This is a bit of a whinge…

I like to explore, to go places, I love familiar places that are comfortable and, in their own way, calming.

I also like to go to places that I’ve never been to before.

I like to look at a map, look at the shapes of the coast, or the names of the towns, villages, hills, and forests, and say “I wonder what’s there?”

Sometimes I’ll take the dog, like my visit to Hengistbury Head a couple of weeks ago. Sometimes I will go on my own.

If it’s any good, I’ll think to myself “I wish my husband was here“.

I like to share experiences with somebody. I have no friends near me, so my husband is the only person I can share things with.

I’ve come to expect resistance, even when I long for companionship.

He has always huffed and puffed when I’ve suggested going somewhere. He likes to be given “fair warning” that I’d like to go somewhere. Often, on the day, he’ll say “no”.

This last year or two, he has said “no” most of the time, so I have gone on my own. I have learnt not to pressurise him into doing something that he doesn’t want to do; he says that he used to do lots of things just to please me.

I also like doing things – I like walking, running, cycling, kayaking, and bouldering we tried last year and enjoyed. He won’t do any of those either (he can’t cycle, so that’s fair enough).

I enjoy playing games – board games in particular (I haven’t played anything on the computer more taxing than Solitaire since I was a teenager). We used to play SingStar together, but that is no longer supported by Sony.

He says he feels anxious in my company, so prefers to spend the day alone. But to me, these are the very moments when connection feels easiest – relaxed, low-pressure, a way to talk and simply be alongside each other.

We can’t even do the simple things – the things friends do without thinking.

Is it any wonder that sex feels impossible?

I find myself asking – is this really living?

There is nothing we do together anymore.

That’s the venting done.

Having got the frustration and disappointment out of the way, the things I miss most about my husband are his physical presence – the warm comfort of his body in bed as we cuddle in the morning putting off the day feeling safe in each other’s arms, or my arm around him on the sofa holding his body close to mine.

His absence is an ache I carry with me – in quiet moments, in beautiful places, in every unshared experience.

It is an ache that I have felt for a long time now – he is close, yet so far away.

The solitude isn’t just lonely. It hurts

I realise, now I am reflecting on these feelings that I have had for such a long time now, that what I am feeling is a kind of grief.