We were only meant to there for funnel cake and refreshments. That was it. With its bright lights, fried food, and rides that seemed a bit too old but managed to function, the county fair had always been our little haven.
However, this year was unique.
Without her father, it was our first time.
It wasn’t until we passed the state highway police booth that I realized how much she was holding in. There were coloring pages, plastic badges on the table, and a cruiser parked with the door open for children to clamber into. She may choose one, I informed her.
She walked a few paces in the direction of the table and then simply halted.
Then she broke down in tears. First quiet, then the kind of cry that makes your entire body twitch.
I lowered myself to my knees and drew her near. I was at a loss for words. I should have anticipated it, but I hadn’t. However, I didn’t.
Beside us, a neighboring trooper knelt. Don’t make a huge speech. No exaggerated “sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He simply put his hand lightly on her back and lowered his head.
She said, “My daddy wore that too,” as she gazed up at him through tears.
“Mine did, too,” he added.
That’s all.
That’s all.
And the three of us remained huddled like that on a county fair’s concrete floor, as if the world didn’t exist.
His following words, which were so soft I couldn’t hear them, were intended just for her.
Whatever it was, though, she nodded.
and released the badge she had been holding so tightly.
He assisted her in selecting a coloring sheet featuring an image of a police car with a gregarious-looking canine sitting in the passenger seat. He even kept a tiny crayon box under the table. For a few minutes, they sat together and colored in silence while the sounds of the fair faded into a far-off hum. Elara, my daughter, was still sniffling, but her shoulders had loosened, as if the tight knot of anguish had slightly softened.
The trooper, whose name tag said “Officer Miles,” gave Elara a kind grin after they were finished. He gave her the drawing and said, “You keep this.” “And perhaps you can tell me about all the rides you went on next year.”
Elara forced a tiny, shaky smile. “All right,” she muttered.
After we thanked Officer Miles, Elara held onto the coloring sheet as if it were a priceless item as we left. The music was too loud, the rest of the fair was still a blur, and the kids’ joy stood in stark contrast to the subdued melancholy that pervaded the air. However, something had changed. A little sliver of light had broken through the wall of anguish that had surrounded Elara, creating a tiny crack.
Elara began discussing her dad more during the ensuing weeks. Not with the same intense hurt, but with a tender affection, recalling amusing tales and small moments I had nearly forgotten. Officer Miles seemed to have unlocked something inside of her, allowing her to experience the sadness without being overcome by it.
Elara questioned me about Officer Miles one evening. With a frown, she questioned, “Do you think he misses his dad a lot?”
I pulled her up close and murmured, “I’m sure he does, sweetie.” “But he’s also learned how to live his own life and still have his dad in his heart.”
A few months later, Elara saw a police cruiser at a traffic stop when we were driving through town. “Look, Mom! It resembles Officer Miles’ vehicle!
I stopped on the side of the road out of impulse. I said, “Want to say hello?”
Elara’s gaze expanded. “Really?”
We moved to where the officer was speaking to a driver after I gave a nod. I went up to him once he was done. “I apologize, Officer,” I said. “My daughter wanted to express her gratitude.”
When the officer turned and saw Elara, his countenance brightened. “Hi there! How is the coloring progressing?
Elara smiled. “I have it hung on my wall!”
Officer Miles asked Elara about school and her favorite subjects during our brief conversation. He took the time to connect with a little girl who was still dealing with a significant loss, and he was very sincere and caring.
The twist then appeared. Officer Miles informed us that the local police department will be hosting a “Kids and Cops” day at the station the following weekend. There would be demonstrations, excursions, and even an opportunity to view what an actual police helicopter looks like inside. Elara was invited to attend.
Elara was overjoyed. When we got to the police station the next Saturday, Elara’s face was a picture of happiness. She had the opportunity to sit in the driver’s seat of a police motorcycle, meet the K-9 squad, and see the fingerprinting lab. Naturally, Officer Miles was present, smiling warmly as he led us through the station and addressed all of Elara’s inquiries.
Their demonstration of the police chopper had the biggest impression. As it landed, Elara watched in awe as the strong rotors produced a gust of wind. She was given the opportunity to sit in the cockpit for a few minutes after Officer Miles assisted her in donning a pair of enormous headphones. The most exquisite sound I had heard in months was her laughing as she feigned flight.
It was more than simply a pleasant excursion—that day at the police station marked a sea change. It demonstrated to Elara that despite loss, there was still kindness, good things in the world, and caring individuals. It made it easier for her to understand that her father’s uniform stood for bravery, service, and a supportive community in addition to a loss.
The satisfying ending of this tale is about finding a way to honor her father’s memory with courage and optimism, not about forgetting him. Elara’s heart was opened to healing by Officer Miles’s small act of compassion on that trying day at the fair, which also demonstrated to her that there can be light even in the darkest places.
The amazing strength of empathy and connection is the lesson I took away from this encounter. A few kind words and a soft touch can have a profound impact on someone’s life, particularly on a youngster who is mourning the loss of a parent. It also taught me that sometimes the most powerful healing comes from unexpected sources, like the compassion of a complete stranger who has experienced your suffering.
Please share this story if you have ever been moved by a stranger’s generosity or if it spoke to you. Let’s share a little more of that light and let each other know that there is always hope, even when things seem hopeless. And please like this tale if you liked it. Your assistance is greatly appreciated.