Son's dream prompts mom's fears

Dear Friends,

There was a man, a good man who was a son, brother, grand­child, nephew, and uncle, but also a proud hus­band and father. He was a good friend to all. He was also a brave Elyria police­man. Offi­cer James Ker­stet­ter was killed in the line of duty on March 15, 2010.

I am sure there are very few cit­i­zens of Lorain County who do not rec­og­nize Jimmy’s name and know of his sacrifice.

Jack and I have met a good many of Danny’s fel­low offi­cers, but some­how always missed meet­ing Jimmy. When this unbe­liev­able crime occurred we were in our cozy house in Illinois.

We went to bed but the phone woke us up much later. Our son was full of grief he had never expe­ri­enced before and we hope never has to again. The rest of the night I could not sleep. My mind kept play­ing the “what if” game.

Jack and I arrived in town that week­end to watch the chil­dren so Dan could han­dle the details he was assigned and Erin was free to accom­pany Dan and the other offi­cers’ wives.

Giv­ing sup­port was the goal of each and every one over the dif­fi­cult days, weeks, months, and still to this day.

When Dan became a police­man for Elyria almost 14 years ago, we were so proud of his accom­plish­ments. This was Dan’s life­long dream.

He entered the Army and took a longer basic that gave him mil­i­tary police train­ing. After his Army tour, he got a job in Canon City, Colo., at the super-max prison on death row as a cor­rec­tions officer.

After a year of prison duty he was ready to return home to Welling­ton. After com­plet­ing many appli­ca­tions he found a posi­tion at the deten­tion cen­ter, but soon after Elyria called. There were more weeks of train­ing before he took his oath in Elyria as Erin, Jack and I watched the solemn ceremony.

The week Dan started his first week of duty, I was involved in a jury trial at the cour­t­house. As I was headed down West Avenue I noticed a side street cor­doned with yel­low tape and police cars with lights flash­ing. My heart leapt into my throat.

When I got to the cour­t­house I found a pay­phone, called the police sta­tion, and nat­u­rally, they would not tell me anything.

I explained who is was, where I was, and that was that.

A few hours later, in the mid­dle of the trial, a note was given to the judge, and a short recess con­vened. In the jury room, I was given a note that Dan was fine.

That evening as I said my prayers, I gave Dan up to the power and pro­tec­tion of God and His angels. I could not spend the rest of my days wor­ried like I was that morning.

I thought of Erin and how this must be for her. How must this be for every policeman’s fam­ily? How do you com­bat an unknown? So I know I have done only what I can do.

Then came Jimmy. That week­end we lis­tened to sto­ries about Jimmy. We lis­tened about how beau­ti­ful and lov­ing his funeral had been. Grief and laugher, you have one with the other.

I am hop­ing to have the honor of meet­ing Jimmy’s mother this sum­mer. We have become let­ter friends and now I know why Jimmy was such a won­der­ful man; his mother has remark­able strength and faith. I can’t wait to meet her.

Posted by Kathleen Willbond on Mar 22 2012. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS Feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.