The Day After Arvada Lost Its Innocence
Today was my first day standing watch over the memorial for Arvada Police Officer Dillon Vakoff. If I’m being honest it was a struggle.
Fifteen months ago I was at this same police department, standing on this same roof, taking a picture of a memorial for a fallen officer. I was uncomfortable with the familiarity.
The first thing I did when I arrived this morning was rush to get the memorial organized and arranged so that any and all visitors would see a beautiful tribute to such a wonderful young man. As I worked, people I knew from the department, city employees and folks from the community came to say hello and give me a hug. I love these people but I was sad that they already knew who I was and why I was there.
Then the city staff came out with officers and began their work. I watched as they erected a tent over the memorial because they knew rain might be coming. I watched as they angled it properly for maximum coverage. I watched as they brought out shiny new buckets, filled them with water and began placing all of the flowers in them. They did all of this without having to ask me a single clarifying question or needing any recommendations. I hated that a department and community this small already knew what needed to get done. When everything was complete they returned inside.
And then, suddenly, everything seemed to change. There was a crowd and in it was a young man standing quietly by himself. Something told me to speak to him. He was Dillon’s roommate at the academy. Their badge numbers were sequential. Another man showed up. Dillon’s mom has cut his hair for the last 25 years and though he’d never met Dillon he had heard all about his life from the age of 2.
In the middle of all of this the people from the city and department who had worked on the memorial earlier began to return. In retrospect, I realized they wanted exactly what I had wanted when I arrived this morning, a memorial fitting for the person Dillon was. They got the tasks done first thing. They were returning later, to mourn, to love, to begin healing.
Some of Dillon’s friends showed up. The dispatcher on the call that night came with her friends for support. His mom’s neighbor spent time telling some of us stories about him. Some of his relatives showed up. They are wonderful people. The last person of my evening was one of the on-scene officers from a neighboring community. He wanted to know how Dillon’s partner was doing. He never spoke of himself, he just asked about others.
I will share what I learn about Dillon over the next few days but I hope you understand that when we lose an officer in the line of duty the impact of that loss is felt broadly. Please join me in holding Dillon’s family, friends, colleagues and community close as they work through this horribly difficult time. I would also ask that you look at your own communities and not wait for tragedy to show your support for the men and women that put on a uniform every day and patrol your streets trying to make your town a safer and better place. Thank you.
