...... talks about.
Yes, I read your comments from Monday's post.
And many of you stated that no one talks about ...... well, you know. That thing no one wants to talk about.
Except for some of you.
Some of you really do want to talk about it.
As one of the writers on this blog ...... I kind of took that as a "dare". You know, as in "I dare you to write about it".
And unfortunately (or fortunately, for those of you who want to talk about it), I'm the kind of stubborn person who hates to turn down a "dare".
And so here we are.
Getting ready to talk about "it".
Hopefully you'll all jump in and comment ...... and talk about it.
The subject of the day is ..... S. E. X.
Or actually, the lack thereof.
Widowhood ...... and the lack of sex.
Not something that most of us thought about in the first few days on this journey. Or maybe even the first few months.
I didn't. I don't know why, but it's not something that popped into my head for a while.
It wasn't that sex wasn't a vital part of our marriage. It was. Regularly.
(I sincerely hope that none of my children decide to read this post.)
I guess it was just part of the shock of being thrust into this new reality so suddenly. And maybe it was also due to the fact that I was just trying to make it from one minute to the next, one breath at a time, that I didn't have the energy, time, or capacity to think about sex.
Or the lack thereof.
But one day, I'm not sure exactly when, it did pop into my head.
And I realized that I missed it.
I missed it a lot.
At first, it wasn't actually sex that I missed. It was just physical touch.
I had never before realized how important touch is. I know they've done studies of infant orphans
who've been left in their cribs, with very little warm physical touch, for the first year or so of their lives.
The outcome is not good.
Someone should do a study on widowed people and the lack of warm physical touch in their lives.
Except maybe I don't want to know the outcome.
I didn't realized how important touch had been to me, how much it had been a part of my life.
A warm hand holding mine (we held hands all of the time).
A loving touch on the shoulder, back or arm.
A fun pat on the rear (which made any and all of our children recoil in horror, and some utter the words, "Gross! Get a room!", which of course meant that they secretly were glad that their parents enjoyed each other).
I longed to just be touched. I needed to be touched. I missed being touched.
But mostly ...... mostly I missed the hugs.
Oh my word, how I missed being enfolded fully in Jim's arms and hugged. Hugged hard.
I missed it so much that I even asked some of my girl friends to tell their husbands to hug me whenever they saw me.
Some did.
But I didn't see them all that often.
I still miss those hugs.
One day it wasn't just the hugs that I missed.
And it wasn't what some people call "sex".
I missed making love.
Which is totally different from "sex".
In my opinion.
And it was more than just missing it.
I started to feel like an addict going through withdrawal.
I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin.
I hope that makes sense.
I don't know how else to describe it.
The need to be that close to someone.
The need to feel like a woman again, not a widow.
A need that was suddenly with me almost all day.
And all night.
Yes, there are ways to work around some needs.
There might be "friends with benefits".
Or occasional "one night stands".
There are "toys" that can be purchased (yes, I saw that episode of "Sex in the City").
But all of those are for the need of sex.
Not for the need of making love.
That's a need that nothing, and no one, can fulfill.
No one except for someone who loves you deeply ...... and whom you love deeply.
In my opinion.
I am almost at the 5 year mark (a fact that seems unbelievable and almost obscene).
I still miss making love.
I try to not think about it.
It doesn't affect me like it did when it first hit.
It doesn't occupy a lot of my thoughts.
Most of the time.
I seem to go through phases.
A few months may go by and I don't really think about it.
But then another month comes ...... and it becomes a need again.
A need that, at this point in my life, cannot be fulfilled.
Which makes for a very long month.
I hope that I will find love again.
And I hope that it finds me.
I hope that I am loved as deeply and as fully as Jim loved me.
I hope that I will again have a fulfilling sex life.
(I still hope that my kids aren't reading this!)
I hope that my days of making love are not over.
And I hope that I am able to be that close, that intimate, that "as one" with a man again.
But that's all I have.
Hope.
No guarantees. No promises. No one in my sights.
Just hope.
So hope will have to do.
Hope, and staying very busy.
And exercise. Lots of exercise.
During those months when I think about sex.
Or the lack thereof.
