As we headed for home once again in our faithful Highlander, I thought back over the last ten days. We’ve been fortunate to spend time with people we love who love us back, both on Sanibel Island and in northern Florida.

Our family first vacationed on Sanibel in 1979 with three young children, Nelson, Lars and Linnea. Nate had visited Sanibel as a young college student, still a teenager, driving from Northwestern University with a friend during spring break. He’d become infatuated with the island and its century-old atmosphere. No McDonalds, Wendy’s or Burger King, no malls, no traffic. On this trip in the early sixties, he made up his mind to return one day.

Nate couldn’t wait to show us Sanibel, so we took our first family vacation there in 1979. By then a causeway had been built between Ft. Meyers and the island, increasing traffic, both on roads and in resorts. But residents had put restrictions on building with an eye to preserving land in its natural state (more than half of the island) and not allowing structures to exceed two stories.

Being on Sanibel Island without Nate this time was difficult. He “found” this tropical paradise and had led us back there on many different vacations. It seemed he should be with us now. I couldn’t walk the boardwalk without seeing him there, coffee cup in hand, on the way to the beach. I couldn’t pass the outdoor hot tub without hoping to hear his laugh or his conversation with other resort guests.

This year we stayed with my sister’s family when normally we would have stayed in a separate unit. All of it seemed strange and slightly off-kilter like a parade without the marching band. Nate always kept the coffee pot brewing and the daily newspapers coming. He and my brother’s wife Leslie had a friendly competition going each morning as they tried to be the first to buy the other a New York Times.

Nate would walk through the kitchen during the morning melee of breakfast prep and say, “So what’s the program for today?” In his mind, running and doing was what kids wanted, and he was happy to deliver. Para-sailing? Skiing? Jet skis? Restaurants? Scooters? He encouraged them all, along with Easter brunch at the place with live chicks and kittens, and a costumed bunny handing out chocolate eggs.

In the late ‘80’s we went over a financial cliff, and that was the end of our trips to Sanibel. But the photo albums and our minds are chock full of happy memories, each made possible by Nate. I guess if I didn’t miss him like this, it wouldn’t say much for the relationship we had as husband and wife. God intends marriage to be two people joining hearts as if they’re two halves of one whole. When one dies, the marriage not only falls apart but the person left is missing his or her other half. That’s what I felt on Sanibel Island this year, that I was only “half there.”

Sometimes I wonder if that empty sensation will end or be filled with something else. Maybe it will continue through the rest of life. I remember dropping Mom off at her retirement complex apartment several years after Dad died. She’d moved there at his suggestion, as a widow. When I said goodbye at the door, I said, “We made it. You’re home.”

She said, “This isn’t home, because your father never lived here. It’s just my apartment.” She wasn’t being maudlin and was thankful for her cheery little place. She was just speaking matter-of-factly and truthfully.

I completely understand.

”Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise [women] but as wise, making the most of your time.” (Ephesians 5:15-16)