[DavidI]

This job puts us in extremely difficult positions and calls on us to do some unthinkable missions. I was working a violent, prevalent Hispanic, area of Los Angeles on Christmas Eve. Two rival gangs had declared war on each other, dropping nine bodies in the past two weeks. In most cases, the suspect shooter had walked up on the rival and sent slaying hot lead into the victim’s head. There was a .357 Magnum and a shotgun out there and I was on the hunt. The killings had to stop. A notorious and powerful Mexican Mafia member had recently been released from the Security Housing Unit of Pelican Bay. When these predators run the streets, blood flows. My street informants told me what the word on the street was, and this eMe member was “flexing.” I did a work-up on him and learned as much as I could. I went to his house to pay him a visit and let him know I was going to do everything I could to put him back in prison when I caught him dirty. He laughed and said be “out” was the vacation and being inside was his home. This man was extremely intelligent, charismatic, and a psychopath!

I had a wife and three young children at home celebrating Christmas Eve. I am Mexican and Russian by birth and we always celebrate Christmas Eve at my home, inviting all of the relatives we get along with, you know how that goes. We had “the works” complete with beef, chicken, and pork tamales, rice, beans, and every salsa you could think of. It was a huge event and some family members drove over 50 miles each way to join our festivities. I have a personal work ethic and always showed up to work, no matter what because if I called in someone would be “drafted” to work my shift. That was unfair to him or her because they would miss Christmas with their families. I went to work ready to do my part. The “carnal” (eMe member) was on my mind.

I was a Field Training Officer and had a Trainee (newly assigned to Patrol duties) as my partner. He was with me for about two months at this point. I have always prided myself in my ability to suppress my emotions during critical incidents. I was in my late twenties and felt invincible. My Trainee had a great attitude and was always positive. His officer-safety habits were excellent. His only deficiency was report writing, but repetition solves that.

We were working the PM shift (“swing shift”) cruising the feuding gang’s areas looking for the cannon and boomer. We saw the countless families celebrating Christmas Eve throughout the neighborhood. Both of us missed our families. About two hours into our shift at 6:00pm, we received an unusual call for service: Drive to a particular residence, knock on the door, and ask if they were the “Garcia” family. If so, we were to call the Mexican Consulate. I had never experienced nor ever heard of such a call. I was confused. We drove to the home and saw many parked cars on the street and in the driveway. This particular residence was hosting a Christmas party.

I knocked on the front door and was greeted by a five or six-year-old girl dressed in a colorful dress. She smiled at me ear-to-ear, beaming because she knew presents awaited her under the Christmas tree. I asked her to find an adult who I could speak to and away she ran back into the interior of the modest home. A man about the same age as me came to the front door and greeted me. He was very congenial, but confused as to why a uniformed cop would knock on his door on Christmas Eve. I asked if we could enter his home and speak to him privately. He stepped aside and allowed us into the living room. The scene inside was beautiful. Everyone was dressed up and the house was decorated with vibrant Christmas spirit. Children ran around everywhere squealing with glee. The Natividad Scene was meticulously placed on a table displayed as a focal point. The walls were covered with family photos from several generations. There were at least five families inside the home. All eyes were on us and the room fell silent. I could sense the disruption our presence caused and I had no idea what I was tasked to do. I asked the man who allowed us to enter his home if we could go into a bedroom with a phone so I could call the Mexican Consulate. His face became very very concerned and he slowly escorted us to a bedroom. The house was now as silent as a library. All eyes were on us….all eyes.

We entered the bedroom along with the man. I used his landline phone; this was way before cell phones were affordable to “regular” people. I dialed the number provided in the call and it rang several times before an elderly male voice answered the call. I explained the call for service I received and that I was asked to call the Mexican Consulate. I heard a long sigh and his voice quiver. Whatever information he had for me would be difficult. Several other family members entered the bedroom and closed the door behind them.

The Mexican Consulate informed me that I had to do a “death notification.” I could not believe what I was hearing! A death notification on Christmas Eve! I looked over at the family members scouring my expression for any sign of information. I could do this. I can handle anything. I have been to war, seen people die in the streets, and handled life or death situations. He asked me to write down the names! NAMES, that means more than one. I slowly pulled out my notebook and pencil. The Consulate told me that a male (25-years-old), his wife (24-years-old), and their three children (1, 2, and 4 years-old) had perished in a horrific traffic accident and were all burnt to death. Their bodies we burnt beyond recognition and members of the Garcia family would have to travel to Mexico to verify the deceased bodies. To say my heart sank would be an understatement. My spirit had left my body and I felt violently sick. Despite being in top shape, my body was instantly fatigued and heavy. I felt sour, stinging bile rising from the pit of my stomach. All eyes were on me. My eyes filled with tears, now overflowing and streaming down my face. All eyes were on me as I watched the Garcia family members who were in the bedroom with me start crying. Nobody knew the tragic news I was about to provide, only me. They did not hear the conversation.

I slowly stood and felt the weight of death on my shoulders. The Garcia family was a family much like my own with the Patriarch and Matriarch as the leaders of the family. I walked into the living room and asked for the elders to be at my side. In the Mexican culture, the elders are usually the leaders. I was in the center and the Patriarch and Matriarch stood on each respective side of me. I grasped their hands and looked directly into the Matriarch’s eyes. Barely able to get a statement out, I slowly gave them the unthinkable news of the death of five beloved family members, three of which were babies and toddlers. I did not provide the additional details of the manner of death, that would come later. The Matriarch collapsed into me and held me as tight as I have ever been held. She wailed with a deep sorrow. Her eyes clenched shut, she said over and over and over that it cannot be true. The Patriarch was stoic and did not show any outward emotions, but I knew inside that his feelings had imploded.

The room became desperate. Everyone in the room was anguished. A woman ran to one of the walls and ripped photos of the deceased family to her chest. Her agony crushed through me because she was mother to the deceased male and grandmother to the three children. Others retrieved presents from beneath the Christmas tree destined to be given to the children. A woman opened a small present that was a customized baby pacifier she made for the one-year-old bay. I had a one-year-old daughter at the time and the sight of the pacifier felt like a shock to my system. The pandemonium seemed to go on for eternity. The feelings were so thick, you could cut them with a knife. I was still in shock, but this family was truly suffering and devastated.
The Patriarch walked over to me, looked me directly in the eyes, and thanked me for showing empathy and caring about his family. He apologized that I had to deliver the painful news. He pulled me into his chest and we embraced for a few moments. I felt a single tear from him fall onto my shoulder. We separated at arm’s length and he told me I was now part of their family, their story.

We left the Garcia home and I parked at a local park. I contacted dispatch and told them that I needed some time to compose myself. I would be available for any emergent calls, but I needed some time.

I let myself cry and cry and cry. My Trainee cried as well. That day bonded us for a lifetime.

I visit the Garcia family from time-to-time. Both the Patriarch and Matriarch have passed on, but the remainder of the family welcomes me with open arms.
That was one of the worst days of my life, but I’m glad it was me.