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Today, a California Highway Patrol officer died as the result of an accident in the line of duty.  It was not his accident.  He was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time.  He was on a traffic stop.  The driver of the stopped vehicle was also killed.

I am a highway patrol wife.  I have not been to as many funerals as some, certainly, but I have been to my share.  I think the families and the wives carry the pain of the loss long after the officers have put the loss in its proper place.  They keep it in the place of honor; of the status of the fallen; the place where one keeps the memories of soldiers and heroes.

Every time an officer is lost, I see his face and I know that I knew him (or her) even if I never met the officer.  I know the family; the wife or partner of the officer.  It is losing a family member, even when we weren't acquainted.

I know the young wives are even more affected by these tragedies.  They are freshly married.  Freshly in love.  Their children are young and the idea of this type of finality is unthinkable.  We wives of more years have experience behind us, and have learned to put this type of worry in the back of our sub-conscious on the days they head out for their shifts.  For me, I feel we "Passed Go."  My CHiPpie is now retired.  The risk is behind us.  It does not keep me from re-connecting with each tragedy.  I don't do it intentionally.  I would like not to.

I am not writing with a specific thesis here.  I am writing to exorcise the demons.  The thoughts of the officer's last moments; of his wife going about her day and suddenly seeing the Commander drive up in her driveway. I plan to keep her--his wife--in my heart and my own thoughts of healing today.  I do not know the feelings washing over her, but I can guess the fears.

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