The man coming toward me on the street looked like Joe. I stood staring, my breath coming in little gasps. He was tall and thin. He even walked like Joe. He passed me at the corner. It certainly was not my husband. The tears came. What I wouldn’t give to see Joe walking toward me again!
Joe, I remember you:
Coming up the steps to the deck with an armload of firewood.
Bending over the saw in your workshop.
Sitting in your chair, hands held…