THE PUBLIC MIND: MEN AND WOMEN IN BLUE WHO DIED IN LINE OF DUTY HOPED TO MAKE WORLD BETTER PLACE

Dear Editor:

This is Police Memorial Week. All over our country, police officers are remembering their dead. There are ceremonies and speeches being made. They will talk of sacrifices made, and of mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, wives and children who are alone because of those valiant soldiers of the street that each day put their badges to "Protect and Serve" the public, and died because of it.

Do you know that every 20 minutes a police officer is injured or killed in our country? He is not at home when it happens. He is out on the streets of our cities and towns doing his or her job. Mind you, this is not a job that they are well paid for; it is a job that they do because it calls to them and they think they can make a difference. It climbs in under their skins and they just can't escape it.

I was raised by a cop, married a cop, and my brother was a cop. They would come home nights with their hearts broken because of a child molested, a woman raped, a car accident where a little boy sat in the back seat of a car and watched his mommy's head roll across his lap, all because she didn't have on a seatbelt. All so senseless, all so hopeless, yet when morning came they were back on the streets because they thought that maybe this day they might make a difference, maybe this day they might be able to do some good. They did you know, lost children found their way home because of them; a family slept a little better because they caught the person as they were breaking into their home; or they busted a dope peddler that peddled his poison outside the fence of an elementary school.

Cops are cops because they can't be super heroes. They just are extra-ordinary people that do what they do because they care about you and me. Oh, I know that there are some bad ones out there. In every profession, there are some bad apples. Unfortunately, we hear more about them because they are news. They sell the papers, BUT they are not the majority; they are the minority.

My husband, brother and hundreds of others over the years died because they hoped that they could change the world into a better place. They hoped that all the children, women and men would be able to walk the streets at night and feel safe. They were not alone in that hope; there walks a man or woman in your neighborhood in a uniform with a badge with just that same hope.

This week I remember all those that have died wearing that badge and am thankful that they cared enough to put it on and take the risk for your safety and mine. I salute you and I will not forget your sacrifice.

Thank you,

Kathleen Ruopp

Cape Girardeau