I Felt You

I felt you. On what would have been our 44^th anniversary, I lay in bed - on your “side” for the first time since you left - closed my eyes and “touched” you. I started at the top. Ran my fingers through the soft, thick hair around the back of your head – once the beautiful blond of youth, turned white with time. You had marveled at the preponderance of follicles that resided back there, yet had departed the parts north decades earlier! Thankfully you ditched the strategic comb-over in the 80’s and embraced the bald. 

As I lay, eyes closed, in the quiet stillness that is now the soundtrack of our home, I rubbed that beautiful top of your head where there’s more scalp than hair. I thought back to That Day when I stroked that spot as tears fell – when I couldn’t stop touching you. Couldn’t walk away.  

I continued to your forehead and felt the furrows just above your eyebrows. Gently stroked your brows to tame the errant hairs. I ran my hands along the side of your head then touched your ears. Each and every fold. I softly whispered “I love you”. I cupped your cheeks and felt the sandpaper-like, end-of-day whisker stubble. As I touched your nose, I imagined the soft exhales of your breath, and I longed for you. I reached your beautiful soft lips. The lips that have caressed me for so many years. Soft and full. Gentle. Perfect. I kissed them and didn’t want to leave.

I touched your chin and neck as my hands made their way to your shoulders. Big, broad, strong shoulders. You carried the weight of others’ troubles on them. Never complaining, always willing to ease their burden. 

My hands continued down your arms. They were once again strong, not weakened by the evil beast that is cancer. I could feel the hairs of your forearms and the leathery skin of a man who had worked hard his entire life. When I got to your hands I clutched them in mine - they were almost twice the size - and we clasped fingers. I heard our rings clicking on each other’s. I held tight - hesitating to let go. It was one of our simple gestures of expressing our love. We were good hand holders weren’t we?

As I returned to your shoulders I wrapped my arms around your neck. The embrace I knew so well. Where I felt safe. Loved. As I reached your chest. I stopped to feel your heart beating, and let my hands rise and fall as you took gentle, relaxed breaths. I reached your belly. The one that shook like a bowl full of jelly when you were Santa for so many Christmases. I gave you a lot of grief about your belly, didn’t I? I’d give anything to put my hands on it again.

My hands continued to caress you – my one and only - the man I loved for so many years. I felt every part of you. Every. Single. Part. It was tender, sensual, and beautiful. 

As my hands reached your strong legs I imagined walking side by side, your confident stride telling the world you were there to take care of things. And your feet. You loved foot massages, and I spent some time holding each foot in my hands softly rubbing each toe.

I could feel you, yet you weren’t there. Or maybe you were. I’d like to think you are with me - is Heaven at my house as Max suggested? The quiet has never been quieter, the emptiness has never felt emptier.

Sometimes I wonder how you would grieve, had our fates been reversed. Would you struggle with the solitude? Would you grieve silently, or be an open book as I am? Would you cry every day? Would you be able to get through a phone call without the voice muting lump in your throat? Wander aimlessly through the grocery store trying to shop for one? Would you hug the pillow next to you pretending it was me? Sit alone in the house, TV muted, the only sound to be heard a gentle tick, tick, tick of the wall clock?  Would you go to bed each night relieved to have survived yet another day without me, and ask me to visit you in your dreams?

Oh how I miss you, My Big Kahuna. I’m doing the best I can without you. And I still feel you in my life. Please come visit me in my dreams.