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.