Editor’s note: This essay is part of “Stories from the Street,” a Police1 series featuring first-person reflections from officers across the country. These essays are about the lived experiences and moments that changed how officers think, lead and serve. If you have a story to share, we’d love to hear from you. Submit your story here.
By Detective Chris Zamora (ret.)
“When it’s my time to go, just give me my gun and I’ll disappear into the night. You’ll never see me again. I don’t need a ceremony.”
That’s what I used to tell my buddies at the station, half-joking and half-serious. It wasn’t for show. That’s genuinely how I felt. I didn’t want a spotlight or a sendoff. I figured I’d hang up my uniform quietly and walk away from over two decades of policing.
As my retirement date crept closer, the retirement committee at my agency reached out. They asked if I wanted a ceremony. Without hesitation, I said no. I didn’t want the attention. I didn’t need the speeches. I’d just go.
That night, I told my partner, Tami — my rock, and the one who always reads between my lines. She’s a clinical hypnotherapist, a transformational life coach and my business partner at Law Enforcement Coaching. She looked at me and said, “No! You need to have a retirement ceremony. You earned it. This is a major accomplishment — we celebrate accomplishments.”
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That hit me pretty hard when she said I earned it. Tami wasn’t talking about ego — she was talking about having honor and closure. It was about giving meaning to the final step of a long, hard-fought journey.
So I called the committee back and told them I’d changed my mind.
And I’m so glad I did.
Importance of ceremony
We enter this profession with a ceremony, standing tall in our class A uniforms as we graduate from the police academy. For many of us, it is one of the proudest days of our lives. Throughout our careers, we mark milestones with the tradition of ceremony — promotions, commendations and medals earned through sweat, sacrifice and service.
Law enforcement is a profession built on legacy and honor. So when it’s time to hang up our uniform, it’s only right that we leave the same way we came in — with ceremony and pride.
The retirement ceremony is more than just a sendoff — it’s a continuation of a legacy. It’s a tradition passed down from the generations before us, built to remind the next generation that this career is worth seeing through.
It tells the young officers, “This is the finish line you want, and this is what it looks like to stay the course.”
There will be tough days. There will be calls that shake you and moments that test everything you have. But there will also be many more moments of pride, purpose and camaraderie — and when you look back, you’ll see that the good far outweighed the bad.
The retirement ceremony is one of those great days.
“When it’s time to hang up our uniform, it’s only right that we leave the same way we came in — with ceremony and pride.”
When I looked out into the audience and saw fresh academy graduates in uniform sitting alongside my peers, it meant something. It reminded me that tradition will carry on long after I’ve stepped away. The next generation is watching and following our lead.
That’s why it matters. We owe it to those who came before us to honor the path they paved — and to ourselves to celebrate the wins, the milestones, and the journey.
Legacy doesn’t end when we leave — it continues through those who watched us do it right.
Put your ego in check
Part of the reason I didn’t want a retirement ceremony was simple — I honestly didn’t think anyone would show up.
Throughout my career, I wasn’t always the easiest person to work with. I was direct, matter-of-fact and sometimes blunt, especially when it came to tactical operations or undercover work. I spoke my mind, even when it wasn’t popular. If I saw something that put my team at risk, I called it out. I didn’t play politics — I played for safety, for survival, for getting everyone home at the end of our shift.
But in law enforcement, we all know how that can go. Say the wrong thing in the wrong room, and you make enemies. Push back too hard, and you might find yourself on the outside looking in. So I figured I’d leave this profession quietly with no ceremony — and boy, I was wrong.
I was blown away by who showed up for my ceremony. Law enforcement friends from every stage of my career were there. Childhood friends who I hadn’t seen in years made it. Even the mayor showed up and spoke, offering kind words and encouragement. She didn’t have to be there, but she was, showing true leadership.
And then something happened that really surprised me.
The current principal of Highland High School, one of our local high schools, came to my ceremony — the same school where I had gone undercover 23 years earlier. I was fresh out of the academy at only 22 years old. On the night of my retirement ceremony, Highland High was actually holding its own graduation. But this principal took time out of her busy schedule to attend my ceremony, where she handed me one of the most meaningful gifts I’ve ever received: a high school diploma made out to “Tommy Cruz” — my undercover alias.
That 17-year-old fictional kid came full circle, and we all had a great laugh.
“That day, I realized the ceremony wasn’t about popularity or politics. It was about connection, legacy and honor.”
Veteran officers, long retired, also showed up — some of the legends I looked up to when I was still wet behind the ears. Their presence reminded me that tradition matters. That showing up for each other, even in retirement, is part of the camaraderie we will always share.
My three closest friends, fellow officers, emceed my ceremony — each adding their own personal touches to this special day, keeping the fun going.
That day, I realized the ceremony wasn’t about popularity or politics.
It was about connection, legacy and honor.
And I’m grateful I didn’t disappear into the night. Because what I thought would be a quiet goodbye turned out to be one of the most meaningful days of my life.
A cop’s scariest time
Throughout my career, like most in law enforcement, I’ve faced my fair share of close calls — moments when life and death were only a “one-pound trigger press” away. But the truth is, the scariest moment of my entire career didn’t involve a suspect, a pursuit or a weapon. It came in the final hour before my retirement ceremony.
I stood alone at my locker, staring at my Class A uniform, knowing I was putting it on for the very last time. My stomach was in knots. I was dry heaving. I honestly didn’t know if I could go through with it because this moment was final.
Two questions kept pounding in my head: “Can I exist without being a cop?” and “What will tomorrow look like after I wake up as a civilian?”
I wasn’t sure. I had spent the majority of my adult life in public safety. “Officer Zamora” wasn’t just a title — it was my identity. It’s who I was. And in just a few hours, I wouldn’t be Officer Zamora anymore — I’d just be Chris Zamora.
And I’ll be honest, this terrified me.
I’ve spent years teaching officers at every level about the dangers of overidentifying with your career. You are not the title or uniform you wear, and your worth isn’t tied to your career. But there I was, standing in that locker room, feeling like I was losing myself.
“‘Officer Zamora’ wasn’t just a title — it was my identity. It’s who I was. And in just a few hours, I wouldn’t be Officer Zamora anymore — I’d just be Chris Zamora. And I’ll be honest, this terrified me.”
Here is what I want every officer reading this to know, especially those nearing retirement or quietly fearing it: yes, you can exist without being a cop, and there is life after policing.
You’re a person with values, with purpose, with the ability to reinvent yourself. You can take everything you’ve learned in your public safety career — your strength, your discipline, your integrity — and use it to build the next version of you.
I didn’t think I could do it, but I did. And so can you.
Ceremony for your family
What I realized during my retirement ceremony was that it wasn’t just for me — it was just as important, if not more so, for my family.
This was their moment to hear the stories from my closest friends, partners and co-workers. Stories that gave them a glimpse into a side of me they rarely saw. They got to hear about the calls, the camaraderie and the chaos. They saw a slideshow of my 23-year journey — photos, videos and memories that told the story of the man wearing a uniform and badge.
For the first time, they understood why I missed holidays, birthdays and milestones. They saw the reason behind the long nights and unanswered calls. And in that moment, they weren’t just spectators — they were honored. Command staff and the mayor took the time to thank them for the sacrifices they made, for standing by me so I could serve others.
Hearing and watching my kids laugh at the old photos and videos my friends dug up — those moments were priceless. There’s nothing like cop humor to get people laughing. Seeing my ex-wife, my family, sitting in the front row, finally getting the recognition they deserve — that meant everything.
So if you’re thinking about skipping your retirement ceremony, don’t. If not for you, do it for them. They carried the weight too. They stood in the shadows while we stood on the front lines. They deserve that day in the light.
Do it for your family. They earned it right alongside you.
Finishing strong
The retirement ceremony is much more than standing in the spotlight — it’s about closure.
Every cop has enough stories to fill a thick novel, full of adrenaline, heartbreak, courage and grit. Think of your retirement ceremony as the final sentence, the last punctuation mark in that novel called “My Police Career.” Without it, your story can feel incomplete — and in many ways, it is.
I’ve seen too many great men and women leave without a ceremony. No sendoff. No speech. Just a quiet exit. And later, some of them struggled. Why? Because we never gave them a chance to close that final chapter of their public safety journey. We gave them a badge, a gun and 20-plus years of trauma, but not even five minutes at the podium to say goodbye.
“I truly believe I was able to reinvent myself so clearly and confidently because I closed the chapter the right way — with ceremony, dignity and honor.”
We can do better.
If you’re a supervisor or a member of command staff, make sure your retiring officers are honored.
If you’re an officer nearing retirement, ask for a ceremony. Don’t let anyone convince you it’s not necessary. It’s not self-serving, it’s self-respecting. You earned it.
If you’ve already retired without a ceremony and feel like something’s missing, it’s not too late. Celebrate your career. Gather your family and friends. Share your stories. Honor your wins. Give yourself the ending you deserve.
I can say this with full confidence: since the day I retired, I’ve never looked back or questioned whether I left too soon. Instead, I stepped forward into something greater. I cofounded Law Enforcement Coaching, and now I have the privilege of serving first responders across the nation in a new way.
I truly believe I was able to reinvent myself so clearly and confidently because I closed the chapter the right way — with ceremony, dignity and honor.
So when your time comes, finish strong. You’ve earned it.
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When it’s your turn to retire, what would make that day feel complete for you? Share below.
Police1 readers respond
- When I retired from the Air Force after 26 years, my unit of over 50 people gave me a plaque noting my final years with that unit during my retirement dinner. Each time I moved throughout my career from one Air Force base to another, there was some form of thanks and sometimes a plaque from the people in the unit. When I retired from a major police department, I was told where to turn in my uniforms and where to pay the $20 if I wanted to keep my badge. My closest friends shook my hand and wished me well during a dinner they, not the department, gave me. My supervisor, who once told me when I tried submitting suggestions, “This department is not interested in anything a police officer has to say. If you want to be heard, get promoted,” was nowhere to be found.
- Ha, I was scheduled to be the watch commander on my last day of work at a large city department, and would have had middle of the week days off had HQ not notified me that my retirement checkout date was the following day. So I turned in all of my stuff and got the signatures I needed and that was that. One thing that happened that was cool though was as I was getting into my car to leave work for the very last time an officer happened to see me and told me to stand by. They handed me a radio and said listen. The dispatcher did a district wide simulcast stating I was retiring. Then voice and voice of officers came over the air with kind words wishing me well. That was very unusual at my dept. I appreciated it. Then I drove away.
- I agree everyone’s career should be capped off by some type of ceremony. Sadly, in many cases, command enjoys seeing some officers leave be it due to being a Union President or one of those who speak the truth to other officers. In my case, after 20-plus years, I did not even get a letter or card. It even took a congressman to get me a letter saying I worked at my department for a post-retirement job. So be it, I painted that target on my back. Sure, but I still did my job without one complaint or even write up. But since I gave a voice to my officers, I was very unceremoniously forgotten. Sure, everyone else that retired got keys to the city, I got nothing. Another fine example of why many commands are the most dangerous thing to police officers.
- Farewell, be blessed and hopefully be remembered, at least for a few days my fellow blue line retirees. If you made a difference in your officers’ well-being, you do not go out the door and out of mind. I have been retired now four almost five years, most of my last squad still reaches out. Be it for suggestions on departmental nonsense (we had a lot of that, more than most) or just a funny story. Maybe I am the exception to the rule, but I also know the flip of that coin. The command that took advantage of your years, work and accolades sure does forget a lot faster than it should. Overall, I am very happy with the feeling that I know I made a difference to who mattered most, my men and women. Best wishes to all you three stripers, may your retirement last twice as long as the years you surrendered to the world. Be blessed, be safe and be well.
- Retired 2019 and remained as an annuitant for two more years. I still struggle with the lost identity after 40 years of being an LEO. I miss the camaraderie. I stay in touch with a few folks but still not the same as clearing briefing and getting that first cup of coffee before the calls start. As told to me by many, have something to do after. So I keep busy fishing and with my business of heroesinglass.com.
- It would be great if things were really like that. But they aren’t. If you get out in one piece, count your blessings. For many/most cops, the suspects aren’t the most dangerous thing we deal with. The most dangerous thing we deal with is the administration of our agencies. They will throw you out without a thought for you. I’ve got 24 years in. When I retire, I’ll walk out the door without a second thought. My family means something to me. My department … means nothing. All they offer is meaningless words at retirements. I’ll stay in touch with a few good people who are also trying to get to the finish line and keep encouraging them. The rest of the “leadership,” I hope I never see or hear from them again.
- I retired in 2017 with almost 27 years on the job. I chose not to have a ceremony because the current administration had essentially forced me out. A new sheriff had come in less than two years earlier, coming in under a banner of “change” that was an awful lot like the previous administration’s standard of leadership, thru fear and intimidation. I don’t disagree with the article, but there was no way that I was going to stand next to that sheriff and listen to a bunch of fake platitudes being spewed out with the illusion that they cared. I didn’t need the sheriff or his lackeys faking their well wishes. I had been approached by plenty of others in the office who wished me well and thanked me for the help I gave them. I would also note that I started another law enforcement career with the state a week later, so I haven’t truly retired, yet.
- I agree that everyone’s career should be capped off by some type of ceremony. Sadly, in many cases, commands enjoy seeing certain officers leave, whether it’s because they served as a union president or because they were the ones who spoke the truth to other officers. In my case, after more than 20 years, I did not receive a letter or even a card. It took a congressman just to get me a letter confirming I worked at my department for a post-retirement job. So be it — I painted that target on my back. Still, I did my job without one complaint or write-up. But because I gave a voice to my officers, I was very unceremoniously forgotten. Everyone else who retired got keys to the city. I got nothing. It’s another example of why many commands can be the most dangerous thing to police officers. Farewell, be blessed and hopefully be remembered — at least for a few days — my fellow blue line retirees. If you made a difference in your officers’ well-being, you don’t go out the door and out of mind. I’ve been retired now four, almost five years, and most of my last squad still reaches out, whether for suggestions on departmental nonsense (we had a lot of that, more than most) or for a funny story. Maybe I’m the exception to the rule, but I also know the flip side of that coin. The command that took advantage of your years, work and accolades tends to forget much faster than it should. Overall, I’m very happy knowing I made a difference to those who mattered most — my men and women. Best wishes to all you three stripers. May your retirement last twice as long as the years you surrendered to the world. Be blessed, be safe and be well.
About the author
Chris Zamora is a retired detective with 23 years of service with the Gilbert Police Department in Arizona. Over the course of his career, Chris held a variety of assignments, including patrol, D.A.R.E., undercover narcotics — with a specialization in deep cover, street-level and border/cartel operations — internal affairs, robbery and homicide. He also served as a crisis and hostage negotiator on the department’s SWAT team.
Experienced in tactical operations, Chris has developed and instructed courses in small-team tactics, covert operations, close-quarters contact (CQC) and close-quarters battle (CQB), equipping tactical teams with the skills and preparation necessary to safely and effectively carry out high-risk operations.
Beyond his tactical expertise, Chris is deeply dedicated to the mental, emotional and physical wellness of first responders. He is a certified clinical hypnotherapist, transformational life coach, shamanic reiki practitioner and yoga instructor. He also serves as an adjunct professor of substantive law, where he brings real-world experience to academia, teaching future law enforcement professionals, attorneys and judges.
As co-founder and CEO of Law Enforcement Coaching, Chris delivers practical tools and evidence-based strategies designed to enhance resilience, maintain operational readiness and promote holistic wellness within the first responder community.
