I found his handwriting today. In my checkbook.
That's all it takes.
I can picture the pen in his hand, the intentionally careless scrawl across the page.
It snuck up on me, like a whiff of his cologne. It grabs my shoulders and looks me squarely in the eye.
"Hey. Think about him."
I flinch. It's too hot to hold, too bright to see.
Handwriting is a living thing.
There's a box of love notes, cards, and printed emails in the basement. Someday I'll open it.
Right now, it's enough to know it's there.
So true. I can relate to all of your thoughts being in a similar situation. Thanks for making me feel as if I am not so alone in this unplanned life of mine. It's those little things that really are so big and make me take another deep breathe and pledge to be strong for him and my boys.
I know where you are coming from today. Praying for you. May God continue to comfort you and strengthen you.
I am 'feeling' you today, Tricia. With damp, brown eyes.
There aren't words worthy...but 'like' doesn't seem the right message either... how 'bout "care" and "praying for you"... May God's strength continue to be yours.
Oh yes. I know. I know. I can't imagine watching home movies at this point. The still shots and the handwriting are tough enough. xo