Memorial

This past week has been hard. We buried a fellow officer on Wednesday. Marcus Zaruba was only on this earth for 29 years and was with SLPD for about 3 of those. I will always regret not getting to know him better. It's weird now walking into work. I would see Marcus almost everyday before role call, and now when I walk in the back door at work, I still expect to see him walking around the corner, big smile beaming just below that broom he called a mustache. It was such a fixture, that I rarely referred to him by his name, but rather would call out "mustaaaaaaache" every time I saw him. In fact, when he got sick, all of night shift grew out their mustaches as a sign of unity and support for him. I obviously couldn't partake in this ritual, so I got a piece of brown felt and wore it for pictures.
I found out a lot about Marcus at his funeral. I found that he loved to wear overalls, and loved to eat; but more importantly, I found that he was truly loved by many many people and that he loved God with all his heart.

As police officers, we accept that our jobs are dangerous; we process that and build it into our lives. But what we don't think about is getting sick (or at least I don't). Marcus was diagnosed with cancer in April and he passed away on June 28th. When we first heard of his illness, I think a part of us thought that he would beat it and come back to work (disregarding the seriousness of the diagnosis). I say "we" because as police officers, we are a family (a big dysfunctional, loud, rowdy family). There is a bond between us that is unlike any other. We entrust our lives to each other everyday, so when we lose a member of that family, a part of us goes with him. We are used to being in control of things; we are used to taking charge and making things happen; but in Marcus's case there was nothing we could do; there were no bullets to dodge, no fights to win, and no bad guys to catch. No matter how many car washes we ran, no matter how much money we raised, we still felt helpless. And I think that feeling came to a head when he passed.

There is a sadness now, behind every smile, and a general heaviness in the air. I'm not sure how long that feeling will last. Today we take our badge covers off. I don't want to take mine off (although I am required to). It is a sign of mourning and I don't think any of us are done yet. I know that life goes on, and like my Aunt Monica told me recently in an email
"I don't know all what you're going through; [but] I know this:
Cancer sucks. Life can appear pretty suck-y at times too. Marcus only got 29 years and I don't know why that is. But I believe two things - he ain't stompin' around heaven wishin' he were here - and - someday we'll understand why he got done with his work so soon, meanwhile we are asked to trust. I am sitting here sort of laughing to myself as I think....yeah, but people are stompin' around wishin' he were here, like he's better off in THIS place?! What's with that?"

I know in my heart that he is in a better place and that he is just having the time of his life up there, eating and laughing; but I'm going to stomp around for a little while longer.

We love you Marcus!

Marcus Lee Zaruba
May 16, 1980-June 28th 2009