Sunday, April 25, 2010
C and I watched this movie last night (obviously, it was my turn with the Netflix queue). The movie was pretty good, actually, and was focused more on a returning soldier's struggle with PTSD than it was with a sordid love triangle. Although I was pretty bummed at the lack of romantic drama (what can I say? I'm a sucker for sordid love triangles. I blame it on the fact that my love life is finally so blessedly drama-free!), the movie definitely got me thinking. Which inevitably led me to worrying.
I'm a predictible creature. You'll learn that.
As a cop's wife, it's a given that worrying comes with the territory. You worry about the obvious things: gun-toting bad guys, traffic stops gone wrong, drug busts gone bad, and any of the million other dangers that go hand-in-hand with wearing a badge. Of course I worry about those things, and I'd be crazy if I didn't. I've learned quickly though, in the short time that C has been active in law enforcement, that the major calamadies are few and far between. Most of his days go by relatively routinely, and we all lean on the fact that there's nothing we can do about it when his time is up and his card is pulled.
No, I try not worry about the big things. I try to lean on the fact that the Lord will call C home when it's his time and not a minute sooner. There's something smaller, less tragic that I worry about though. One of C's cop buddies mentioned it too me right before C started in Acadamy and I haven't been able to shake it since.
I adore my husband. His laid-back attitude towards life balances out my high-strung nature as if we were made specifically to complement each other. And while I understand that change is inevitable, that it's part of growing old together and yadda yadda, I still worry that his career will change him beyond the normal growing pains that every marriage endures. As a cop, he sees all sorts of unimaginable things: death and violence, people caught in the most hopeless of situations, endless sadness. Car crashes, suicides, drug dealers, these things are the dark underbelly of society that only select few are privy to. Things that, as a Kindergarten teacher, would send me straight to the fetal position for days. Yet somehow, C is still able to come home and laugh at me dancing in the kitchen. And play with our dogs. And generally enjoy the incredible life we've built together.
I guess he's just a stonger person than I am. And I shoot up a thankful prayer every single day for that.