Been to wife's cemetery

Every month, I go to my wife's cemetery. Once a month. I have been there one hour ago.
I stand in front of the wall behind which lies the urn containing my wife's ashes.

I always take a photo of my hand over the wall for a record.





Every time I drive to the place, I think about many things. The life we had, her body I touched, her kiss, her painful last days, my stupid mistakes. Today, I remembered the touch of her body. While driving in the past, when she was sitting beside me, I used to caress her thighs and even her breasts playfully, and she would say no but with a smile. The reality that I cannot touch her anymore is one of the most miserable parts of my life as a widower. It definitely includes sex but more often than not, I simply miss the experience of touching her that used to soothe my restlessness.

I found a blog written by a 30 something widower who lost his wife to cancer just like me but two years before I lost my wife. He wrote a post about his "skin hunger" and what he described was exactly what I have been feeling for the last four years since my wife passed away,

I am now 51 years old and the chance of touching a woman I really love seems to almost zero until I die. I wish the man who wrote the post will have a better chance and solve his skin hunger problem by meeting a woman he loves. Maybe he already did it given that his final entry on the blog is in March 2008.