I can feel my body starving for my husband. It strains outwards, palpable energy reaching outside of myself, only to be left hanging in the void where he used to stand. When I walk anywhere, I find myself keeping my right hand empty, palm open, thinking against all reality that I might feel his hand clasp mine again.
What does one do with that energy? What does one do when you know that the man you loved more than life itself is no longer around to receive that energy? What do you do at night when your hand reaches to the space beside you and there is only the chill of nothingness to meet your touch?
Emptiness. Missing-ness. Space. How many words are there to describe this grief and what it does to your mind and spirit and heart? I've not only run out of words, it exhausts me trying to define this gaping chasm of...him.
I miss his kisses. He was an amazing kisser. His hand placed just so behind my head or clasping my chin as he lowered his lips to mine. Early in our marriage I read an article about conscious kissing and making them last at 30 seconds and ours usually lasted longer than that. I miss the excitement of his kisses and where it would most often lead.
I'm struggling with words this week. So instead I studied pictures of our times together. 24 years worth of love. And I'm sharing them with you because I know all of you get it. You know what I mean when I say I miss him more than any language can illustrate. Pictures say it best.