A suitcase lay open on the couch, and snacks and phone cords waited on the kitchen table as my husband prepared to leave on one of his frequent trips. I had carefully folded and packed his dress clothes, a duty that falls to me because he has one paralyzed arm. Otherwise, Paul does all his own packing in his publicity work for a microfinance ministry.
I find it best to lie low during the final preparations, because Paul is like a strong wind whipping through the house, bathroom to office to living room, papers or toothbrush or shoes in hand, talking on his phone and whirling through the narrow walkway in the kitchen, making it dangerous to be in his path.
He stopped suddenly as I sat at the kitchen table waiting to take him to the Eugene Airport…