He Comes Home

I complain a lot because I hate my husband's job. I hate that he hates his job. But he doesn't even HATE his job. He just wants to be able to do it without being micromanaged and all of the bureaucratic "stuff" that comes along with it. But all in all, it's a good job, pays well and has benefits. His hours aren't even terrible - he gets 3-4 days off a week, but works LONG hours on his other days. And commutes.

But the other night, I was laying on the couch with him watching "Army Wives" (he claims to "read" but he watches it). The episode was geared towards Mother's Day, of course. There was a Mother's Day brunch on base for all the spouses whose soldiers were deployed, giving them something to do, somewhere to go.

I complained because my husband had to work on Mother's Day. But at the end of the day, he came home.

Some of those soldiers don't come home. One was laid to rest, his flag given to his Mother, taps and 21-gun salute. I bawled like a baby, clutching his arm for dear life. All I could say was "no one had better EVER present our son's flag to me."

It's a selfish thought I realize. But the idea of it - losing my son or my husband or yes, even my daughter - in war - it pains me to think of it. So many of my friends have spouses serving, and I never give them enough credit.

It's a reminder that even as tough as his job is, he comes home every night to me, to our children. Too many don't.