More than just a number.

I'm sat on the big, brown leather sofa that hugs you.  The wind is whistling through the leafless branches of the trees outside my window, the birds are singing beautiful songs and the sun is shining through a strip of blue, breaking through the grey sky like a promise of things to come.

This weekend, I met up with some friends for a night out.  Some were friends I already knew, others were friends I only knew from speaking to on Twitter.  It had been a harsh few weeks so I was looking forward to this weekend.  My best friend had once again put his life at serious risk to rescue a suicidal female from what would be certain death.  It made me angry that I could have lost him but proud at the same time because he puts himself in situations whereby normal people would merely stand and watch, or run in the opposite direction.  In the news had been reports of more Police Officers who had died - both on duty and off.  It made me think about how those that love them must have felt.  Were they angry yet proud too?  I don't want to think of how life would be without my best friend in it, he is my rock, so my heart went out to their friends and families.

The train journey to the place we were staying was under an hour, and after walking aimlessly around Manchester for nearly an hour trying to find the bus to get there, I gave up and got a taxi.  As I was walking up the hill towards the accommodation block, I saw a small "garden" with an obelisk in the centre.  I had no idea what it was but decided I'd go and have a look once I had put my case in my room.

As I got to the garden, I could see four small blue signs around the walled centre.  As I got closer I could read the words on them - peace, compassion, protection and courage.  There were two small bunches of flowers on the outside circle, and as I got nearer, I could see two photographs - one next to each bunch of flowers.  The photographs were of PC Fiona Bone and PC Nicola Hughes.  I walked into the centre square and was greeted with a number of small silver nameplates around the wall upon which the obelisk sits.  Each plaque represents a member of GMP who lost their life in the course of their job.  On top of the centre circle was an order of service for one such Officer, along with more flowers - he was 32 and recently died on duty in another Force area, but had served with GMP for four years.  One of the cards on the flowers was "For Dad".  

I sat on the cold and damp stone seat and looked at the names, quietly crying.  The only other sounds were those of the birds in the trees.  The names on the wall directly in front of me were those of Fiona & Nicola.  Even now, as I sit typing these words, I have tears in my eyes.  On the day after the funeral of Paul McKeever and the day of his Memorial Service at Southwark Cathedral, and at the end of a week which saw two other Police Officers killed, I sat and thought about all of them.  I sat and thought about my friends who are Police Officers, and all the other Police Officers that I don't know.  I'm not a religious person in the normal sense of the word, but as I sat with tears rolling down my cheeks, I hoped that the families and friends of those who have lost their lives could find peace and remember how proud their loved ones made them.  

The Police get a very bad press sometimes, but if just one person sees a news report of an Officer killed on duty and remembers that they are more than the uniform they wear, more than just a collar number, then maybe, just maybe, we can all find that peace, compassion, protection and courage within ourselves and make this world a better place.  Rose tinted view I know, but what is life without hope?