So now I'm asking myself what to talk about next. Many people have mentioned Kev and I travelling, but I want to wait for those stories till I get back home. I have all the pictures there, and can make sure I get things like order and dates right. And there are lots of stories! So his generosity? His humour? His intellect? His compassion?

Let's start with something very basic. Kev was a very physical man. For some pieople, having an illness like Kev's makes them draw back from their body. Not Kev. He knew that in order to manage his condition (which he did very well) he had to be aware of what was happening in him.
 
The result was a man who knew exactly when he was hungry or not. And his straightforwardness meant he would say so. I grew up in a family where you struggle to decline food and drink, Kev could simply say 'no thanks' and mean it.

And he valued his physical nature. He was the most physically affectionate man I ever met. Wonderful, supporting, secure bear hugs. He was a big man, both in height and girth, and when he hugged you, you were held. Every single morning as I left for work, he hugged me. Every single evening when I came home, he hugged me. And other times, just because. He'd stop what he was doing and just hug.  I suspect that may be part of why he was so good for me.

If we went for a walk, he'd catch hold of my hand. Even if he were on the the mobility scooter. He liked to touch and be touched. In the evenings after work, I'd put my feet up on the sofa and he'd absent mindedly stroke my legs and ankles while watching TV. If he was feeling off colour, he'd sit close and rest his head on my shoulder. I'd run my fingers through his thick dark hair ro sooth him.

Of course, we knew about his health. If I woke in the night, the first task was to check I could hear him breathing (or snoring). And many times he'd been poorly and I'd had to nurse him. He didn't like me doing personal care and I let him draw his own lines of what he needed to do himself. At the end, in hospital, he was helpless those last couple of days and gently communicated that he'd rather I tended to his needs than nurses, however competent. We had a terrific closeness that many people never find in a 40 year marriage. I wanted so much more, but I know I was blessed to have had the years I got.

I shall miss his wonderful warm kiss. His soft hands, with those clubbed fingers. His weird joints that meant he could walk with his feet at 180 degrees. His big solid belly with its remarkable scar (residue of  very complex appendectomy that went wrong - I used to call it The Event Horizon). The way he knew exactly how to touch me to comfort or support. But most of all I shall miss those hugs. I shall never be hugged like that again.