Each time we parted company, I began to feel an aching to stay a minute longer. To smell her hair one last time. To feel the hand that lingered in the small of my back. To look into the wonderful beauty in her eyes.

Her graying hair and mature body fascinated me but it was her laughter, intelligence and passion that radiated within me a glow of warmth in her presence. I had forgotten such passion existed and could scarcely remember such desire.

For companionship, I had told myself my poker playing pals and golf foursome were enough. I busied myself with civic causes and volunteer work. I made the rounds to visit the kids and the grandkids. My folding chair always in the car trunk readied for the next baseball game or soccer match.

But her kisses and hugs lingered in my mind. Was I being unfaithful to a past memory, a past life? I had loved and cherished my wife for many years. We had given approval and consent to each other to find happiness with others, should the other pass away. Maybe we should have discussed this with our children.

Each night is longer than a day in June. I can no longer live a self-imposed celibate life. To deny the passion and the need to be held denies what was learned and appreciated in other times. It’s time to eat pastries and drink coffee openly, and among family. To smell her hair, enjoy her kiss, feel her touch without guilt.