I voted this morning. I entered the grade school gym, walked up to the check in table, and gave the women sitting there the name of my street. The woman with the book (the voter roll) turned to the page for my street. As I gave her my house number, reading upside down, I found my name before she did. It was the only name next to my house number. She made a red “X” in the box by my name. The other woman asked “Which ballot?” I answered, she gave me the ballot, and I voted.
Today was the first time, in all the years I have lived here, that my name was the only name for my house. A year ago when I went to vote, Bob’s name was still above mine on the voter roll. I remember thinking how odd it was to see his name without a red “X” since, in recent years, he would leave earlier in the morning than I did and would vote first.
Today was the first time, in many more years than I have lived here, that Bob’s name was not on the voter roll. It was easier to vote today than it was last year, easier with only my name on the page. It was harder to vote today than it was last year, knowing that his name will never again be on that list. One more loss. One more place where there is no longer a mark of his presence.