What If

Here it is nearly one o'clock in the morning and I can't sleep. I wish I had something profound or meaningful to say. I don't have much. Tonight I am just hurting.

What if he doesn't come home? It's one of those questions that to say out loud is almost like screaming a dirty word in the middle of a church service. Tonight I am asking it. Tonight I am mourning the very possibility of it. What if he doesn't come home to me? What if these moments are the last ones? What if these kisses are our final ones? What if my children, our children are spending their final days, hours, minutes with their daddy?

What if I'm not good enough to do this alone? What if I'm not smart enough, or clever enough, or good enough at communication? What if I don't have all the answers or the ability to see things from their perspectives and talk them through it? What if I fall apart and don't know how to put myself back together again? What if I have to plan his funeral? What if his last breath, his final thoughts, his dying whisper is nowhere near the vicinity of where I am? What if I am given a flag instead of warm open arms?

What if? To fathom it is intense. It is emotional. It is ugly. To have it happen is a nightmare that truthfully I cannot comprehend. What if?

My husband told me once that he imagined I would be that woman who would not let go of the coffin in order for it to be buried. Truthfully, I have no idea.

Who would comfort me in that nightmare? What words would help? Does writing this here, now mean that it won't happen to me? Where would I be standing when they came to tell me? Would I believe them? Would I scream? Would I fall? Would I sense that he had left me here?

I hate war. I hate death and destruction. It sickens me.

I know I can make no bargains with You. I know that what You allow in to our lives is for Your glory. I promise You that I will be faithful to You no matter the cost. I will praise You even in the midst of intense suffering, but please don't take my love away.