I was reading while lying on my back in bed. I had my computer propped up so that I didn’t have to hold it. My left hand rested gently on my chest while my right hand covered my left with my fingertips gently brushing my wrist as I breathed in and out. I had been in this position for a while before I thought about it. I was self-soothing without thinking about it. In that moment, I recognized how much I missed being touched.
A memory returned to me of when I was working way too many hours. I would come home exhausted and collapse on the couch. When I awakened, my husband had covered me with a blanket and sat next to me placing my head gently in his lap and resting his hand on my shoulder. I felt so close to him in that silent moment. It’s been years since he died, yet I still recall those precious moments of his warm loving touch.
Oh, how I miss a loving embrace or a slow dance in the kitchen when I was fixing diner or holding hands as we went for a walk. I am grateful for the nights when he comes to me in a dream and we touch once again. It’s just not the same, though. Sometimes I write in my journal and conger intimate times of skin touching skin, but that often just brings tears.
For now, I will relish the precious memories on the love transmuted though physical touch in the past remembering the electric charge that comes invisibly from one heart to another.
Loving and Living Your Way Through Grief
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