P1 First Person: Why a cop’s death is a big deal

By Sergeant Eric Bunday
Police1 Member

Over the past week, I have seen more than a few posts and comments on social media asking why a police officer’s death is more important than the death of others. I’ve even been sent a post from the daughter of a convicted murderer who killed a police officer describing her father as a “good guy” who “made a mistake.”

While I do not believe that any human life is more valuable than another, I do believe that the death of a certain few of us is cause for alarm and, at the same time, cause for honor.

The events of the past week in Oregon have created much debate and an impressive unified call to action to rescind the parole of the murderer of John Day Police Department Officer Frank Ward, while the line-of-duty death of Washington State Patrol Trooper Sean O’Connell this past Friday has also brought the sobering reality of the risks we take as police officers back to the forefront.

So I want to take a moment to explain why it is that a police officer’s death should be a big deal, a message intended for the public.

We were not drafted. We were not conscripted. None of us were told or ordered to become police officers. We did so of our own free will. We are given hundreds of hours of initial training, followed by months of field training. We are issued firearms, bullet resistant vests, batons, OC spray, TASERs, Kevlar helmets, riot gear, radios, and many other pieces of equipment designed to help keep us safe.

The key word there is “help.”

Help keep us safe. Our safety is never guaranteed. It is never for certain.

We are the chosen few who will work Christmas. We will work all eight nights of Hanukkah. We will ring in the New Year with our teammates instead of our sweetheart. We will work birthdays. We will miss Thanksgiving dinner in order to eat a McDonald’s cheeseburger in our squad car.

We will tell our kids we cannot go to their baseball game because duty calls. We will go to a house where we have never met anyone to tell them their loved one died in a car crash. We will sit in our squad car afterward and cry because it wasn’t our family that was affected by that tragedy.

We will lose sleep at night because of the squalor we saw children living in earlier in our shift.

We will ice our bruises from the latest criminal who wanted to fight. We will put our own safety on the line so that you might sleep better at night. We will take a bullet for you if needs be. We are your line of defense against enemies domestic, just as our soldiers defend us from the enemies outside our borders.

We are the ones who hide in the corner at parties because we know once everyone knows we are a cop they will want to hear the stories. We are the ones who have to check our food twice at a restaurant because we know it is the cook’s Constitutional right to hate us, a right we are sworn to uphold and defend.

We are the ones who refuse to turn on the news because once again a reporter is second guessing the decision we made in a split second that they have had days to think about. We are the ones who are out and about at three in the morning when the rest of the world is sleeping.

This past week, one officer’s death 21 years ago was brought to the forefront of consciousness again because his killer was to be set free, while another was brought to the forefront of consciousness because his life ended far too soon in the line of duty.

Both Frank Ward and Sean O’Connell died as heroes. They died serving and protecting their communities. They died because they chose to stand up, take an oath, and devote their lives to the service of others.

Why then do you suggest that our deaths should not be treated as a big deal? They are a big deal. We protect the American way of life. We answered a call to serve and protect.

At the end of the day, we also bring home a paycheck that allows our family to eat. Our families love and support us. They do not have the equipment we have that helps keep us safe.

They have two things to rely upon: hope and faith. And yet they love us and they care for us when we come back from our shift, and they bid us farewell as we set off to police with the hope we will return.

When we do not return, they are the ones left to pick up the pieces from the dreams that were shattered. This is why it is a big deal, because someone willingly leveraged a happy home and a loving family against the ability of society to feel safe and that did not play out in their favor.

It is a big deal not just because of the life lost but because of the lives changed forever as the result of a sense of service and sacrifice that cost the ultimate price.

We won a battle on Tuesday. Frank Ward’s killer will remain behind bars until such time as a second hearing can be held, this one on more equal footing and with a mountain of evidence that should lead even the greatest of skeptic to recognize this killer should not breathe free air.

Yet, at the same time, a family in northwest Washington and one of the proudest police agencies in our region are devastated, preparing to bid farewell to their fallen hero on Thursday.

Every man and woman who puts on the uniform and the badge is part of a family, and those love and support them also become part of that family. A family bigger than themselves. A family that transcends borders and languages.

It’s my family.

And when a police officer dies in the line of duty, it’s a death in my family. It’s more members of my family who have been devastated by sudden and tragic loss, given the ultimate life sentence for which there is no parole: a lifetime of longing and yearning for the one who once sat at that empty chair at the dinner table that will never be filled again.

So this is why the death of a police officer is a big deal, and it’s why as you read this on Police1 today, I’m up in Everett, where I will join with other members of my family to honor my brother whose life of service ended far too soon and to show to his family that his policing family will never forget him.

Sergeant Eric Bunday
Hillsboro Police Department