The easy affection between us.

The teasing.

The flirtatious wink across the room from him to me.

The sensation of electricity skimming across my skin when he entered a room where I was, even before I saw him.

The passion.

Holding hands.

The sweet kisses that lasted for at least 30 seconds because I’d read a book about relationships early on in our marriage that spoke about conscious kissing and he was always about learning.

The kisses that left me weak in the knees as he cupped my chin or put his hands on both sides of my head, drawing me into him.

His arm over and around me at night time.

Snuggling up to his back as we slept.

Hearing his voice on the phone when I called him at work or when he was away from home.

His use of military terminology.

My hand on the back of his neck, his hand resting on my knee, as we drove on adventures. 

His reasurrance through tough times.

Watching the sweat pour glisten on his arms when he cut down a tree with an axe because he never used a chain saw. He wanted the exercise. 

Exercise walking with him right after work, or every morning, no matter where we were, even as we traveled the roads of our country on our Happily Homeless travels.

The strength of his arm around me and my hand clasped in his as he led me across a dance floor. Or on grass soft beneath our bare feet.

The feeling of safety and security I always felt around him, both physically and emotionally.

The joy and happiness I felt just being around him, sharing our energies.

The ease of familiarity that never got old and only made the two of us feel even more passionate about one another.

Knowing that my heart was in good and strong and capable and loving hands.

The me I was with him, seeing myself through his eyes.

The strength I felt, knowing I was loved and cherished…

 

These are just a few examples of the secondary losses that I carry, living without the man I love.