Link to Full Article (Opinion)
By Michelle Cuthrell, The News-Miner
The ring of my front doorbell used to be this exciting, welcoming sound. I'm a pretty big people person, and unexpected visitors were always such a thrill.
It's amazing how that same tune changes so drastically once your husband is in harm's way.
Last week at 2:30 a.m., my doorbell rang.
I immediately bolted up in bed, not knowing what to do. And for a moment after that terrible ring, I just sat there, clinging to my quilt. Maybe if I didn't answer the door, no one could give me any bad news. I was terrified, and my hands started shaking as I grabbed my sweatshirt and stumbled down the stairs to the front entryway, my barking beagle right behind me.
When I opened the door, there stood my worst nightmare: a police officer.
I shook my head back and forth and bit my lip, fighting back the tears, but becoming hysterical inside.
"Are you the wife of Matthew Cuthrell?" she asked me very officially. [...]
When I told her that he was in Iraq, she seemed puzzled. After a few more inquiries, we together discovered her error: She had come to the wrong address, and had therefore asked for the wrong name.
And my heart beat a million miles per minute.
Had I been thinking properly, I should have been relieved when I opened my door to find a city police officer instead of a uniformed soldier standing on my stoop. But ever since Matt deployed, I suppose I've been a little more paranoid, a little more jumpy--and not just with police officers at 2:30 a.m. [...]