Sitting

I sit on the shuttle on the way to the airport and see a sign that says the bus is powered by bio-diesel fuel. This causes me to burst into tears as Colby was such a proponent of bio-diesel. He would be so pleased to hear about the shuttle and I want to share it with him, but of course I can't. Other than the driver, I am the only person on the bus, so there is no one to look away or become embarrassed by my tears.

I sit on the airplane and look out the window at luggage being loaded into a neighboring plane. We cannot depart due to a broken hinge on an overhead cargo bin, so we wait for half an hour before a uniformed man shows up with some duct tape. Colby loved duct tape and used it for everything from making clothes and backpacks to holding his car together. It's been an emotional day after several numb days and the sight of the roll of tape causes me to cry. The plane is only about a third full and the closest passenger, a lady in the aisle seat in my row, doesn't even look up from her computer.

I sit on the plane, ancy. I am uncharacteristically claustrophobic and fight the urge to get up from my seat and run screaming down the aisle. Instead, I look out the window in hopes of hiding my tears.

I sit in my truck in the parking lot of the Nashville airport. I wonder if I should go home, or if I should just drive until I can't drive anymore. I remember my dog, Abby, and cat, Bailey, are waiting for me at home and know that's where I need to be.

I sit on my couch with an airhead dog and lazy cat and look at the piles of Colby's stuff, at the work piled up on my desk, at the "to do" list that now tops four pages. With a sigh I reach for the list and start doing number one.