This is an honor, but it isn’t necessarily something that I’m proud of. I’ve been a police officer for less than 12 months, yet within the next two weeks I will experience something that thousands of police officers never experience.

As our department and Mark’s family prepares for his name to be engraved on the Texas Wall and the National Wall, I am humbled and honored to be able to bear witness to such an event.

Since being commissioned as a Peace Officer in the State of Texas, I’ve witnessed community relations go from bad to worse. I’ve had meals bought for me and I’ve been thanked for my service, but I’ve also been called a racist and a pig  by people who know nothing about me, simply for doing my job.

When I think about Mark and time that I knew him and worked with him, not only do I think about the things that he taught me when he was here, but also the things that I’ve learned since he’s been gone. I’m thankful for people that I’ve become closer with because of his passing. I’m thankful for the reminder that I carry with me every day – the reminder to be kind, the reminder to work hard for those that I love, the reminder to provide a solution not just a complaint, and more importantly, the reminder to first and foremost love those that I come in contact with before I judge them.

In times like this it is very easy to make these things about us, about who we are as individuals, about how we feel and what we think. But the truth is that it is not about us. As we march this weekend, we are nothing more than a representation, witnesses for those who have come before us and given so much that they have nothing more to give.

I’ve spent the last six months adapting to a new job, learning the ins and outs of daily life as a police officer, all the while missing one of the people most influential and supportive of my dream to be a police officer.

I’ve realized in this time that everyone grieves differently. I’ve realized that when the ceremony ends, and the lights fade and the cameras are turned off, things are different. I’ve realized that for families, sometimes the first few months are the easiest, because that is when they have the most support.

I could never say that I’ve learned more since Mark’s death than I learned in my time spent with him – however, he has continued to teach me lessons from his post at the Gates of Heaven.  As I write this I am reminded of a line in the Marines Hymn, something I know that Mark held close to his heart.

I have been provided a front row seat to something few people know anything about. But once again, this isn’t about me. I’ve watched the family go through the five stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. And the one thing that has stood out most glaring to me during this time, is that we can never give up.

When they are gone, their families need us. When they leave, we’re still here. Nothing will change that, because it is our responsibility to love them, provide for them and protect them.