The police do actually care

The police very often get bad press. Here for a change is some praise for the local police service.

A couple of years ago my parents got burgled. In this current climate that may not be a shocking statement to some people. They are my parents. That's shocking enough to me.

My parents are in their 70's and always try to do the best they can. Sometimes it's fucking hard. My dad has a lung disease that is best described as crippling. It's a bastard. It's heart breaking to see the dad I used to play football with when I was a kid, struggling to walk 10 metres without being out of breath, gasping to breathe. He quite often has to use oxygen. He's now registered disabled. It's horrible to witness. It's heart breaking seeing fear in his eyes when we have spent hours with him in hospital whilst they try to get him more comfortable to breathe. I never knew what it truly meant when somebody says "saw fear in their eyes."

I do now.

They had an evening out at the cinema, something they enjoy doing on a regular basis. It's comfortable for my dad to sit for a couple of hours without having to worry about catching his breath. However he hadn't been feeling well, something wasn't right. He was struggling to breathe.

He said to my mum, "I don't feel right. I can't breathe. I need to go to hospital, now."

My dad never makes a fuss. No drama. He has never been one to do so. Typical man most would say.

This was serious.

They should have called an ambulance. They didn't. Dad didn't want to make a fuss. So they would drive to the hospital via home first to collect a few previsions. Past experience had told them they could be in for a long wait in A & E at that time of night.

They arrived home, opened the front door and was hit by a surprise gust of wind blowing through the house. As they turned on the lights they we welcomed by a scene out of a movie. The back patio doors had been smashed in by a concrete slab, which was now resting in the middle of the dining room like a fallen meteorite. The house had been ransacked. Every draw and cupboard in every room was open, their contents strewn about the house as if the wind had been having a laugh. Muddy footprints everywhere, on the new carpets, sofas, kitchen worktops, even the beds.

The bastards.

My parents were shocked. Mum mum burst into tears, she was so shocked she couldn't talk. She couldn't even call the police. My dad couldn't breathe. He phoned the police. He barely managed to tell the person on the other end of the line what had happened. The operator in the call centre knew straight away something was more wrong than just a break in. She could tell my dad was struggling to breathe. She called an ambulance and alerted the police.

They both arrived. The ambulance took my dad to hospital, code red. The police comforted and helped my mum. They helped her call the insurance company, who actually didn't do anything to help. They couldn't arrange an emergency boarding service as it was out of office hours. The police instead called a boarding company who came and boarded up the patio doors. The police waited with my mum until the scenes of crime had arrived and done their job. They then drove my mum to hospital so she could be with my dad. They even went into the hospital to see if my dad was alright.

They helped. They cared.

Considering the number of burglaries that happen each day, you would sometimes expect the victims to be treated like a number, like a statistic, a form that has to be completed and filed away to be forgotten. Maybe that happens. In this instance it didn't.

The police visited my dad in hospital again the next day. They visited my mum at home as she felt unsafe being in the house on her own. The police fitted alarms to the windows.

They made my mum feel safe. The police cared.

They never caught the scum who did this. Who smashed in the patio doors with a concrete slab. Who trod mud into the new carpets, sofas and beds. Who stole cash and jewellery of huge sentimental but little value and even stupid things like place mates and towels. Who made my mum feel unsafe in her own house and had to sleep down stairs for fear of them returning. Who made my dad go to hospital in an ambulance.

They will one day.

I love my mum and dad dearly, more than they know. I love the police, who will be there when needed.

I fucking hate the scum who did this. I hope that one day they also need the police. That day I hope the police won't care, won't attend, won't show compassion.

But you know what, they will.

Note: My dad has since passed away. I hope one day I meet the person or people who broke into their house. I hope they are in prison. I hope they are scared shitless in their little cell. Wankers.