I'll never listen to Journey the same way again

I have prayed for patience my entire life. I never understood why. Why would I diligently pray for something so boring? As a teenager I naively thought that it was to prolong my love for procrastination. In relationships, I would always jump in head first, far too quickly. I would rush from place, person and thing because as much as I prayed for it, I had none. 

I still prayed. 

Now, I'm incredibly patient. In all things. 
And my childish, unknowing, pure heart. 
That girl. Her prayers were answered. 

When I met Christopher, I learned rather quickly that having patience would pay off in the end. Trying to rush or antagonize over his job would only make things worse. He was committed to his duties and I trusted him. I also began to understand a much darker, scarier side to his job and the weight he carried. He had a mask as well. 
He trusted me. 

We were both damaged. Sad childhoods that connected us together. 
He got it, I got it. 
It wasn't all sad but his life mirrored mine in so many ways that eventually after we shed years of hurt and misunderstandings, we let fate guide us. 

Christopher was not the easiest person to live with at first. I moved into his one bedroom apartment at the beginning of May 2009, but really I had moved in long before that. His apartment flooded the day I moved in. Most of my things were going to a storage unit but his, our, entire apartment was flooded. He called me that morning pissed off because when his alarm went off, he rolled over only to place his feet in a wet, squishy, earthworm infested carpet. 
He was at my house an hour later. 

"Water under the bridge, and feet. Heh." 

The apartment complex moved us into a 3 bedroom apartment and we entered the "honeymoon phase". Moving day to day, learning each others habits and quirks that once weren't so obvious. Incredibly eager, over the moon, unsure but committed. 

Christopher was adamant about his hangers and clothes facing a certain direction and I thought he was insane the first time I did his laundry. 

Oh, no. 

He was very serious. 

He eventually learned though that if he liked having the "laundry fairy" wash and put away his clothes then he'll get over the hanger facing the wrong direction. 

Until this day, I still hang his clothes the way he liked. 

A lot of our friends lived in the same apartment complex or nearby and we indulged in a life of happiness, too much drinking and many thoughts and stories from men that frightened but entranced me at the same time. 
I was ecstatic for our life ahead and then in June, finally back into our apartment. Planning adventures for the summer. Turbo died. 


Delaney was Christopher's best friend. Robert, Bobby, Turbo. 
He and I became friends as well and more importantly, I began to truly understand what it meant when these men referred to each other as "brothers". 
Christopher changed. I held him as he sobbed and pleaded with me to give him answers. We drove to West Virginia for the funeral and I was amazed by the love and dedication shown to Turbo and his family. It was heartbreaking and at times unbearable. There were also moments of joy. Provoked by the overwhelming grief and pain, and being able to still laugh, it was illicit. 
Feelings I am far more comfortable with now. 

The etchings of tragedy on our souls, we all have them, they started to manifest within Christopher. He couldn't see past death, how everyone he loved had to die. I ached for him, mostly because I didn't know how to help him, I hadn't experienced death like he had. My only solution was to love him through it. To fight for the good in him. I lost, a lot. His demons were clawing at him and one night he snapped. 
He loved Crown Royal. 

"Lindsey doesn't like the devil juice." 

He had too much that night and we were listening to music, talking. The tv was on but we were using it as a light rather than entertainment. Our conversation turned, he slammed his hand down on our coffee table and crash. The glass top shattered and I lost it, which only made matters worse. Demanding to know why he would do that! Knowing it was a mistake but our coffee table is ruined now and there is glass everywhere. I was a brat. Finally, we calmed down and he started to clean up the mess. The shock sobered him up a bit and he apologized profusely. 

He had just gotten back from JRTC in Louisiana.

We had just found out we were having a baby. 

He stopped drinking Crown that night. 

We decided if we had a boy, we would name him Robert. 

Our son was born April 30th 2010. Alexander Robert Wilbur. 

I no longer pray for patience. I acquired that a long time ago without even realizing it. I now pray for courage and a tenaciously kind heart, for humility and to accept what I do not understand. 

To trust. I pray for these things so I can raise our son and our daughter to live up to their names. 

And so all this pain and all this hurt doesn't amount to nothing.