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  • Writer's pictureAmy Taylor

Your Truck

Updated: May 13, 2023


A friend came and embraced me after a church service. She spoke close to my ear so that I could hear her over the buzzing conversation in the foyer. She told me that she had seen your work truck that week and that it brought up thoughts and memories of you. And she wondered about me and how I must feel each time I see it in town.


How do I feel when I see your truck?


On the days that I forget for a split second that you’re no longer here, I’m filled with joy and anticipation. Seeing your truck meant that I was going to see you.


I would enter stores and make a beeline for the chip aisle. I’d often see you working before you would see me, but once you did, your face would light up with your gorgeous smile. We would hug and kiss, not caring who might pass by. We would talk and laugh and not want our time together to end.


I’d find your truck in a parking lot with the back doors open, and I’d know you were inside preparing to unload boxes. I’d stand at the tailgate smiling up at you, and you’d hop down and sweep me off my feet.


Other days, I’d be driving home and see you pulling onto the highway. I’d slow down and do my best to catch your attention. You didn’t always see me, but when you did, it was such a gift. We’d wave and smile like the perpetual newlyweds we were. You’d often send me a text message afterward that said Beautiful smile.


When I had my cleaning job, I loved when I would catch sight of your truck pulling up beside my Jeep. I never told you this, but sometimes I would wait before running outside to be with you because I didn’t want to interrupt you leaving a note on my windshield! You would help me up into the driver’s seat, and I'd squeeze in close beside you. We’d talk for a couple of minutes or just sit in silence, again not wanting out time together to end.


On the days that I’m fully aware of your absence, seeing your truck widens the hole in my heart. I’ll try not to look at it, try not to think about how someone else is driving it and working out of it. I’ll enter stores and make a beeline for any section other than the chip aisle. I keep my head down and try to get out before I cry. Sometimes I succeed; sometimes I don’t.


How do I feel when I see your truck?


I feel joy, and I feel sorrow. I’m appreciative because the company name on the side of that truck brought you to me.


I miss you terribly when I see it, and everything aches. My arms ache to hug you, my eyes ache to look at you, my lips ache to kiss you. My hands ache for your hands.


I think I might always feel this way when I see your truck. And I’m thankful.

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