I still look at men with trimmed grey beards, especially thin men with beards and windbreakers and sunhats and gloves and knapsacks on bicycles. I know, I know, I know it’s not him, but I have to look… EVERY SINGLE TIME. Follow them with my eyes down the street; just in case.
There are a lot of them out there.
When I hear a bike bell on the street, I still turn around, thinking he’s pulling into the driveway. I’ve just put the kids down for their nap, he’s just on his way home from work. Time for a chat, no matter what I had planned to do during my free time while the kids rest.
I don’t kick myself for these things. It’ll stop when it stops. Maybe soon, maybe never: I’m okay with either way.