I Knew.

One of the things I don't talk about too often is how I knew something was wrong the morning I was notified Aaron was injured. I knew I needed to clean the house and get ready for something, but what I didn't know what. Not yet. I think somewhere in my mind I knew something was about to happen. And I think Aaron did, too.

The day before Aaron and I had a long talk, on the phone and internet. We had argued and I had cried, as usual. But then he seemed to really man up and said something to the effect of, "I don't want to make you feel bad. I know this is hard, and we don't talk much, so I want to make better use of our time." So we did. We laughed more then than we ever had. He made some pretty ridiculous jokes, which is about all I can remember. Aaron stayed up late to make me laugh. I awoke the next morning to two emails and another message.

And because of that, I think Aaron knew something, too. He wasn't one to write a lot, especially not three times. Knowing him the way I do now, I think he felt that our arguing, our issues, were probably temporary and decided to focus on the love first, knowing that all the complicated stuff would go away and we would have us, and we wanted to best us.

That morning, as I ate my cereal and read my emails, I compiled a list in my head: start on some schoolwork, clean the house. People were coming over. No, I wasn't having company. But I knew. I had emptied a storage container and wanted to go through it and get it back in the closet. I wanted to clean my house because somehow, I knew it would be full of people.

So I don't know. It takes a lot for me to use the word "miracle" these days; even on Day One. There was the moment I could have found out by email that Aaron had lost his legs, but did not. That was a miracle. A Jesus moment, if you will. And I suppose there have been others, too but they felt more intimate than that. Maybe one day I'll get my religion back in order, but for now I'll be grateful for a God that isn't all cruel. I got to keep him, and build a new life with him.

But back to the topic: I knew something was wrong. Maybe Aaron knew something could happen that day, too. Things had been rough out there- since he isn't going back, he tells me more than he would have a few years ago. A few years ago. He was on his last deployment a few years ago; tomorrow will mark 669 days, or one year and ten months since that day. It's almost funny.

Life is changing in so many ways, and while I'm excited to move on, I don't want to forget, either. I don't want to forget that I knew I could lose him. I don't want to pretend it never happened.

I was eating cereal when life began again. It was harmless. But it was the last ordinary thing I ever did. And I knew in some way. Maybe I'm just lucky like that.