Why your last day in uniform deserves a ceremony

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Editor’s note: This essay is part of “Stories from the Street,” a Police1 series featuring first-person reflections from officers across the country. These essays are about the lived experiences and moments that changed how officers think, lead and serve. If you have a story to share, we’d love to hear from you. Submit your story here.

By Detective Chris Zamora (ret.)

“When it’s my time to go, just give me my gun and I’ll disappear into the night. You’ll never see me again. I don’t need a ceremony.”

That’s what I used to tell my buddies at the station, half-joking and half-serious. It wasn’t for show. That’s genuinely how I felt. I didn’t want a spotlight or a sendoff. I figured I’d hang up my uniform quietly and walk away from over two decades of policing.

As my retirement date crept closer, the retirement committee at my agency reached out. They asked if I wanted a ceremony. Without hesitation, I said no. I didn’t want the attention. I didn’t need the speeches. I’d just go.

That night, I told my partner, Tami — my rock, and the one who always reads between my lines. She’s a clinical hypnotherapist, a transformational life coach and my business partner at Law Enforcement Coaching. She looked at me and said, “No! You need to have a retirement ceremony. You earned it. This is a major accomplishment — we celebrate accomplishments.”

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That hit me pretty hard when she said I earned it. Tami wasn’t talking about ego — she was talking about having honor and closure. It was about giving meaning to the final step of a long, hard-fought journey.

So I called the committee back and told them I’d changed my mind.

And I’m so glad I did.

Importance of ceremony

We enter this profession with a ceremony, standing tall in our class A uniforms as we graduate from the police academy. For many of us, it is one of the proudest days of our lives. Throughout our careers, we mark milestones with the tradition of ceremony — promotions, commendations and medals earned through sweat, sacrifice and service.

Law enforcement is a profession built on legacy and honor. So when it’s time to hang up our uniform, it’s only right that we leave the same way we came in — with ceremony and pride.

The retirement ceremony is more than just a sendoff — it’s a continuation of a legacy. It’s a tradition passed down from the generations before us, built to remind the next generation that this career is worth seeing through.

It tells the young officers, “This is the finish line you want, and this is what it looks like to stay the course.”

There will be tough days. There will be calls that shake you and moments that test everything you have. But there will also be many more moments of pride, purpose and camaraderie — and when you look back, you’ll see that the good far outweighed the bad.

The retirement ceremony is one of those great days.

When I looked out into the audience and saw fresh academy graduates in uniform sitting alongside my peers, it meant something. It reminded me that tradition will carry on long after I’ve stepped away. The next generation is watching and following our lead.

That’s why it matters. We owe it to those who came before us to honor the path they paved — and to ourselves to celebrate the wins, the milestones, and the journey.

Legacy doesn’t end when we leave — it continues through those who watched us do it right.

Photo/Chris Zamora

Put your ego in check

Part of the reason I didn’t want a retirement ceremony was simple — I honestly didn’t think anyone would show up.

Throughout my career, I wasn’t always the easiest person to work with. I was direct, matter-of-fact and sometimes blunt, especially when it came to tactical operations or undercover work. I spoke my mind, even when it wasn’t popular. If I saw something that put my team at risk, I called it out. I didn’t play politics — I played for safety, for survival, for getting everyone home at the end of our shift.

But in law enforcement, we all know how that can go. Say the wrong thing in the wrong room, and you make enemies. Push back too hard, and you might find yourself on the outside looking in. So I figured I’d leave this profession quietly with no ceremony — and boy, I was wrong.

I was blown away by who showed up for my ceremony. Law enforcement friends from every stage of my career were there. Childhood friends who I hadn’t seen in years made it. Even the mayor showed up and spoke, offering kind words and encouragement. She didn’t have to be there, but she was, showing true leadership.

And then something happened that really surprised me.

The current principal of Highland High School, one of our local high schools, came to my ceremony — the same school where I had gone undercover 23 years earlier. I was fresh out of the academy at only 22 years old. On the night of my retirement ceremony, Highland High was actually holding its own graduation. But this principal took time out of her busy schedule to attend my ceremony, where she handed me one of the most meaningful gifts I’ve ever received: a high school diploma made out to “Tommy Cruz” — my undercover alias.

That 17-year-old fictional kid came full circle, and we all had a great laugh.

Veteran officers, long retired, also showed up — some of the legends I looked up to when I was still wet behind the ears. Their presence reminded me that tradition matters. That showing up for each other, even in retirement, is part of the camaraderie we will always share.

My three closest friends, fellow officers, emceed my ceremony — each adding their own personal touches to this special day, keeping the fun going.

That day, I realized the ceremony wasn’t about popularity or politics.

It was about connection, legacy and honor.

And I’m grateful I didn’t disappear into the night. Because what I thought would be a quiet goodbye turned out to be one of the most meaningful days of my life.

Photo/Chris Zamora

A cop’s scariest time

Throughout my career, like most in law enforcement, I’ve faced my fair share of close calls — moments when life and death were only a “one-pound trigger press” away. But the truth is, the scariest moment of my entire career didn’t involve a suspect, a pursuit or a weapon. It came in the final hour before my retirement ceremony.

I stood alone at my locker, staring at my Class A uniform, knowing I was putting it on for the very last time. My stomach was in knots. I was dry heaving. I honestly didn’t know if I could go through with it because this moment was final.

Two questions kept pounding in my head: “Can I exist without being a cop?” and “What will tomorrow look like after I wake up as a civilian?”

I wasn’t sure. I had spent the majority of my adult life in public safety. “Officer Zamora” wasn’t just a title — it was my identity. It’s who I was. And in just a few hours, I wouldn’t be Officer Zamora anymore — I’d just be Chris Zamora.

And I’ll be honest, this terrified me.

I’ve spent years teaching officers at every level about the dangers of overidentifying with your career. You are not the title or uniform you wear, and your worth isn’t tied to your career. But there I was, standing in that locker room, feeling like I was losing myself.

Here is what I want every officer reading this to know, especially those nearing retirement or quietly fearing it: yes, you can exist without being a cop, and there is life after policing.

You’re a person with values, with purpose, with the ability to reinvent yourself. You can take everything you’ve learned in your public safety career — your strength, your discipline, your integrity — and use it to build the next version of you.

I didn’t think I could do it, but I did. And so can you.

Ceremony for your family

What I realized during my retirement ceremony was that it wasn’t just for me — it was just as important, if not more so, for my family.

This was their moment to hear the stories from my closest friends, partners and co-workers. Stories that gave them a glimpse into a side of me they rarely saw. They got to hear about the calls, the camaraderie and the chaos. They saw a slideshow of my 23-year journey — photos, videos and memories that told the story of the man wearing a uniform and badge.

For the first time, they understood why I missed holidays, birthdays and milestones. They saw the reason behind the long nights and unanswered calls. And in that moment, they weren’t just spectators — they were honored. Command staff and the mayor took the time to thank them for the sacrifices they made, for standing by me so I could serve others.

Hearing and watching my kids laugh at the old photos and videos my friends dug up — those moments were priceless. There’s nothing like cop humor to get people laughing. Seeing my ex-wife, my family, sitting in the front row, finally getting the recognition they deserve — that meant everything.

So if you’re thinking about skipping your retirement ceremony, don’t. If not for you, do it for them. They carried the weight too. They stood in the shadows while we stood on the front lines. They deserve that day in the light.

Do it for your family. They earned it right alongside you.

Finishing strong

The retirement ceremony is much more than standing in the spotlight — it’s about closure.

Every cop has enough stories to fill a thick novel, full of adrenaline, heartbreak, courage and grit. Think of your retirement ceremony as the final sentence, the last punctuation mark in that novel called “My Police Career.” Without it, your story can feel incomplete — and in many ways, it is.

I’ve seen too many great men and women leave without a ceremony. No sendoff. No speech. Just a quiet exit. And later, some of them struggled. Why? Because we never gave them a chance to close that final chapter of their public safety journey. We gave them a badge, a gun and 20-plus years of trauma, but not even five minutes at the podium to say goodbye.

We can do better.

If you’re a supervisor or a member of command staff, make sure your retiring officers are honored.

If you’re an officer nearing retirement, ask for a ceremony. Don’t let anyone convince you it’s not necessary. It’s not self-serving, it’s self-respecting. You earned it.

If you’ve already retired without a ceremony and feel like something’s missing, it’s not too late. Celebrate your career. Gather your family and friends. Share your stories. Honor your wins. Give yourself the ending you deserve.

I can say this with full confidence: since the day I retired, I’ve never looked back or questioned whether I left too soon. Instead, I stepped forward into something greater. I cofounded Law Enforcement Coaching, and now I have the privilege of serving first responders across the nation in a new way.

I truly believe I was able to reinvent myself so clearly and confidently because I closed the chapter the right way — with ceremony, dignity and honor.

So when your time comes, finish strong. You’ve earned it.

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When it’s your turn to retire, what would make that day feel complete for you? Share below.

About the author

Chris Zamora is a retired detective with 23 years of service with the Gilbert Police Department in Arizona. Over the course of his career, Chris held a variety of assignments, including patrol, D.A.R.E., undercover narcotics — with a specialization in deep cover, street-level and border/cartel operations — internal affairs, robbery and homicide. He also served as a crisis and hostage negotiator on the department’s SWAT team.

Experienced in tactical operations, Chris has developed and instructed courses in small-team tactics, covert operations, close-quarters contact (CQC) and close-quarters battle (CQB), equipping tactical teams with the skills and preparation necessary to safely and effectively carry out high-risk operations.

Beyond his tactical expertise, Chris is deeply dedicated to the mental, emotional and physical wellness of first responders. He is a certified clinical hypnotherapist, transformational life coach, shamanic reiki practitioner and yoga instructor. He also serves as an adjunct professor of substantive law, where he brings real-world experience to academia, teaching future law enforcement professionals, attorneys and judges.

As co-founder and CEO of Law Enforcement Coaching, Chris delivers practical tools and evidence-based strategies designed to enhance resilience, maintain operational readiness and promote holistic wellness within the first responder community.

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