Once upon a time something very bad was (possibly) going to happen. I called home and asked for my gear bag. Ten minutes later, K dropped the bag off at a potentially unsafe place. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t ask for reassurance. She never tried to make anything about her. “Call me when it’s over,” she said. Nothing else.
The perfect operator’s wife.
I realized today… during all the cool stuff: the hours, days, weeks and months of training; the fights and tactical ops; the time spent in Iraq and Ecuador… K made it all possible.
Somehow, the house keeps going. The first week I was enroute to Baghdad, the truck broke down, the pump went out that supplies water from the well, the dryer died. All handled. Kids and animals, acreage and small farm, livestock, the rambling house with all the books. K keeps it going. The kids are strong and smart and beautiful. Not my doing, I wasn’t here enough.
It suddenly hit me today that I only know half of the story of my own life. For every thing that I have done or experienced, someone was always taking care of the other half.
Afuckingmen brother. I know exactly what you mean. Missed birthdays, school functions, holidays. I don't deserve my wife.
ReplyDeleteLD
After all, K is extremely cool.
ReplyDeleteWonderful post, Rory. (Would be nice if all men appreciated their women this way.)
ReplyDeleteThat's a negative, Steve. (Present company excluded.)
ReplyDeleteIf only more husbands felt like Rory...
ReplyDeleteWell, K. is pretty damn awesome :)
ReplyDelete_R. E.
You've told the absolute truth there.
ReplyDeleteAnd once in a while think how much harder her job is. You go into a dangerous situation. Something happens or it doesn't. If it does you deal with it. It's over pretty quickly except for the adrenaline hangover.
Every time you head out that door, especially if that bag is in your hand, the tough part begins for her. She doesn't know what kind of crap you're going into. All she can do is wait until the end of the shift or the end of the operation.
Until the door opens or the plane lands half her heart is at risk. There's not a damned thing she can do about it except hope there isn't an unexpected phone call that begins "Mrs. Miller? Your husband..."