My husband didn’t run. He didn’t understand why I did, but he supported me. He bought me a neon vest an always charged my flashlight when the days grew shorter and I was out past dusk. I told him not to worry – I always ran on busy, public streets (or at least as busy and public as our sleepy suburb would get), always carried something to defend myself, and then a backup something. And if everything else failed, I wasn’t afraid to scream really loudly. I demonstrated for him once; he asked me to never do that again.

And then he died.

Aortic aneurysm last spring. He had time to know it was something bad and to say goodbye. It was that fast.

Getting over it has been anything but fast. I turned to running further and further. My best friend, Annie, says I’m running away from it. Frankly, I don’t care if I am. I’ve seen grief counselors. Annie, Taylor, Mitch, they’ve all been great friends, but… they’re not James.

And so I run.

But the days have been growing shorter, and my runs keep me out later. And I’m crap at keeping my flashlights charged these days…

And so I was out well after dark. I took a side street to get home faster and immediately felt something was off. But I told myself I was being stupid and to just keep going. That’s when I saw the man ahead of me crossing the street, his gaze fixed on me. All my womanly instincts screamed for me to Get Away Now™. I felt panic start to rise, anxiety disrupting my breathing as the man drew closer.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder – yeah, that should be terrifying in this situation, but it wasn’t. It felt familiar, warm. It felt like home.

And then I heard his voice deep and resonant from behind me. “Hey, do we have a problem here?”

The man in front of me paled, his eyes going wide and I thought he was going to trip over himself he came to a stumbling halt and hurriedly turned and sprinted in the opposite direction.

I spun to face the voice, the reassuring hand, my James…

And there was nothing behind me but the dark sidewalk.

No, that’s not true… from the wan light of the streetlight two houses back I could make something out on the ground. It was my little flashlight. And a blackjack. I picked them both up, verified the beam of the flashlight was bright, tested the weighted leather pouch, and felt the tears start to fall.

My husband didn’t run. But he clearly does now.