missing holding Bill's hand 321/366

Last week when we were talking about our drive to Gatlinburg Anita told Tiff and her family  "Donnette needs to sit in one of the middle seats because she gets car sick."  Izaak quickly spoke up, "Oh, no, she will be riding in the front seat. Ain't nobody throwing up in our new car." And that is how I came to be riding shotgun next to Garrett down and back. Thursday morning I tried to tell TIffany I'd be fine in the middle, that she should ride next to her husband but she insisted I take the front seat. Garrett is a good driver. I never once had to tap my brake or anything like that.

Yesterday afternoon when it was time to head home, I climbed into my assigned seat. Not far up the road I was close to embarrassing myself because instinctively I was ready to reach across the console to grab his hand, not because I wanted to hold Garretts hand, but because in the moment I felt like I was in the car with Bill. We usually held hands while he drove and I sat, relaxed, in the passenger seat. I was glad I had my sunglasses on because tears flooded my eyes, and while I know he would have understood after I explained them, I didn't have the energy, mentally or emotionally to tell him what was going on in my heart and brain and I knew he would worry if he could see them and I didn't explain. I was also afraid I might start sobbing and Anita, TIff and the boys were napping and I didn't want to wake them.

This evening while we ate supper I shared what happened. Tiffany said it would have been fine if I'd held Garrett's hand. That if it made me feel better she wouldn't have minded a bit. Anita shared a look of understanding with me, her heart speaking unspoken words to mine. When she and I walked Friday morning part of our conversation was the way we miss holding our husband's hand and their hugs. It has been more than six years since I held Bill's hand and been wrapped up in his arms. And tonight the knowledge and pain that accompanies the reality that it will never happen again feels as fresh and raw as it did when it was brand new. I'm thankful I have good kleenex, that I can cry all the tears I need to cry and that I have a God who loves me and holds me each and every time I run to Him.