You know I'm not generally afraid on planes, even of dying. But last night, during some fairly mild turbulence, suddenly I was terrified. Not over the possible consequences to me, but over the possibility that I wouldn't ever see you again -- you not being there at the end, and me not having the opportunity to say goodbye. I mean, we said goodbye when you dropped me off at the airport, but as I contemplated the possibility of death, however slim, it felt like our farewells were perfunctory. At least it felt like mine was, relative to what I'd want to say if I had any inkling that it could be the final farewell.
I love you with every fiber of my being. Indeed, over time, I know our love has grown deeper, and keeps evolving, to depths I wouldn't have thought possible on our wedding day. So it hurts me to think I'm capable of taking you for granted in any way, even when it's just taking for granted that you'll always be there. I am only consoled by the fact that it's human nature. Regardless, I of course did survive, and my brief thoughts on death last night reset my complacency meter back to zero. Be assured that my greeting at Dulles tomorrow night will reflect that.