When the Sirens Are for One of Our Own

Coping After a Local Officer Is Shot

This week hit differently. The news that a fellow Whatcom County officer was shot in the line of duty didn’t just flash across a screen, it landed deep. For those of us in this profession, those headlines aren’t abstract. They echo through every shift, every squad car, every dinner table where the uniform hangs nearby. Whether we knew the officer or not, the impact is real. It shakes something inside us. Because when one of our own goes down, it’s not just their department, it’s all of us who feel it.

My prayers go out to the officer’s family, loved ones, and to the entire Whatcom County law enforcement community.

We go to work with that quiet awareness. Some of us bury it. Others live with it in the open. Either way, the risk is always close. You don’t have to say it out loud to carry it. You might feel it when your spouse leaves for shift, when your phone rings late, or when you look at your kids a little longer before walking out the door. And after news like this, it’s hard not to imagine yourself in their boots, or picture your own family getting that knock on the door. It's the weight we live with, even when we pretend it’s not there.

I’ve seen it time and time again as officers push through like nothing happened, like they’re fine, like they have to be fine. We show up. We do the job. We joke, we deflect, we put on the armor. But that kind of strength, when it’s never allowed to rest, will wear you down. There’s nothing weak about feeling shaken when one of our own gets hurt. It means you still care. It means your heart hasn’t gone numb. And it means you’re human.

Over the years, I’ve found a few simple things that help, not as solutions, but as ways to manage the weight when it gets too heavy. I’m not talking about therapy right now, though that can be a powerful tool too. I’m talking about small, practical things you can reach for even in the middle of a tough shift or on a quiet drive home. Things that keep you grounded when your world feels a little off-kilter. Sometimes, it’s as basic as sticking to a couple routines like making your bed, stepping outside for some air, or preparing a simple meal. These small acts give your mind and body a sense of stability when everything else feels uncertain.

Movement matters too. I’m not saying hit the gym or train like you’re in the academy again. I’m saying take a walk. Do a few stretches. Move around a little. Stress builds up in our bodies whether we notice it or not, and motion is a way to move that weight through instead of letting it stick. You’d be surprised how much better you can feel after 20 minutes of walking or a quick bodyweight workout. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just move.

Another thing I’ve learned is that silence can be dangerous when you’re hurting. It’s easy to shut down and isolate. But we weren’t built to carry this stuff alone. A quick text to a buddy, a check-in with a partner, or a few minutes talking with someone who gets it can make a big difference. It doesn’t have to be deep or emotional. Sometimes just knowing someone’s out there thinking about you is enough to keep you going.

And then there’s prayer. I know not everyone leans into faith the same way, but for me and for many of us it’s been a lifeline. You don’t need fancy words or a perfect mindset. You can show up exactly as you are: frustrated, tired, angry, sad, numb. God can handle it. I've prayed some of the messiest prayers in the middle of my lowest moments, and I've never once felt turned away. Sometimes just saying, “God, here’s what I’m carrying today,” is enough to feel a little less alone in it.

There’s a verse I keep coming back to in times like this: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18). That’s not just poetic comfort. It’s a promise. God doesn’t wait for us to clean ourselves up. He doesn’t demand that we be strong all the time. He draws near when we’re hurting, when we’re scared, when we’re unsure. That’s where He meets us.

To the families reading this, you may not wear the badge, but you carry your own version of this burden. You’re the ones who wait for the call or the door to open. You’re the ones who make sacrifices quietly, who hold down the home front, who carry the emotional aftermath we don’t always know how to express. You grieve with us when tragedy strikes, because it could have been your spouse, your sibling, your friend. Your strength doesn’t always get recognized, but it’s just as real. And when your heart breaks, that doesn’t make you fragile. It makes you brave.

In the end, this life we’ve chosen is both sacred and brutal. It’s full of moments that inspire pride and moments that bring us to our knees. When tragedy hits close to home, it forces us to pause and remember that we need each other. We need safe places to speak honestly. We need to know we’re not the only ones feeling this way. And more than anything, we need the kind of strength that doesn’t come from pretending everything’s okay but from showing up in the mess and standing together through it.

So, to every officer, medic, firefighter, dispatcher, and family member feeling the weight of this week, you’re not alone.

Brave doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid. It means you show up anyway. And that’s what we do, every single day.

Brave Together. Always.

If this message helped you or made you feel seen, pass it along to someone who needs it. And if you’re struggling right now, reach out. No shame. No judgment. We’re in this together.

Authored by BRAVE Together Founder, Matt Thompson, Washington State

The Officer’s PrayerLord, I ask for courage—courage to face and conquer my own fears, courage to take me where others will not go. I ask for strength—strength of body to protect others, and strength of spirit to lead. I ask for dedication—dedication to my job, to do it well, to be proud of what I do and never give an inch of it away without a fight. I ask for concern—for others who trust me, and compassion for those who need me. And please, Lord, through it all, be by my side.