Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Chest rise. Chest fall. 

I have officially lost my mind.

I have spent the last hour, lying in the darkness watching. Listening. Feeling. Inhale. Exhale. Chest rise. Chest fall. My hand feeling his heartbeat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Chest rise. Chest fall. Thump, thump. Inhale. Exhale. The time for listening to my love sleep has almost come to an end.

I won’t lie: Dave sleeping is a little more like listening to a lumberjack sawing through a 100 year old tree than the peaceful picture I probably created in that last paragraph. A week ago I would have gently nudged him to roll over: a nice suggestion he probably would have slept right through. Next I would have shaken him with a little more urgency and he would have obliged with this “fish out of water” dance he sometime performs for me at night. Seriously, dude? I can SEE that you just wiggled around, didn’t turn over, and are hoping I won’t realize you are STILL snoring.  Finally I would have physically put my hands under his back, said a little prayer that he wasn’t too close to the edge, and rolled my husband over to his side chanting something like “For the love of God, Dave. ROLL OVER!” Then I would have spent the next 15 minutes pissed off, trying to fall back to sleep.

But tonight I can’t do that. This week I can’t do that. This husband of mine has had a rough week. Up by 430, out the door by 5 and never stepping foot in the house before 1835. He’s exhausted. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, and feel it in his tension filled shoulders as I rub them until he falls asleep.  But he never complains. Man I love that about him. 

He knows I’m watching him as he unpacks his still full lunch box. He shrugs and says, “I just didn’t have time. Send it again tomorrow.” We sit down for dinner and he says Grace over our meal, asking God to keep our family strong over the coming months and to bless those less fortunate than us.  I realize I love that about him, too.

Tonight, while I was getting ready for bed, I heard him and Patton in our room talking about something. I came out to join them and before I realized it, I had broken the rule and Patton was yelling “SWEAR JAR” at me. So I opened the drawer and grabbed a dollar. Apparently my taking money out of Dave’s dresser to pay my debt caused him to owe a dollar as well. McKinley was finishing up the kitchen when I put the money in the jar, and I invited him up for our nightly ritual of Occupy Mom’s Room, which includes the four of us laying on the bed for a while, chatting until everyone eventually leaves for their own rooms and Dave and I were left here alone.

I looked into his tired eyes and said, “Aren’t you exhausted?” He says he can sleep when he’s dead. Tonight though, my love is going to sleep. And with each breath is a new prayer. A prayer for his safety, wisdom, health, patience, acceptance,  both mental and physical strength. A prayer for his fellow shipmates and their own safety, wisdom, health, patience, acceptance, both mental and physical strength. A prayer for our marriage and the marriages of the thousands of other families like us. A prayer for me, the spouse at home, suffering and dealing with daily increasing anxiety and depression and the others I know who are doing the same. A prayer for our children and the thousands of other Navy Brats facing the same difficulties we are. And with every breath, a prayer for my husband to remember who he is and what he believes: that in all circumstances he radiates the love of Jesus to those around him.

And for tonight I’m just going to listen, watch and feel him sleep….because I still can.