On a trip he would:

Squeeze my hand through the turbulence

Walk the outside of the trail

 Hand me the wheel while he could binocular

Track down the ultimate local cheeseburger 

Check in while I waited

Deliver my morning coffee

Kick the tires

Jam to Pat Metheny jazz

Purchase the whole general store for me

Beat me at Bible trivia

Hold his breath through the tunnel

Squirt sanitizer in my palm

Study the map, check the forecast — again.

 

But this trip I:

Folded my hands through the turbulence

Walked the inside and outside of the trail

Forgot the binoculars

Ate the right-here-and-now salad

Checked in and coffeed myself

Purchased a simple Christmas ornament

Read some Bible details

Breathed through the tunnels

Managed with all-day hands

Followed the signs, noticed the clouds

Thought about all the things he would do.

 

Trips are different now.  I choose the flavor and eat the whole scoop.  I sing kinda quietly.  I checklist a few less or many less things.  I zoom through TSA.  I take the photos… of… landscape.

I trip in a new way.  New trips, new ways.  Which means I can’t help but remember what he would do.  I miss you, tripping husband.  I miss what you would do.