The Culture that has been here all the time

What is Your True Language? My wife was in physical contact, and in hindsight, so was and is mine. What are the implications?

"A person whose primary love language is Physical Touch feels most loved and secure through physical affection, presence, and accessibility rather than words or gifts. They communicate and receive care via hugs, holding hands, cuddling, and other intimate gestures, which can lower stress and deepen emotional connections.  The 5 Love Languages +3
Key Aspects of the Physical Touch Language:

Significance: Touch is a "love tank" filler, providing reassurance and safety, often connecting to early childhood experiences of being held.

Expressions: Typical expressions include holding hands, kissing, cuddling on the couch, sitting close, and, for some, sexual intimacy.

Negative Impacts: Neglect, abuse, or prolonged physical distance can be highly detrimental and unforgivable to those with this language.

Body Language: It often encompasses reading nonverbal cues, such as gestures, posture, and facial expressions, to gauge emotions."

I dare say the kink community is a community of physical communicators.

I now realize much of my anxiety and problems over the period I was my wife's sole caregiver (though I could hug and kiss her), and now as an isolated widower, is the direct result of being cut off from a companion/lover. The pain of isolation and the feeling of being extremely cautious about what to do is the theme I live with every day.

I am not shy, but a Munch is something new for me to consider. When I had an FWB (1 briefly) several years ago, she encouraged me to go, but at the time, I was intensely engaged as my wife's caregiver. She passed just two months ago, and I am still feeling the aftereffect of that.

Each time I see a listing close enough and not too expensive, I almost commit to try going, but I change my mind. There isn't a good reason not to to go, but not having encouragement from a partner makes me feel like I would be a fish out of water.

Maybe next time.

I was raised by my side of the family, which was religious. I was scolded for using scissors on Sunday. The list was endless, it seemed. Secretly, as I accepted the mandate of the family to attend religious classes, I doubted and rebelled.

When my father deserted us for the last time (he would return 25 years later, more about that later ¹), a priest brought us a basket of rutabagas, which we didn't know what they were. Jewish people, some holocaust survivors, helped us through the early years. Life really improved when my mom became a mistress to a man who was part of a nefarious life. After that, even the juvenile delinquents left my brothers and me alone. A very cinematic life (LOL).

Hypocrisy reigned, and I was fully aware of it. I navigated life, making my own mistakes. There were times I admit I stole food. I never intentionally harmed anyone, and if I had, I am truly apologetic.

I developed a belief that the only real sin was lying about love and cheating on a lover. I live an honest life, but that is still my driving philosophy.

There was a period of decades during which I studied the Bible because my wife was a fervent believer when she was diagnosed with dementia, and her religious friends vanished. I pressed reject and became irreligious.

One of my healthcare doctors suggested that all humans have a spiritual side that must be acknowledged. I turned to the North American indigenous peoples' belief in the seven grandfathers: each represents 1) Love, 2) Respect, 3) Humility, 4) Truth, 5) Honesty, 6) Courage, and 7) Wisdom.

¹If you watch the movie "The Apostle," the main character is very much like my father was (even speech) when he eventually returned. Only my mother and he, pretended they were never divorced and were married for sixty years.

A bad married day is 1000 times better than one day alone. There was always room to make up, and we could warm each other even if we were mad about something that never lasted long anyway.

Since so many people who claimed to be caring deserted my wife when she became ill, I lack a tangible network of friends to ease my loneliness. Not much hope for a change. Maybe Bingo nights? 

I am learning cat and dog language, playing and singing old songs, and restarting my artwork each day before I swallow melatonin and call it a day. Yes, go to bed earlier and earlier and get up only because Sunny, my cat, insists.

Yes, we each have to find our own way, but having a companion has more upsides than downs.

Most of you know I was my wife's only caregiver for eight years before she passed away, and that I was part of a caregiver group. Th group helped me in many ways, but especially by giving me permission to mourn gradually through the years. Yes, the long goodbye process helps, but it is not perfect: I have very challenging moments of sadness, and I wonder if they will ever fade away.

Dear blog reader, if you are a woman 55 - 70 and live near me, maybe you and I would take a walk and have a talk. We may even become friends.

I am posting this because I am not gay and want to discourage males from sending me letters and invitations.

From a sexual point of view, entering puberty and senior status have some things in common: erotic dreams.

When we are young, and our sexuality (hormones) is influencing our body and mind, we can do very little but ride out the storm.  Erotic dreams point to the future when we will be able to enjoy our sexuality (even though we may not truly know what that means). Adjusting to the limitations as we age is not as challenging if we are open-minded and have a partner who understands what it means too.

Since life has taken me this far, I have learned several things about aging sexuality: 1) You need to adjust to bodily changes and not fear them; 2) Desire doesn't go away; 3) Adjusting socially to be able to engage in sexuality necessitates new attitudes and expectations.

Without a partner and no option to engage in sex, our minds pick up where we were in those days of puberty: we have erotic dreams.

My annual urology check-up went well. Why is this worth telling you about? At my age, it isn't a given; in fact, most men have serious challenges related to urology and sex; mine are minor, well within the scope of an aging man who is aging gracefully. Now that my intense caregiving role is past, what is the one thing I can do to help my health? Walk.

From my new urologist about my nonexistent sex life.

This is me every morning since my wife died: "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get" is a famous quote from the 1994 film Forrest Gump. Why? I cared so much for my late wife and had taken care of her through a long illness that I wonder if I have burned out all my goodness because I feel so empty. I sometimes imagine she is in the next room and talk to her ashes in the beautiful urn I placed them in. Miescule comfort.

"AI Overview (Google)

Mourning a spouse after forty years of marriage is 
a profound loss involving the grief of a shared life, identity, and future. It requires immense self-compassion, as healing is a non-linear process that often feels like a "roller coaster of hell". Key strategies include seeking support groups, engaging in self-care, and taking life one day or minute at a time.  Reddit +4"

This morning, I do not seem to care about myself at all. Unmotivated. I force myself not to think of lovers and sex, of travels and dreams, and I barely force myself to play guitar and sing old songs. Thinking about doing some simple artwork, like sketching faces, as a challenge. Life's experience has taught me that it will go on unless I am met with a sudden death.

Can there be a new woman to love and love me? Right now, (this morning), I doubt it with no reason to think otherwise.