Thursday, September 1, 2011


I am a fortunate man, I know that.  I still have Marty, I can still reach down, hold her, hug her, feel her breath, listen to her beating heart when I lay my head on her chest.  That she is still with me is a blessing.  I miss intimacy; I miss a passionate kiss, a gentle caress of the cheek, a hand on the middle of the back moving slowly up and down.  Let’s face it, I’ll tell the truth as best I can, I miss sex.

I miss the tactile, sensual, carnal, visual, passionate, instinctive part of having sex (sorry kids you weren’t adopted).  More important I miss that sense of connection, the emotional and physical intimacy you find when making love to and with someone whose heart you hold dear.

I miss the closeness and the touching of the body that only happens when you are sharing that most intimate, that most personal of acts.  There is nothing in the world that connects two people like sex.  Those people in life who say sex is not an important part of their relationship are clearly having sex because when you’re not, you feel the importance of that very simple and complex act of loving.

For me, as I matured, I was able to see sex in a couple of different ways.  As a teenager and a young man the carnal, visceral aspect of the act of sex ruled my understanding of the process.  As I grew up and gained insight I was able to understand that sex was more than the instinctual carnal part of the psyche, it was a way we satisfied another instinctual part of our being, a singular intimate connection to another person.  This is a consequence of the strokes, this is what both Marty and I miss, as connected as we are, as much as we have grown together, we both miss the power of sexual contact.

There is nothing in life that replaces it, that captures the intensity of human connection.  Sex, the physical act of loving, our outward sign of giving and taking love cannot be replaced in a caring, loving relationship.  It’s the ultimate connection, and it is a force of nature, it is beyond the drive to simply procreate.  

Marty and I are able to laugh at ourselves and our forced celibacy but it is a part of our life I really miss, Marty, not so much, it’s not really on her top ten things she misses.  It doesn’t come close to missing walking, thinking, talking, all of that stuff. 
Celibacy, at 57, is not something I have chosen, it’s not a part of my life I would want to adopt, but it seems it is a part of my life that is gone for now, I don’t think I want to say gone forever, I can’t deal with forever.

It’s a real conundrum.  I find myself at loggerheads between desire and reality, past and present, new and old normal.  I want something that appears to be in my past, that I am not ready to forget or forgo. 
I do realize I have options.  There’s infidelity, assuming I could find an appropriate and willing infidel, but there are way too many emotional, psychological and moral issues with infidelity.  An affair causes too many people too much pain and the associated guilt would be too much for me to handle. 
I thought about a trip to Las Vegas and finding a resident call girl, but that doesn’t really do much for the important part of a sexual relationship, the thing I most miss, intimacy and connection.  Besides, that carries with it a certain ick factor, not that there’s anything wrong with women making money anyway they can.

Neither of these options really addresses the seminal (pun intended) part of sex, the connection, that psychic, emotional raw connection that only real love making provides.  Sex brings a sense of attachment, an intimate knowledge and understanding of a couple’s emotions, passions, feelings and love.  It is the most outstanding outward display of an internal feeling.

All this sex stuff is decidedly uncomfortable for me and it is difficult to confess my angst about the loss of it.  It is one of those issues where real honesty comes hard because sex is such a personal part of our lives.  It’s not something I have ever talked about with friends, though I bet Marty did, I hope her friends think of me fondly.   

All of this is quite simply another part of a difficult journey; it is another aspect of being a caregiver to one you love.  As our journey has gone on it is my truth, my discovery about loss due to Marty’s strokes.   

I am a fortunate man, I know that.  I still have Marty, I can still reach down, hold her, hug her, feel her breath, listen to her beating heart when I lay my head on her chest.  That she is still with me is a blessing.  And that is the most important part of our life.

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