We spend our lives with an awareness of our physical bodies. We dress our bodies, we move our bodies. Our hands hold the hands of people for whom we feel affection, or love. Our arms hug. Our lips meet in exquisite kisses. Our lips smile and laugh. Our eyes sparkle as we gaze upon life and our loves. Our feet dance, in rhythm or not.
Physical presence is a big deal in life, in love. Physical presence makes Love tangible, it makes who we are, and what we represent, an entity. Our physical bodies were very much a big deal with me and my husband, Chuck, for our 24 years. We touched often. My husband’s physical body and presence was measurable in my life, as mine was in his.
His absence from my life is just as palpable and I’m uncertain how that might translate scientifically but his absence is, to me, as strong as his presence ever was. In fact, now that he’s gone, his absence is almost stronger than his presence ever was, which causes anxiety in me. It has seemed, since he died, that he’s so gone that its as if he never existed. Chuck died forever ago, or 4 years and 11 months. Long ago and no time at all ago. I suppose I could say, he’s been gone almost 5 years. Dead almost 5 years. Absent from me for almost 5 years. But why rush the years, right?
Presence and absence. My external life has changed drastically since each of my last April 21sts of these 4 years and 11 months but not quite 5 years. I’ve changed drastically, or at least it feels like I have. Nothing is the same, either in my external world or my internal soul world. He disappeared the night he died and my life did too.
Weirdly,though, his absence from my life really is as tangible and measurable as his presence ever was. His absence is an entity that breathes and walks and moves with me as I stumble along, and not in an oh, look! He’s still with you! way, but in a fuck, I can’t believe he’s not here but he’s clearly not in such a massively huge way, so….
As the months have passed, because he is so very gone, I’ve held onto, and purposefully courted, the love he left me. I cherish his last message to me, left on my phone at my request the week before he died. I still listen to it with a sense of disbelief that I’m not seeing him say he loves me, that I’ll never see him say that to me again, with his green eyes glinting with Love and passion.
Those words though. That love he had for me. That love I had for him that beats as strongly today as it did for all of our 24 years. The love is a physical presence to me now, and co-exists with his absence. Presence. Absence. Love, no matter the mind fuck of it.
I can’t explain how presence and absence can both be real. It just is. He is here with me in his absence.
He loved me. I loved him. That is still real.
It was our blessed gift to each other.
With Chuck for me, for me with him, it was always, always, always, about the Love we shared daily. How our bodies moved together, even when we weren’t in close proximity. How our hands automatically entwined when we fell asleep. The rhythm of Love was our SOP…standard operating procedure.
And I ache for its’ absence, as I ache for him.