I catch myself talking out loud a lot when I’m alone in the car. Luckily, nowadays, the passengers in the cars around me assume I’m on a hands-free phone, so it doesn’t seem strange to see me alone gabbing away while I’m sitting at the red light next to them.
Except, the reality is, I’m not on the phone. I’m talking to Rick. And, although it’s not truly audible, he usually answers. I can’t say when I discovered this odd little habit, but I realize that I’ve never stopped talking to him since the day he died. Throughout our marriage, he was my go-to in-house therapist, my sounding board for everything, and the person who gave me a pep talk when I was down.
How could I ever stop seeking his advice and comfort? Death isn’t strong enough to sever that connection…
