Letter Home

Dear Duke,

I am a 14-hour drive away from you right now. This is the first time I've made this trip in the last year without you and even though I made this trip for 15 years before I knew you, it is so much harder now.

I was pulling into Garrison today, in the car by myself, and I was held up by a motorcycle group lining up. There were about 20 to 30 bikes, stopped right in the middle of Main Street, holding up traffic in every direction while they got themselves in order and took off. I thought of you and how I'd really rather be on the back of the Vulcan right now with my arms around your waist and the wind on my face.

The thought crossed my mind that I should not always measure the way that I feel about you by how it is when we are together, because we are always together. You come home to me every night and I wake up to you every morning. I clearly take for granted that you are at arm's reach on a daily basis.

This trip is a mix of the happy and the sad, and I wish you were here with me for both. You make the happy parts happier and you make the unbearable things somehow bearable. And in that gap between the happy and the sad, in the mundane, I miss being able to look at you and know that I am not alone in the world.

Love,

Jane