The song lyrics say “I’m gonna love you like I’m gonna lose
you”. I’m not sure what the songwriter
was referring to, but it feels like an anthem to me as a police wife. The first time I heard the song, it hit
me. Now I can’t listen to it without
choking back the tears or the lump in my throat.
Things that used to feel like a big deal – not getting
enough attention, him forgetting to stop by the store or dressing the kids in
the wrong thing – now look as petty as they actually are. Anger feels like a
luxury that I won’t afford myself. I
couldn’t live with myself if I sent him off to work angry about an unmade bed or
something equally as trivial and have something happen to him.
More times than I can count, a “regular boring day” ended in
a hair-raising tale of things that turned quickly. Sometimes right after the text of brief phone
call about the boring day.
Dirty clothes?
Abandoned boots? Dishes left in
the sink? Yep – all of it. Annoying.
Just not worth mentioning. God forbid something should take him from me
– the last memory won’t be of me nagging.
It will be of one more kiss. An
extra “I love you”. And that goofy
little thing we do with our hands that’s part I love you, part blown kiss.
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