Guardian angel officer saves two lives
Published: January 17, 2006
Alert, dedicated constable arrives just in time to rescue pregnant woman from suicide in lonely area
They would have died. In the car. In the rain. In the dark. Next to two empty pill bottles.
Rebecca and Joshua.
A mother and her unborn son.
She chose her spot well. Planned carefully.
But for whatever reason — God, fate, luck — a guardian angel with a badge would steer his cruiser into the right nook and save two lives at once.
Rebecca believes it was a miracle.
Rebecca Kramer is 40 years old and hasn’t had much happiness in her life. Her three brothers were all diagnosed as bipolar. All three committed suicide. Manuel was 18. Aaron was 20. Ruben, 28.
Rebecca is bipolar, too. Has been hospitalized 20 times for mania. She pushed through a fine arts degree at York University. Drank too much. Found God. Became a Christian songwriter and performer. Began a website dedicated to suicide prevention and bipolar awareness.
She is petite. Her blond mane is the biggest thing about her. That and her belly. Josh’s arrival is five weeks away.
Rebecca met Peter on a Christian Internet chat line a year ago. Peter is candid about who he is: a former jewellery store robber, a recovered crack addict, a reformed drug dealer.
They liked each other and married in June. They planned for a baby and had a miscarriage. They tried again and got Josh.
They are taking prenatal classes. There is a stack of parenting books in their Barton Street storefront apartment. They have a nursery.
Yet Rebecca had doubts. Not about loving the baby. She loved it from the start. Doubts about her own ability to be a mother. To care for a child.
“I was very frightened about the idea of being a mom,” she says quietly.
“I thought I wouldn’t be able to figure out why the baby was crying.”
She took her fears to a doctor. She wanted help. Medication maybe. But the doctor was reluctant to give her anything beyond the meds she was already taking. It might harm the baby.
She tried to buck up. But the depression was getting worse. Instead of the manic highs she usually has, Rebecca was low. Lower than she’s ever been.
On Dec. 28 she’d had enough.
The night before, she and Peter had watched a movie about abortion. An idea started to form for Rebecca. She filled her prescriptions for Zyprexa and Clonazepam. Told Peter she was going to her Women in Sobriety meeting. Then she got into her car and drove.
She was searching for a place to die.
The road led to her beginning. To Greensville, where she grew up.
“I thought, where can I park my car where it will be difficult to find me?”
She pulled in behind an industrial building on Brock Road. It was pouring and cold. Foggy. She considered walking into the forest and taking the pills there, but chose to stay behind the steering wheel. She opened a bottle of water, reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the pill bottles. Sixty tablets in each. It was 7:30 p.m.
She began swallowing.
She wasn’t going to be a good mother. So Joshua would be better off dead.
Rebecca didn’t leave a note. Didn’t even think of one. She did, however, unlock all four car doors.
“To make it easier to get to me.”
As the pills took effect, Rebecca felt “more and more tired.” At peace.
“I felt relief. Relief that it would end.”
She lost consciousness.
When Rebecca was 30 minutes late coming home from her meeting, Peter knew. He checked for her pills. He phoned the police. Told them they needed to take his missing person report very seriously.
They did.
At 9:30 p.m. an all-car bulletin went out. Every cop on duty was told to watch for Rebecca. They were given her plate number. Constable Chuck Beasley memorized it.
After 30 years on the job, he’s learned being able to recall a licence plate quickly can buy some crucial time.
Beasley is a great guy. The kind of man you like immediately.
He has two grown kids, a bunch of pets, a way with people. He’s a hard worker. Even after all those years on the road, he still goes all-out every shift.
It was 2 a.m. and Beasley had just finished with a speeder. He was entitled to a break. Ninety minutes to go back to the station and have lunch.
He told dispatch he’d take lunch soon, but first he wanted to check a building in Flamborough where there was a recent break-in. A foggy night like this would be perfect for another entry. He drove down Brock Road.
There was a car parked at his building. Someone was in the driver’s seat.
He knew the plate. It was her. The pregnant woman who may be suicidal.
“She was still breathing, thank God,” he says.
She was taken to the hospital and treated for an overdose. She was unconscious for two days. When she woke, she was happy to be alive.
“I had many visitors at the hospital and they made me feel very special. And I didn’t feel alone. When I was in the car, I did not pray. I did not seek God. I was selfish. Suicide is a selfish thing.”
The doctors say things look good for Joshua. The tests — and there have been many — are encouraging. But they won’t know for sure until he is born.
A network has been assembled to care for Rebecca and Joshua in the weeks to come. Church friends, crisis workers and support group members are scheduled to come to the apartment and help.
Right now, there are three people sitting on a couch on Barton Street. Constable Beasley, on his day off. Rebecca, meeting her rescuer for the first time. Joshua, kicking and punching his mother from the inside.
Rebecca wants to thank Beasley for saving their lives. He tells her to have a healthy boy. To care for him and love him. That is all the thanks he needs.
Rebecca says she wants others to learn from her mistake. To make the right choice. To know there are guardian angels and miracles and reasons to live.
And she says this:
“I love my baby. I love myself. I love my husband. I love my family. I love my church. And I love the police force.”
If you enjoyed this good news Subscribe to Good News Blog
Share this
To share this simply copy and paste one of the below URL's: