were in a coma I would still be here. I'm always going to be here, no matter what."
It was now my turn to hold his face within my hands, make him look me in the eyes, and slowly place a tender kiss upon his lips. As I held onto him, all the while still sitting perch atop his lap I knew we were both thinking the same thing. It wasn't going to be easy but we would make it work. We were partners. We still are partners. And for us, that's all that matters.