The silence after the badge: A sergeant’s blunt truth about retirement

By Sergeant Sean Fuerstenberg

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I’m in my 28th year on the job, 17 of those as a sergeant. I’m staring down retirement, and I’m not expecting a parade. I’ll likely get the popular cake and coffee send-off, and then it’s done. And that’s OK. Cake and coffee are how it should be, because not every department or municipality can give extravagant goodbyes due to ever-tightening budgets. What I am expecting, because I’ve seen it over and over again, is to be forgotten. Quickly.

I’ve watched it happen to good people, respected people, officers who gave everything, who bled for their agency, who mentored generations of cops. Not one of them got the long memory they expected. Six months out, their names rarely come up. A year later, it’s like they were never there. That’s the truth no one tells you when you’re gearing up to walk away. The silence is real, and no one is immune to it.

There’s a common saying that gets passed around: “Forty-five minutes out the door and you don’t matter anymore.” I don’t know who created that quote, but whoever it was really nailed it.

Your rank doesn’t matter, neither do your awards

Let’s get this part out of the way. I’ve been decorated. Commendations, letters, plaques, you name it. I’ve led big operations, handled ugly calls, backed my trusted teammates through the worst shifts of their careers. But that doesn’t buy you anything when you leave. No special place in the memory of the department. No eternal gratitude.

I’ve seen chiefs fade into complete obscurity. I’ve seen lieutenants, K9 handlers and SWAT team leaders, men and women who were cornerstones of their departments, go utterly silent after their last shift. The job keeps moving. It doesn’t look back. If you’re thinking your rank or reputation makes you different, hear this now. It doesn’t. No one is the exception.

The fade comes quicker than you think

One week, you’re the go-to person for your squad. You’ve got every radio channel running through your ears. Your phone is lighting up with calls. You’re briefing, coaching, leading. The next week, you’re out. And the quiet hits like a punch. The text threads you were part of continue without you. Your name stops being mentioned at shift change. The guys and gals you trained are busy training someone else. You swing by the station six months later, and someone is drinking out of your old coffee cup and parking in your spot. And no one is doing anything wrong. It’s just the reality of the job. The show must go on, and it does.

I’ve watched good cops spiral

This part no one warns you about. You think you’ll just enjoy life, maybe sleep in, fish more, and take care of the house. But then you realize this. You’re no longer relevant in the way you once were. That realization has wrecked more than a few retirees I knew. Guys who had plans. Guys who had it all figured out. But when the calls stopped and the structure disappeared, so did their sense of relevance. Some spiraled into depression. Others numbed it with alcohol. Some couldn’t take the silence and begged for part-time gigs just to feel useful again.

These weren’t weak people. These were strong, capable, respected cops. But they weren’t ready for what happens when the job no longer has a place for them.

I’m not waiting around to be remembered

Here’s the hardest pill to swallow. That heartfelt thank you that you think is coming, the one that says, “You made a difference,” might not show up the way you expect. And if it does, it’ll likely be a quick handshake at a meeting and a certificate that ends up in a drawer. But that’s OK. I’m not measuring the worth of my career by who circles back months later to check in. I’m not waiting for closure to come from anyone else.

The truth is, the job keeps going. The world I walked away from is still turning, and the people still in it are focused on surviving their own grind. I’ve made peace with that. I’m not bitter. I’m realistic. I’m choosing to accept it now on my own terms rather than be caught off guard later. Because I didn’t do this job for applause. I did it because it mattered. And that’s enough.

So here’s what I’m doing instead

I’m preparing. Not just with my pension and benefits but emotionally. I’m reconnecting with people who never cared about my badge, just me. I’m finding purpose outside of patrol cars, radios and court subpoenas. I’m getting used to being just a man again, not “Sergeant So-and-So.” I’m not angry. I’m not bitter. I just don’t want to be caught off guard like so many I’ve watched before me.

Final word to the next one out the door

If you’re nearing retirement and thinking, “They’ll remember me,” pause. Really pause. Because the truth is, they probably won’t. That doesn’t mean your career didn’t matter. It just means the job doesn’t work that way. It never has. I’ve seen it more and more. People walk away convinced they’ll be remembered forever. But the truth hits fast. The machine keeps moving. The job goes on. It always does.

While you’re in it, give it everything you’ve got. Show up. Serve with heart. Mentor those coming up behind you. Lead well, even when no one is watching. But when it’s time to leave, do it with pride and let go of the idea that the job will follow you. It won’t. That’s not failure. It’s just how the profession works. The world keeps turning. The calls keep coming. Someone else will answer the radio.

So when the time comes, take a deep breath. Close that locker one last time. Walk out knowing this. You gave what you had. And that’s enough. Let the job go. It’s already letting go of you.

How are you preparing yourself — not just financially but personally — for the day the radio goes silent? Share below.

About the author

Sergeant Sean Fuerstenberg is a 28-year veteran of law enforcement and currently serves as a police sergeant with the Grafton (Wisconsin) Police Department. He holds a bachelor’s degree from the University of Wisconsin–Oshkosh and is a 2023 graduate of Northwestern University’s School of Police Staff and Command (Class 540). He has served in patrol and multiple supervisory roles, including Field Training Supervisor, K9 Coordinator/Supervisor and Department PIO. He has also been a certified DAAT and Professional Communications Instructor, a use of force reviewer, a constitutional law instructor at the college level, and was honored as Officer of the Year for his county in 2016.

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