A simple photo opportunity.
A day in the sun. A day with the one I love.
Proof that he is here for me. Proof that he exists here in my life. Proof that he offers his hand to me.
I sit here looking at this innocent photo that I took today.
My hand on his. His hand at ease. His hand already used to mine finding its way over to his.
I am very fortunate. I never forget this. I never take the offer of his hand for granted.
Two Thanksgiving celebrations down, and one to go.
It's been an interesting couple of days. Friday night I hosted an office Thanksgiving potluck at my home. Almost every person from the office came, along with their families. There was so much food, wine and desert, and everyone was in a very good mood. Most had hoped to meet Abel, and since he had to work, I was explaining all night as to why he wasn't present.
That's what we tend to sometimes make our dead spouse ..... a saint.
It's a good thing they're dead.
No one could actually live up to those standards.
Jim was not a saint.
Not by a long shot.
But then, neither was/am I.
and this is a pretty large "but".....
...... we had almost 27 years to work on our relationship.
Kim's blog this weekend got me thinking...fondly reminiscing about the "joys" of dating again. This blog isn't really a poem...more of an epic journey, the story of a quest.
I met my husband at the ripe old age of 16, and married him at 22. We did date other people for a while in college, but really - he was "the one" from the beginning. Fast forward through marriage, college, grad school, the birth of a wee one, and a deathly battle with cancer....(not to go quickly through that important stuff, but those fabulous years are not the topic of this blog). The scene is set with a suddenly widowed 36 year old woman wondering...WTF now?
..... were flowing down my face today.
The man in my life, V, was holding me.
He had spent the day taking care of me after he took me to a hospital bright and early this morning so that I could have a procedure done on my shoulder. I had to be put under so they wanted to make sure that someone would be staying the day with me, to keep any eye on me.
V did a very good job.
He watched me sleep on his couch while he worked on his computer.
He watched me read a book (and fight off sleep) while he did work over the phone.
Everyone: Carl. Carl: Everyone. So there, now you've met. The last few weeks have been full of big changes for us. We've bought a new home, he moved into my house for a few weeks during the remodel of the new house, and now we've moved into our house together. The wedding is still a few months away, but well into the planning stages. Holy cow we have a lot going on!Read more
I recently heard about another widow I know …widowed after me … she has found someone new.
She is quite in love.
This makes me sad.
About four months after Phil's death, I returned to my nail salon for the first time since being widowed. As I sat in the chair trying to keep it together while idle chatter swirled around me, my manicurist looked up and asked if I was going to take off my rings. Absently I handed them to her (my engagement ring, my wedding ring, and Phil's wedding ring were all crowded together on my finger) and she set them down awkwardly on the table next to us. Then she looked up at me and said, "Isn't your husband dead?" At first I was sure I heard her wrong. "Excuse me?" I said. Turns out my hearing was fine, because she repeated herself.Read more
Sex. I’ve been thinking about it lately.
And I really miss it. I miss the animal-ness of having another sweaty body pressed down against mine, the sounds, the smell.
I miss being openly desired, I miss teasing, I miss all the foreplay that comes before. I miss being sexy. I miss being a sensual woman.
And I find myself unsure if I even know how to be sensual outside of him.