I remember wondering if we would find it hard to become used to sharing a bed with someone else; I wondered if I would find it hard to fall asleep at night with the sounds of someone else breathing next to me, rolling over and touching me in the middle of the night.
I wondered if I was just too used to being alone, sleeping alone.
How silly of me. Of all the things I’ve worried about, that one should have been the least of my concerns.
It wasn’t hard, it was natural. We slipped into life as a husband and a wife, feeling as though we’d finally come home. And at night, when I go to bed with him, the stress and whatever drama of the day was there, it slips away and I’m home.
And now the irony is, sometimes, sometimes, it’s hard to fall asleep when he isn’t there. The tones go off while it’s still dark and when we’re asleep. He leaves, fumbling for clothes and keys and pager, and while I’ve learned how to turn over, burrow deep into the quilts and fall back asleep, it still feels strange. He’s not there for me to nudge up against and cuddle up to when I’m cold. He’s not solid there for when I’ve had a bad dream. And sometimes, depending on what the call was, I lay there and wonder and pray, unable to fall back to sleep because I know where he is and why it isn’t next to me.
Funny that. Six months, not even that yet, and bed without him feels wrong. It’s just a way of life with a fire-fighter/EMT on call. Even so, I wouldn’t trade sharing this life with him for anything. Even if it means learning to fall asleep without him sometimes now that I’ve learned to fall asleep with him.