“Did you just call your wife?” My co-worker shook his head in disbelief.
“You bet I did.”
“What on earth for?”
This time, I shake my head in disbelief. Each day, millions of people separate and take it for granted that they’ll return to one another. Some might be angry or just a little irritated. Some might be in a hurry and skip a good-bye kiss, thinking that they’ll make it up after they get home.
That’s fine, except for one thing. Thousands never return home.
Peril, however distant, can take many forms. Whether it’s an accident, terrorist attack or a natural disaster, it’s always a possibility.
I’m not a timid coward, and I don’t expect a tragedy. But, in case something does happen, I want Sandi to know how I feel. If she never hears my voice again, I want her to know my last words to her were “I love you.”
“It keeps her from worrying about me, and it isn’t that hard. I even call her before I leave for home. She’s the most important person in my life, and I want her to know it.”
I look him straight in the eye. “When will you get home?”
He seemed uncomfortable. “Usually, about a half hour.”
“Are you sure? Do you get cosmic emails that have your departure date in the header? How do you know that next accident on the radio won’t be you? Sandi calls me when she gets to work, too, just so I won’t worry. This even gives us a few extra minutes together each day, just to enjoy one another.”
He knit his brows. “How long have you been married?”
“Not long enough.” I took a step to leave, but glanced back at him. He had his phone out and was dialing.