I saw him

At the gas station. He was in front of me. I couldn't see his face, just his back. It looked just like his back. It hit me smack in the face. I wanted to reach out & touch him. This man. This stranger. Next thing I know I'm driving down the road, sobbing, trying to see with blurry eyes, tears streaming. I stopped at his grave and just sat on the grass and cried till my chest started physically hurting. Burning pain. Just when you think you have a handle on your life, the grief, it jumps out at you. I miss him so much, moments like these make me wonder how I have been able to breathe as long as I have without him. Just to touch his face. His arm. His hand. His toes. Anything. Just to see him in the flesh. As I sat on the grass crying looking at his name chiseled in the headstone, I kept thinking "He's right beneath my feet. Right under me." So close. Yet he's not. Then as I left the cemetery I found myself behind a bus. Still crying I noticed the number on the bus. 13. Our number. Usually these little signs bring me comfort. Not today. I cried harder. I don't want signs. I want him. That's all I want. Just bring him home God.