• J.

I Miss Sex.

Updated: Jul 11, 2020

There, I said it. My husband died and I miss having sex with him. There is far more lost when we lose someone than those blissfully ignorant will ever hear about because how dare we make them feel uncomfortable. Staring into the blank present and future of my life without him, a major aspect of my fear and pain was that I would no longer touch him and he would no longer touch me. Not just hugs and kisses. Sex. It's a really big deal. It is not replaceable because it was OUR sex. It was our own version of intimacy and it was something we had been building for years. When that disappeared overnight, celibacy was not something I wanted to accept.

When you think about what separates you from being friends with someone or being in a romantic relationship with them, the line we cross is a physical one. My husband got all my kisses and I got all of his. His naked body was mine and mine was his. When your lover dies, it is the death of the way they knew you like no one else. He knew what I liked. We had our own way, our own words, our own style. We also had our own jokes, our own insecurities and our own embarrassing moments that weren't actually embarrassing because of all the trust and history we shared over eight and a half years.

When I see friends and their partners give each other a quick peck hello or goodbye, it is sometimes overwhelming. A lump in the throat that I have to actively work to suppress. I can't let on that I'm that upset about something so "small", I don't want to make them feel bad, I don't want to make them feel that they can't be themselves around me, but it's the smallest acts that can trigger the biggest grief waves.

Without him here, who do I talk to about the way he was in bed and the things I long for sexually? So much more died than just his body and our love story. Affection, kisses, cuddles, sex, different positions, different techniques, our orgasms and unique pre/post coital rituals all perished, too. It's massive. The magnitude of this loss is huge and outsiders could never know how far down a dark road this aspect of the loss can take you. An endless list of favourite things never to occur again.

I miss sex. It's not about just sleeping with someone else. That has not really done the trick. Obviously, everyone's grief is individual and therefore your relationship with sex and the role it does or does not play will be just as unique. My curiosity about Widow's Fire comes from a longing to feel reassured, knowing that others think about these things, too. Then maybe it won't feel like yet another isolating feature of this ridiculous, unbelievable reality.

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