I was pedaling up a hill when his hand pressed against my back. Earlier in my marriage I might have been warmed by his show of devotion and willingness to help me up the hard climb, but instead I found myself annoyed.
"I can do it!" I quipped through my effort.
And his hand dropped away, and my back grew cold, and the climb was harder than I had thought.
Standing in a roomful of men I noticed that his hair had grayed; his strong shoulders were thin and bent in a kind of fog; his kind eyes sad and tired. I slipped my hand in his but rather than quipping a declaration of self-sufficiency, he stood a little straighter and spoke a little clearer.
Next time I will surely wish his hand back.