Morbid Day

There is one day before every deployment that I have come to know as Morbid Day.

Morbid Day is that day when my husband goes to the legal office and arranges his will and all that other “just in case” sort of paperwork.

It’s amazing how differently my husband and I deal with that kind of stuff. He hates to think about what-ifs. I have a very difficult time getting him to tell me just what he wants to happen if the worst should come true.

“Where do you want to be buried?” I ask him.

“Wherever you want me to,” he answers.

“What kind of funeral do you want?” I ask him.

“Whatever kind you want me to have,” he answers.

In a lot of ways, I understand him. That is just his personality. He doesn’t care what happens to him as long as I am happy and comfortable.

But I’m just the opposite. I like to think of the what-ifs. It makes me feel much more safe and secure to know that decisions have already been made and details have already been handled should I lose him somehow.

Maybe to him, the thought of not coming back is such a remote possibility that it doesn’t even bare thinking about. But I have to think about it. I have my children to protect. I’ve hardened myself to the point that I can think logically about it.

Another Morbid Day has come and gone. I’m sure there will be more Morbid Days in the future. But for now, I actually kind of appreciate this life that we live that forces me to appreciate every minute we have together.

And I’ll pat myself on the back just a tiny little bit that I’m strong enough to handle it.