"The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost." GK Chesterton
What happens if I lose you? This thought has plagued me for the past couple of days as I endure my long drive to and from work.
This morning, in wee, dark hours before the sun, I got up to get ready for another wearing day of work. For a few moments, I watched you sleeping peacefully in my bed, your 28-hour work week done. I thought of how you complained about your job, the way you make it sound as though you slave away, 80-hours a week in a third world country sweat shop. You would certainly put my 60-plus hour schedule to shame if it were true. But there you were, with a 3 relaxing days ahead and not a demand in sight ... aside from tending to your Farmville crops and your Facebook friends.
And what will I come home this evening? A happy, uncomplaining mate? A fine meal ready? No. That would mean I had slipped into a dream. Or, I was awake and you were prepping me for some expensive demand.
No, I will come home the same as it is has been since you've moved in: not only do I get to spend a long day making the bacon, I get to cook it too. Of course, the cooking takes place only after a rousing round of "guess what she wants to eat".
What will happen if I lose you? I'm not certain. But I'm beginning to think that regret won't be a part of it.
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