Here’s something personal.

Someone I met for a business coffee early this morning at Starbucks noticed the pin I wear on my collar for Biggest Guy, and asked about it.

I explained, and he asked how I coped with the worry.

I explained that I really don’t worry much; the math says he’ll be safe, and I trust his skills and judgment, and the men in his team and platoon. That he’d been home and that his emotional and spiritual health far exceeded anything I could have imagined, and how happy it made me that this choice – becoming a warrior – had in truth done him such good.

We had our meeting, I was helpful, and then I walked home (the Starbucks is about three-quarters of a mile from my house, where I’m working today). Our block faces a park – a big field often used for soccer games and t-ball practice. And as I walked across the park, past the Little League fields onto the soccer field, I automatically looked up the block at our house, and realized that I was looking for something.

And I realized that every time I come home, round the corner onto our street and can look up the street toward our house, I’m looking for the same thing.

A government sedan.

Which will be bringing me the worst possible news.

And every time I come round that corner on my motorcycle, in the car, or on foot, I have this moment of worry that lasts from the time I turn onto the street until I can see our house and see that there is no drably-painted Pontiac G6 parked there.

And the worry stops, and I’m done with it until the next time I come home.
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