Frightening Nights

"You'll have to leave those here, mam," said the security guard at the inspection station leading to the boarding area at the airport.  We had come to meet Sheldon's brother coming home from his mission.  Family and friends were still allowed to accompany passengers to the gate back then, but they had begun checking purses and backpacks before we walked down the concourse.

"You want us to leave the baby's diaper pins here?" I asked in surprise.  "They're just decorations."  Someone had given Russell a cute cowboy outfit when he was born, complete with diaper pins adorned with tiny six-shooters.  The one inch pistols were adorable, but certainly not lethal.

"Yes, mam, you'll need to leave the guns here and pick them up on your way out."

Laughing, I unpinned Russell's diapers and handed the offending guns to the security guard, using an extra pair of plain pins to refasten Russell's diaper before hurrying after the rest of the family.  That was my first real encounter with the world of anti-terrorism, and the effect world conditions were having on the lives of ordinary citizens.  Things were indeed changing, and the world was becoming a scarier place. 

Life was evolving at home, too.  After three years running the print shop east of town, Sheldon and dad decided to sell it.  Sheldon worked really hard, but times were tough and it just wasn't making any money.  I was happy and sad.  Sad because we put so much time and effort and money into the venture, but glad that we would finally have a steady paycheck when Sheldon went to work for a bigger company.  I was also happy because he would be working set hours, and I wouldn't have to worry and wonder where he was when he was late coming home. 

Running a printing shop meant working until the job was finished.  Especially during election season Sheldon often worked till after midnight.  When he was in the shop I could call and talk to him to see how he was doing unless he was running the press and it was too noisy for him to hear the phone.  But he also had to deliver the jobs, and people wanted them as soon they were done, so there were lots of times I couldn't reach Sheldon and didn't know where he was until he drove in the driveway. 

Night after night I would sit in the front room, wondering and worrying if he was ever going to come home.  At first I would be slightly annoyed that he was late again.  As the time lengthened I would get cross and cranky, unhappy because I was tired and wanted to go to bed, but knowing I wouldn't be able to sleep and feeling compelled to stay up until he came home.  As the hours slipped by my frustration would turn to worry, and eventually fear, as I wondered if Sheldon had been in a car accident or attacked by thieves.  Then I would start to wonder if a policeman was going to knock on my door and tell me he was dead.  Little by little I'd begin to play out in my mind what I'd do if that really did happen.

Usually Sheldon would come home about then, but as these nights repeated themselves over and over I found myself planning farther and farther into the future.  How I would call my family to let them know Sheldon had been in an accident, how I would plan Sheldon's funeral, what I would do to take care of myself and the kids.  Eventually I reached a point where I almost looked forward to the policeman's knock, and was disappointed when I heard our car turn into the driveway and knew Sheldon was home.  It messed up my plans and meant I would have to live through that agony again another night.  Like I said, I was glad when Sheldon got a job working at a large printing company on the other side of town, believing those frightening nights were over.  I was wrong, of course.