Second Anniversary

Second anniversary, how sweet, we celebrated with dinner, an alcoholic drink, and frolicking sex.  He bought flowers and a card; signed it with a love poem just for me.

We were only getting acquainted, who I was I hadn’t found out, yet. He was just this big, strong, handsome guy, who wanted me there, when he got home.

These first years, when I learned to live without fear flew past. Responsibilities and rituals replaced duck and hide in my life. Clean the house, wash clothes, make dinner; there you have my responsibility. No one yelled at me, or thought to hit me. Sweet.

Getting the feel for someone takes time, and being an older guy, he continued doing most of the stuff he did before; his wife had a whole world to explore.

Bars and cars, my hubby enjoyed; I got into it a bit, but live music did it for me.  My arms around him, cruising down the highway on his Triumph motorcycle gave us the green countryside of Illinois and neighboring states. We found our common ground.

Hugging, kissing, hand holding, and having sweaty sex bonded us physically. Even now my fingers tingle, nipples harden, and heart pumps harder, when images of us cross my mind.

What a paradox, how slowly and quickly two years go by. Two years ago the sky was cloudy, just as today. Today there’s no lightning or thunder, or crying and screaming. How quickly a lifetime is over.

We matured, learning to love each other with a depth I never thought those two could manage. Somehow, we created a life in which we thrived individually, and together; not bad for a couple of young dummies.

My second anniversary as a widow, without you, brings the reflection of a woman with her man beside her in spirit. After two years of torture, I can see and feel you again. Why did it take so long?  Why am I so thick?