Love is forever…One woman’s journey with grief

I’ve been studying his face, and remembering my hand on the back of his leathery neck, teasing the fringe of soft white hair just above his collar.  I miss his freckles and his dry, gentle hands, always nicked up from working in the shop.  I can close my eyes and my fingers remember where he was ticklish.  My upper lip remembers where his mustache tickled me.  I remember wrapping my arms around him and always being surprised at how solid he was for a thin man.  Surprised and delighted.  I miss how he inhabited his body so comfortably that it was a pleasure just to watch him sit down, or lie staring into space, his hand behind his head, his beautiful hazel eyes unfocused, his strong profile making my heart stutter.  I miss his craggy voice, and his laughter that was often silent, more often seen in his eyes and smile than heard.  I ache to hear his routine response to all our in-jokes; I am one hand clapping now.