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When There are no Words

Posted on: October 8, 2014 | Posted by: Alison Miller

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.

http://widowsvoice.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/Collage.jpghttp://widowsvoice.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/Coxxllage.jpghttp://widowsvoice.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/Cwwollage.jpg

Categories: Widowed, Widowed by Illness

About Alison Miller

My beloved husband Chuck died while we were full timing on the road. We’d rented a condo for our stay in southern CA, and I had to leave 3 weeks after his death. All I knew at that time was that I had to find a way to continue traveling on my own, because settling down without him made me break into a cold sweat. I knew that the only place I’d find any connection to Chuck again was out on the roads we’d been traveling for our last 4 years together. I knew nobody out on the road, I knew grief was a great isolator, and I knew I had to change the way I traveled without him, to make it more emotionally bearable for me. So I bought a new car, had a shade of pink customized for it, bought a tiny trailer and painted the trim in pink, learned how to tow and camp, and set out alone. My anxiety was through the roof, and all I knew to trust was the Love that Chuck left behind for me. I found Soaring Spirits early on, thank god, and the connections I made through SS helped ground me to some extent. I needed to know that other widow/ers were out there in my world, because I felt so disoriented and dislocated. Through Soaring Spirits, as the miles added up, my rig taking me north, south, east and west, I found community. I found sanity…or at least I learned that if I was bat shit crazy, I was in good company, and realizing that ultimately saved my sanity. PinkMagic, my rig, is covered with hundreds of names of loved ones sent to me by my widowed community, and I know it isn’t visible to the naked eye, but I’ll let you in on a secret…she actually illuminates Love as I drive down the many roads in our country, and I can see it through my side view mirror. Love does, indeed, live on~

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