Many miss Kim’s laugh. Her warmth. For some of my family and friends, it was her creativity and intelligence. For me, it’s a lot simpler. I miss holding her hand.
We held hands everywhere. We held hands across the console whenever we were driving. We held hands when we went on our walks. Shopping. Across the table when we’d go on our “dates” away from the kids. Even as she lay dying, we held hands – even after she no longer held mine back.
My hand is empty now, a metaphor of the place in my heart once occupied by the living Kim.