A missing presence

I got into my husband's car today for the first time in awhile. I need to drive the car occasionally to keep the battery from dying. The smell of the car overwhelmed me. Ken didn't smell like the car and the car didn't smell like Ken, but I associated the smell of the car so much with Ken.

Dinnertime is hard. We used to eat as a family quite often. Ken loved hearing about our day. Now, when we do eat together, no one says much. We're all thinking the same thing. Ken's not here to share our time together.

Yesterday was Mother's Day. The kids made me breakfast and gave me cards. We had a great lunch and later sat under the stars in the hot tub. We had a wonderful time. But still there was a hole there. A missing presence.