In the L.A. area today, a freight train collided with a commuter train - the commuter train my husband often takes to and from work. Last night, he talked about taking it today. When it came time to go to work this morning, though, he decided to drive instead because he wanted to run an errand at lunch.
It's difficult to feel happy when I know other spouses and loved ones won't get the same relieving news today (at the time of this post, there are an estimated 70 injured and 10-15 dead). Instead of a reassuring call from their spouse, they may be be getting a phone call or a knock on the door from the authorities with bad news.
But I am happy. Deliriously happy. And I'd rather live with the guilt of being happy while others are grieving than live with the alternative outcome.
He just returned home a little while ago, greeted by a longer, tighter hug and more fervent kisses from me than usual. He's home and safe, and our take-out from the Thai restaurant down the street is on its way, just like any other normal, boring Friday night. And, later, when his snoring wakes me up in the middle of the night, as it does every night, instead of grumbling to myself and shaking him a little to get him to stop, I'm going to scoot closer and spoon him and nestle my head in his back, between his shoulders, and remember how lucky I am.