Well today came and went. And I attended the training session for Family Liaison Officers (FLOs). As arranged, I arrived at 10.30am and was met by R, the woman who was organising it. I was told that there were eight trainees present. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. The trainings I usually give have at least twenty-five to thirty teachers – and I’ve presented to over a hundred before now so just eight seemed a little too intimate.
I was introduced and noticed that there was some trepidation. R pointed out that I wasn’t going to be focussing on what was bad at FLOs. Then she said that my input would be mainly positive and looked towards me for confirmation. I replied that I didn’t think she wanted me to gloss over things and that I thought she wanted a ‘warts and all’ picture. I could sense the defensiveness rising and knew I had to do something to stop them all zoning out and not listening to me at all so I explained that I was fully aware that nothing the Police, or anyone else for that matter, could stop Al from dying once the car had hit him. And that I held none of them responsible for his death but that mistakes were made both during the night that he died, and since, and I wanted something good to come out of his death. And if, by talking to them, just one family could be spared what I'd had to endure, it would be worth it for me.
I was careful to make eye contact with each of them in turn and felt them slowly warm to me. I had taken along a large (18”X24”) photo of Al and explained that I wanted them to see that he was a real boy. I talked a little about what he was like and gave them a sense of the person he was. I talked about my role in his life, and his in mine.
Then I systematically worked my way through the printed out version of my earlier blog, “Police”. As I went through each point, they were shocked – and sympathetic. Well they at least appeared to be sympathetic.
As they left for lunch, they were talking amongst themselves and wondering why my FLO was still allowed to operate. They were quite disgusted at his behaviour and surprised at my response to it, which is that he isn’t a bad man. He’s a nice bloke – if I met him in a pub, I’d think he was nice – he just needs to be educated and to update his training. His comments, half of which I recounted without realising just how awful they were until I registered the shocked and horrified expressions on the trainees’ faces, weren’t malicious – just ignorant. I have every faith that, if he were to undergo further training, he would not make the same mistakes again.
Afterwards, R took me for lunch and we chatted about how it had gone. She said it was an excellent morning and they seemed to have taken on board many of the points I made. She said that they had been warned that my presentation was all about how things can go wrong so they had been bracing themselves. She also said that the previous day’s presentation was done by someone who felt his FLO had done a great job but that it had been less structured and therefore more difficult to follow.
I offered to do more for her and she seemed genuinely receptive to the idea. I asked her for feedback from the attendees which would probably be given more honestly after I was gone. She agreed to do this.
The low point was realising that the Inspector was not there so would not be updating with me news of the Restorative Justice as promised. Hmm. R offered to email him on her return to the office so I await contact from him. I’ll give it a week and then call. If nothing after that, I’ll submit a formal complaint – I’m good at that.
I got home and iced three Christmas cakes before popping out to collect my youngest from school. Just another four to do before bed tonight.
All in all, not a bad day's work. And I was able to offload in a clear and structured way that left me feeling a little lighter. It feels strange to say it but I can honestly say that I feel a little better today. Less loaded down by life and the aftermath of Al's death. Losing him still feels as bad - but the stupid antics of the Police Officers who behaved unprofessionally, feel a little less burdensome. Clearly for me, catharsis sure is good for the soul.
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