HE SAT ACROSS FROM ME IN SILENCE—AND THEN ASKED TO PRAY FOR SOMEONE I LOVED
After a Tough Shift, a Boy Reminded Me Why I Chose This Path
I stopped for a quick coffee after a brutal shift—domestic dispute, overdose call, hit-and-run. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation. I just needed a moment to breathe.
But then a boy approached my table. “Mind if I sit with you?” he asked. I nodded silently. He set down a small cup of water and said, “I want to pray for the officer who helped my mom.”
Immediately, I knew who he meant. Officer Trammell—my academy partner. The one who stayed late to answer a call after his shift. The one who was shot trying to protect a woman and her child.
The boy, Eli, bowed his head and offered a quiet prayer. When he finished, he pulled a small metal token from his pocket—Trammell’s badge number engraved onto it.
“He gave this to me,” Eli whispered, his voice trembling. I asked his name. “Eli,” he said softly. He explained he had been searching for someone who knew Officer Trammell, someone who cared about him the way he did.
He had overheard me sounding heartbroken at the hospital and had wanted to reach out. Gently, Eli slid the badge piece across the table to me. I tried to give it back, but he shook his head firmly.
“It belongs with someone who misses him like I do,” he said. I tucked the metal piece into my pocket, feeling its weight—and everything it represented. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Eli smiled shyly and asked if, one day, I could tell him more about Officer Trammell. I promised I would—and asked if I could meet his mom first.
That evening, I met Marisol. Young, exhausted, but incredibly strong. She thanked me over and over, telling me that Eli often asked if people like Trammell still existed—if goodness was still out there.
Her words cut deep, rekindling something inside me I thought I’d lost. When she asked quietly, “What happens now?” I realized I couldn’t just leave.
I promised to stand with them, to protect them, and to honor the man who had given us all so much.
Over the following weeks, I helped Marisol handle the endless paperwork, showed up for court dates, and became someone Eli could rely on. Slowly, we started to heal—together.
One afternoon, tossing a ball back and forth, Eli asked, “Do you think Officer Trammell would be proud of us?” I smiled and said, “I know he would.”
And somehow, he was right. We were more than just surviving.
We were building something stronger, something Trammell would have believed in—proof that kindness, sacrifice, and love are still alive.
Sometimes it takes heartbreak—or a courageous little boy—to remind you: love deeply, serve with all you have, and never underestimate the power of simply showing up.
