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The Last Shift

It has been a heartbreaking week for those in police services as two police officers in Ontario lost their lives in the line of duty. Cst.Tarun Bali was struck by a stolen vehicle driven by an 18 year old man who had escaped from the hospital where he was being assessed under the Mental Health Act. Cst. Bali was seriously injured and later died at the hospital. He had two and a half years service and was posted with the James Bay detachment of the Ontario Provincial Police. Cst. Marc Pinizzotto, an 18 year veteran with the Toronto Police Service was shot and killed by a nineteen year old man during a raid on an apartment building tied to an investigation into recent shooting at the American consulate.

My nephew, Cst. Devon Northrup and his partner, Cst. Morgan Russell of the South Simcoe Police Force were shot and killed while attending a family disturbance in Innisfil, Ontario on 11 October 2022. The suspect, twenty-two year old, Chris Doncaster, then shot and killed himself. Devon’s parents, my sister, Heather and her husband, Ron and their family were deeply affected by his death.

These officers paid the ultimate sacrifice in the execution of their duty. Their bravery will always be remembered but it will be forever mixed with sorrow. The following is a poem I wrote after Devon’s death. It is a tribute to him and to all those in uniform who work everyday to keep this country safe for us.

The Last Shift

He stood strong and tall

Checking his uniform

In the mirror

A photo of his uniformed parents

Watched as he brushed

A speck of lint

From his pants

Satisfied he started for

The door then pausing

He turned and walked

To the kitchen table

Where his partner sat

Drinking coffee

He kissed her and

Flashed her that big smile

That smile that said

‘I’m happy.  Life is good.’

Then closing the door

He left

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A Private Moment

When I was a boy of maybe eight or nine years old in the early sixties, my father took me out in the police car.  This was when we were living in Sussex, New Brunswick and while many of my young memories have slipped away, this one stayed.  It was just me and my Dad which didn’t happen that often when you had three other siblings so it was special to me.

A Private Moment

When I was a small boy

I rode with my father in

A police car and listened to

Him as he rhymed off the

Names of the cars we saw

That’s a 59 Ford Fairlane, there’s

A 57 Chev, a 54 Dodge wagon and

Look a brand-new T-bird

I didn’t know any of those names but

I knew a few birds like robins and sparrows

Though I never heard of a T-bird

He was in uniform when he

Took me on that ride

A thrill for me because

Cops were the good guys

And my Dad was one

It was a moment between

Father and son, privately shared

I grew older, a teenager, when

Having a cop for a Dad, was not cool

I could not deny he was a cop, but I denied

I was like him; I would not tell on my friends

They included me in their drinking

And a few other unsavory things

Things I shall not mention here

Cops were pigs, that is what they

Said and I let it go just to

Gain the trust of those people

People I don’t even remember now

I regret that, because he wasn’t

Just a cop, he was my father

I was never like him but

When I became a cop

It was then I understood

How much we were the same

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