THERE IS HOPE

THERE IS HOPE
By: Chris Amos

I sat on the edge of my bed. My, wife Anne Marie, had just taken our first child up to the store. We had been married at this point for about three years, Seth, our first child, was about one year old. I was living the proverbial dream. At 24, I was happily married, had a couple of cars in the driveway, had just bought our first house, I was active in a church, and to top everything off, I had fulfilled a lifelong dream of becoming a police officer just three years earlier.  By every reasonable metric, life was good and I had found my personal road to purpose and success.  Which is why, as I stared at my reflection in a bedroom mirror, while placing my city-issued Smith & Wesson revolver first in my mouth and then pressing it against my head, my actions made absolutely no sense.

Just recently I was heartbroken as I learned of the four law enforcement officers from the same department who committed suicide just days apart. I was reminded of just how fragile life can be and how susceptible cops can be to choosing suicide as the proverbial permanent solution to a temporary problem. I was reminded of just how quickly we can become desensitized to life… and death.

Cops are a tough nut to crack. The job, now more than ever, has a way of totally warping one’s view of life, trauma, tragedy and death. We see this often in our morbid sense of humor. Cops are infamous for offending the sensibilities of those not in our line of work. Case in point: I remember responding to a call involving a drunk guy and a train. Having seen one John Wayne western too many “Joe” decided it was a good idea to try to jump on a moving train. Had Joe been sober, his idea would have been horrible. Being obnoxiously drunk made his idea infinitely worse. The train seemed to be slow enough as Joe made his move. Immediately stumbling, Joe fell face-first toward the moving train while reaching out for one of the boxcars. Joe quickly regretted his knuckle-headed plan as he saw his hand instantly ripped off at the forearm.  A shock-stricken Joe was rushed to the hospital. I was dispatched to the scene with a handful, pun intended, of other officers and a K-9 unit in search of Joe’s hand. The hope was, if found in time, it could be reattached. Well, we eventually found it,or what was left of it, and radioed to the E.R. that we would bring it in but in our collective opinion it was mangled beyond recognition.

As the three of us walked back to our cars one asked, “Hey can you give me a hand?” and the hand was given to him. “Do you need a hand?” a second officer said while passing the hand to me. The K-9 Officer took it back while demonstrating the proper “golf clap,” and the morbid humor continued.

Now this sounds terrible to someone who has never had such an experience, but I assure you, while seemingly morbid, crass, even unprofessional, it in a strange way is kind of a healthy way to process the traumatic event at the time. You know as well as I do the Police Academy doesn’t teach us how to carry a hand that had been ripped off, or how to cut down a man who had hung himself with an industrial strength orange extension cord, or how to gently remove the body of a 3-year-old toddler who had drowned in a local pond as his mother, oblivious to her son’s whereabouts, got high and partied.

Long before GPS and Google maps, law enforcement officers were learning the streets and locations in their respective areas of patrol, not by street names or block numbers, but by an auto fatality they responded to or a SIDS death they handled, by a triple homicide or police-involved shooting. To this day I can’t drive through an intersection or neighborhood in my town without thinking of something traumatic that happened in that area.

Unlike service members in the military who see and experience some horrific things, they can at least physically, if not mentally, leave the desert, the village, the mountain top, or dirt road on which their traumatic incident occurred. Cops have no such luxury, and if they LIVE in the same city where they work, the hits just keep on coming.

Admittedly, I know nothing about the four deputy sheriffs who took their lives, and so I dare not make any assumptions or draw any conclusions as to the reasons for these tragic deaths. Having said that, I do know a little bit about police suicides through my own experiences.

My grandfather Cyril, a retired police chief, left a suicide note, “Can never get well, can’t stand pain …”

Steve, a robbery detective, was going through relationship issues, outside of work. He turned to alcohol to help cope. Alcohol and guns are a really, really bad combination.

Dave, an Internal Affairs supervisor, was the happiest guy you would ever meet. His smile and positive attitude, masked the depression he was dealing with.

And perhaps the most tragic was Lt. Bill. Like Dave, Bill was quick with a smile, he was the nicest guy you would ever meet. His troops loved to work for him. Bill was an easy-going, laid-back supervisor that hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be a patrol officer. One night, Bill shot and killed his wife before killing himself. We would later learn he was being treated for insomnia. Doctors were trying to find a “safe” cocktail of medications to help him sleep. To a man, we believe he was awakened by a night tremor, shot his wife, and then realizing what he had done shot himself. I officiated a dual funeral service for Bill and his wife, standing by two open gravesites trying to comprehend the loss. PLEASE KEEP YOUR GUN FAR ENOUGH AWAY FROM YOU AT NIGHT, THAT IF CALLED UPON TO NEED IT, YOU WILL HAVE TO FULLY WAKE UP TO RETRIEVE IT.

And though not a law enforcement officer, my father took his life in 2024, just days before his 83rd birthday. Dad’s hearing was shot, but otherwise his mind was sharp and he was in great health, shooting well under his age as an avid golfer two or three times a week. We would learn from the note he left, he was afraid he was going to outlive his life insurance policy.

Friends, the reasons law enforcement officers commit suicide are as varied as the officer. Sure, there can be clues, subtle hints, and warning signs. Unfortunately, especially with cops, such signs can be easily concealed. A cop who has been on the job for any amount of time has probably responded to dozens of suicides, making him or her a kind of subject matter expert. If an officer wants to drop a hint he will. If the officer does not, she will not.

As I began to squeeze the trigger, watching my reflection in the mirror and seeing the empty hollow eyes of one who had lost all hope, I heard a voice. A voice, as audible to me as that of my own wife, spoke three words that pierced the darkness that had consumed my life. “THERE IS HOPE.” There is hope. Three simple words that hit me like a ton of bricks. I immediately pulled the gun away from my head and literally began to look under the bed and in the bathroom for the source of those three words. About 4 months later I discovered the source, the author and in fact the very essence of that hope, Jesus Christ.

Friend my “why?” was a 14-year addiction to pornography; an addiction that, like cancer, had decimated my will to live and self-worth as a husband, a father, a police officer. Like an unrelenting boa constrictor, it squeezed the life, the purpose, the hope out of me. You see I knew all ABOUT Jesus but I did not truly KNOW Jesus. But then, on November 30, 1989, about four months after hearing those most powerful, life transforming words “There is Hope”, I surrendered my life to Jesus inviting Him, by grace through faith, to do as He saw fit to the living hell my life had become, in spite of the plastic smile.I felt as if Jesus, with key in hand, unlocked and began to unwrap 14 years of this unrelenting, suffocating, life destroying demonic stronghold. I was set free, and he or she who The Lord sets free is free indeed!

Friends, life can be challenging, even overwhelming. As law enforcement officers we are paid, we are trained, we are expected to fix things; to bring order to chaos and a sense of security to a dangerous situation. Of all people, we cannot let on that we are the ones in danger, we are the ones living a secret life of chaos, despair and depression. We are the ones in need of fixing from suicidal ideations. Jesus knows all of this and so much more about each one of us. Friend, can I shout from the very depths of my heart, soul, and spirit, “THERE IS HOPE!”

How do I know? Because I looked into eyes filled with hope just this morning.

Chris Amos is a retired officer and former spokesperson for the Norfolk Virginia Police Department. He is currently the pastor at Chr1st Fellowship Church in Norfolk. He is married for over 30 years and is the proud father of three children, two of whom are police officers. He serves as the volunteer Chaplain for Norfolk Police Dept. and Norfolk Sheriff’s Office.