Signing a title without your husband is another one of those milestones nobody ever mentions about being a widow. Well, today I sold the last thing bearing both our names. And I felt the pause of silence in heaven.

As I told the little red car goodbye and thanked it for its excellent service to us, I took his hat from the dash and packed it in a bag with everything else. Then I paused again to remember him sitting in the seat so many times.

Is this the way it’s supposed to go? Things just moving on? As if something profound never happened? Without even a gong sounding?

Turning to the new car, I brushed away the normal awe of its pretty bells and whistles, tarnished a bit by the profundity. And then I noticed it. The lightness of the colors. The combination opening the panoramic view even wider for the traveler, filling the cabin with freedom. Wasn’t that what I had wished for secretly, but didn’t know how to verbalize? Yes! This was it! That singular thing. The aura, or ambiance that’s unexplainable but worth waiting for. The thing that makes us know a choice is divine. Here it was! Father had done it again. He’d given me the desires of my heart even when I didn’t know how to ask for them.

“Thank you!” I whispered into the air. “Oh, thank you!”

How strange that such a simple thing would completely change my perception of a solemn event. And remind me that he always moved forward eagerly with me. Never lingering too long in the past other than to be thankful.

Once again, he joined me for the journey, or was it Hunny? It’s hard to tell anymore. They meld together seamlessly. After learning how to take it out of Park, I backed into the drive, then onto the highway toward home—riding in glorious gratitude.

Faith