I Missed You Today

I missed you today. Well, I miss you everyday but this morning more than usual. I found my first ever GRAY HAIR. I plucked it out and stared at it forever. I thought about your reaction had you been here. I know you would have had a ball with the news. You'd say something like " you don't know it's your first ever. You've been bleaching your hair since we were teenagers! You'd give me shit about getting old and I'd give you the look that you know means you better run. I'd chase you down the hall, though the kitchen and dining room, the kids join in the attack as surely as we made way to the living room and at the foot of the stairs you'd toss yourself on the steps and the kids would jump on you like spider monkeys. My minions. I'd declare myself avenged and tell you that I might have a gray hair but I'll always be younger than you!

At some point I know I'm going to need to stop imagining what you'd say to things if you were still here...because you're not.

How is it possible that we didn't make it to a first gray hair? I think that was the most painful part. That moment when I realized we aren't even considered middle aged. Three years ago I thought I could have predicted precisely where my life would be in my golden days. We knew everything about each other. I could tell you what you'd eat for breakfast. We were a predictable pair. I was certain we'd grow up, grow closer and then grow old together.

And, for 20 years I joked I'd always be younger. We will be the same age next year. Never in a million years could I have known one day I would be older than you. That stings.

I miss the way a husband and wife know every expression, every thought, every sigh. I miss our life. I know it wasn't easy for anyone at the end but the 20 years we spent we built a life and a family and a trust. What we had was real.

I missed you today.