After forty years of marriage — listening, sharing, compromising, arguing, experiencing — no one, save Jesus, knows me better than Bill. Not my parents, not my kids, probably not even me. This man knew my thoughts, my reactions, my druthers. He knew me inside and out. He made it his business. It feels so good to be known.

It’s been a year since I’ve gotten to be with him. In that year, I have changed. Obviously, I’m learning to live alone, to be my own company, to be independent. Bill never saw me knock on a neighbor’s door just to be friendly. He would have done a double take watching this homebody join my I-don’t-know-anyone Bible study. He would be proud that I’m getting around town pretty well, taking in a bit of news, youtubing fix-its. Forced changes force change.

But I like to think that I’m still Bill’s Kath. My insides, the way God made me, the things that put smiles on my face, the Kath Bill knew, hasn’t changed. Bill still knows me best. If he were here, he knows I would want him to drive, pick the restaurant, and get me home early cause I can’t wait to fall in bed. If he were here, he would expect to wait a minute before I answered his question, give me a couple minutes to wake up in the morning, allow a buncha minutes to get the house straightened just right. He would take my hand and pray for us, wrap my waist and kiss me, grab his phone and call me… and know that, despite my resistance, I needed it all. He knew me.

No one will ever know me quite like Bill, I think. But Jesus knows me. He knows me because He made me. He made me for Bill to know me. It feels so so good to be known.