Bryan Hurst

Bryan Hurst

04/15/71 ~ EOW 01/06/05

NO GREATER LOVE

Somewhere in a closet hang uniforms: white, but stained by the service by day and by night. For no matter how long in a launderer's care the marks of a hero will always be there.



There will always be some trace of dust or of mud, or grass, or some sweat, or small drops of blood. Each tells a new story when the officer returns Home to his family, for whom he yearns.



But today there's a uniform resting alone, a uniform, stained deep, that was never worn home. It was worn by an officer who encountered the worst. He was to become a detective , his name, Bryan Hurst.



Some knew you as "Bryan", and others as "son". Another as "dear", for her heart you had won. Just last year a new face, which had made you so glad, knew you not on her lips but in her tiny heart, as Dad.



Whether "brother" or "friend" or an affectionate "bro", you're known now, far and wide, as a special hero. From east to the west and everyplace in between, we honor the hero born April 15.



You defended the nation with a duty to die, you loved your buddies, your dogs, all the while, "Semper Fi!" You carried that code still etched on your heart, and as strong as a mustang you began a new start.



You joined a new brotherhood, the Columbus PD. Still armed, still imbued, with a sense of duty. You joined men and women worth far more than their pay, for their blood, sweat, and tears are what's shed everyday.



You worked 11 to 7, sometimes 3 to 11, proudly wearing the number two-zero-five-seven. You saw the depravity of man, of the height of his crimes, and wore a black band on your badge at times.



You heard jokes about donuts, free meals, time in court, by those that won't see all your written reports. That witness to the bravery that marks your career. Of protecting and serving us year after year.



They won't know of the robberies, or the panic alarms, or the daughters in need, or those you rescued from harm. Or the times you drove way across town on the double, responding to calls of officer in trouble.



They won't know of the times you encountered resistance, or the times when you selflessly offered assistance, to someone in need in the pouring down rain. Or the times you were injured but you didn't complain.



Or the times you drove, weary, your substation in sight, your thoughts fixed on a person that went missing that night. Bearing the guilt of a job left undone and shedding your tears for that 10-31.



Leatherneck, Jarhead, Brother In Blue, when the moment came calling you did what you had to do. Your haven was duty, to protect was your call. You defended your friends, giving more than your all.



Somewhere on a shelf rests an oft opened book. There are 66 chapters and if you'd just take a look. In that book is the standard of love for the ages, for all of us to live by, and on one of its pages it describes men such as Bryan, who duty now ends:



"Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."

Michael B. Ferrel