My Husband Died Today...

Don't freak out! Clint didn't really die. I'll justify my blog title, just keep your pants on and give me a minute.

First of all, I just want to say how grateful I am that Clint didn't die tonight. Life without him would be just a gray ugly mess of loneliness and longing. It would be forever cold nights and empty days.

There. Now I'll fill you in on my evening...

I knew he was leaving me to go buy cars at an auto auction in California tonight. His plane was scheduled to take off some time around 8:00. You have to understand, just before Clint boards a plane he sends me a deliciously adorable text telling me to kiss the kids and expressing his love for me. I look forward to those little endearments. It's the only good part of him leaving. Tonight was no different. I read the text and went to reply when I had this panicky feeling come over me. It was so strong I thought I might vomit in my lap. This is the last time I'll ever see or hear from him again. Yep, folks. I had the distinct impression that he wasn't going to land in one piece.

I've heard of people overreacting like this before sending loved ones to fly the friendly skies, but I'm not one of those people. My pragmatic approach to life as a pilot's daughter NEVER has included the irrational paranoia of flying. Nope never. So you can imagine my fear at this little revelation (for lack of a better word). Clint was going to die. He needed to get off that plane! So I did what any level-headed woman would do in this situation: I called him to tell him he would not be able to take the trip his company was depending upon him to take. Nope. I had a "bad feeling" and he would just have to ride a mule to California instead of fly.

His phone went directly to voicemail. He'd turned it off. I was too late.

I'm almost thirty years old, and my first thought was to call my parents for help. Surely my sweet father could kindly inform air traffic control that his daughter had a "bad feeling" about one of Delta's flights. Surely, they would stop the plane mid-taxiing and explain to the busy travelers that they had it on good authority that this plane was doomed to fall out of the sky despite the clears skys and triple plane check.

I wasn't being unreasonable. This is my husband we're talking about here. Everybody loves Clint. I'm sure if given the chance, I could convince these white-collared decision makers that his was a life worth saving.

I'll spare you the five year plan I wrote to be carried out upon his death. I'll also spare you the program for his funeral; the songs that would be sung, the speakers, etc. Let me just say this: it was a rough two hours. When Clint landed he called me, like he always does to tell me he made it okay.

What is the point of this story?

Your guess is as good as mine. I'm laying here conducting a little psychoanalysis--tyring to understand the crazy inter-workings of my mind. The only thing I've come up with is this: Someone upstairs felt I needed to appreciate my husband a little more. Maybe I needed to get a glimpse of what life would be like without him. Well NO THANK YOU! I'll keep him.

...in a little box so he can never leave the house again.