Miss-yous

Celebrating Luca

 Just the mention of Bill’s name can usher tears.  Not always.  Sometimes, I think about the way he rolled his eyes at me when I did a ding dong thing like drive right past our driveway.  Then I giggle.  Or when I hear him calling me to “come to your step,” which meant to stand on the top as he stood on the bottom putting us at perfect kissing level.  Then I melt. 

 

This morning, a friend asked me about Bill.  What do I miss most?  She recalled his smack-talk during televised rival games.  She missed Bill’s good-natured ribbing.  (She thinks it was good-natured.) She hears his laugh.  She misses him. 

 

What do I miss most?

 

Everyday is such a “miss you.” I miss that no one is across the bed as I read myself, then will myself, to sleep.  I miss that my recliner buddy is not behind his newspaper peeking over the top catching the football replays.  I miss that our littlebears’ grandpa is not carting us to the ice cream shop.  Ordering for us, paying for us, handing cones to us.  I miss the door slamming at every entrance and exit.  (I can’t believe I miss that.) I miss his weekly invitation to get gas with him!  I miss the Sunday morning, warmed-up car waiting for me to take my seat and ride to church.  I miss my personal fan who never failed to celebrate me.  Us.  I miss a thousand things.

 

When my friend asked me about Bill and what I missed, I could only cry.  There is so much to him to miss.  Let my tears say all the things.  Let me miss him, missssss him, until I’m with him again.