I have my mother’s gene to worry. It was switched on by the birth of Little Boy. Sometimes it’s how I know I care, if I start to worry about someone then I know they’re important to me.
I got ready to post a long winded comment on Dandelions at Play and decided maybe I should just right my own post rather than clog up her blog with novella.
When I met DD he could have been called up anytime. And it was in the middle of the stop-gap measures to try to fill the ranks in Iraq. He was still hurting from all that he had seen and done in the invasion.
Perhaps worry is a weak word to describe the fear that clenched my gut to think that he could be taken away at anytime. But I always felt that I had to be tough for him. It is only now that we are reconsidering a future together that I have told him how sick I would get to think that his daughter might only know him from photos, that he might come back to us in a bag.
But I also know that if he had been called up I would have married him then, that life would have taken a much different turn in many ways. We wouldn’t have broken up like we did, my moral sense would have kicked in and I would have prayed for loyalty as much as strength.
I have never doubted my ability to make it alone. My own loneliness was small compared to my fear for him. I suspect this is part of why he liked me, he knew he could depend on me to care for the kids for month or years on my own. And he knew I could never find it in my heart to write a Dear John letter. That I would have held on and waited for him no matter what it cost me.
There is no question that he will always be Marine. It is part of who he is. And in many ways it is a part of him I will never fully know.
The constant worry is a thing of the past. His time is up. But once that fear of having to let your loved one go touches your heart it never really leaves. I still hate having to say good-bye to him. Even when I know it is just for a day or two.
What worries you? What makes you cold and sweaty at just the thought?