I don’t know what to do with my hands…

When the memories flood in. Since the day Bob died, I’ve been wringing them. For the first few months, I was wringing them so hard that they hurt too much to even hold a coffee cup.

When the coffee starts brewing in the morning and I think of all the mornings I woke up with him, long before the sun rose, just to have a few minutes with him and a kiss before he left…I don’t know what to do with my hands.

When I catch a faint hint of his cologne when I’m out in public and it makes me weak in the knees. I have to fight the urge to look for him or scream…I don’t know what to do with my hands.

To be honest, I don’t need a smell to trigger the memories that stop me in my tracks…

I don’t even want to admit how often I don’t know what to do with my hands.