TEARS IN MY TRUCK

Why does this feel like home?

The tears flow swiftly down my cheeks as I sit within the familiar surroundings of my 2017 pearl white F-150 truck. My chest aches, and I yearn to touch and feel the missing presence of my high school sweetheart—and then husband—Pat. Those early days when we were young, etched in vivid memories, now evoke not sorrow but a bittersweet joy—a testament to having lived and loved fully. We did have those wonderful years together.

Today’s plan was to work from the shared gym workspace, either before or after my workout. Yet, when the ugly crying started, I decided to work from the safety of what, since Pat’s passing, feels most like home to me. It’s an odd paradox: this vehicle, which I bought long after Pat’s death, now comforts me like home. How does that make sense? Maybe because Pat was a truck guy, and a Ford truck guy especially. We spent countless hours driving around in his Ford F150 King Ranch truck, listening to country music and singing along. Maybe I’m a truck person, too. It’s a place I feel safe to be sad.

But the mental gymnastics continue. Why do I feel so lonely? Why do I miss having someone touch me. I am constantly around my grandchildren, and I love them to pieces. But they are constantly ON me all the time. I am literally dripping in grandchildren. So it’s not just the physical contact. Is it being known so well by that one person?

And while my heart is filled with appreciation for the abundance of loving friends and family, loneliness gnaws at my edges. I miss being known, being seen, being loved romantically, being desired—yearning to be someone’s first choice.

And then I stop myself. I know that wherever the thoughts are coming from, they aren’t serving me well. I want to shift the narrative before it takes a deeper hold in my brain.

All of this happens in minutes. I tally all of my blessings, holding them against my tear streaked face, runny nose and feelings of isolation. What triggered this sudden wave of emotions? Was it Cory Asbury’s soundtrack, accompanying me on the drive to the gym? Or perhaps it was the accumulation of silent longing, finally demanding release. The cause matters less than the release itself. The sadness lifts, and I step into the gym, ready to face the weights and treadmills.

I hope that this will connect with someone who feels this sometimes. I hope it will be the realization that you won't stop loving the person you're missing. You don't have to stop thinking about your love to be healing, or thriving. Know this: love endures beyond absence. Missing someone doesn’t diminish your capacity to heal or thrive. These moments, like fleeting storms, will pass. The waves of grief won’t always threaten to drown you. And how fortunate am I—to have loved so deeply that even after 13+ years. 🌟💔