Whisper of a touch

A man I barely know touched my shoulder in conversation recently and I bristled. My body actually stiffened on a noticeable level. I realized that this sort of innocent touch happens often between two who are intimate, such as husband and wife.

Like when I would be at the sink washing dishes and Andie would need to wash his hands- our bodies would brush against each other. Or when I was cooking dinner and he would lightly kiss the back of my neck as he walked by. Sometimes when we were both in a rush to get ready and would end up in the closet picking out clothes at the same time we would bump into each other. I remember our arms touching in the car as we both would rest an arm on the center console- often this would lead to us holding hands for a few seconds, or me rubbing his arm. I think of passing each other in a doorway, he was almost as broad as the doorway and we would both have to turn sideways to make it through but we would have a moment of connection. I remember touching his shoulder often when I talked to him, just like the man who recently touched mine. When I would hand him one of the babies while he was sitting on the couch and our legs would rub against each other. Or our fingers would meet for a second as I was handing him the car keys. The most comforting closeness was lying in bed next to each other and feeling the presence of him- often in the night he would roll over and lean against me.

It reminds me of the studies I've read about infants in Russian orphanages that are left in their cribs almost 24 hours a day with no cuddling and no touch. The psychological damage of that is lifelong and they often go on to develop numerous psychological problems, failure to thrive, Reactive Attachment Disorder. To know that something so easy to give and so rewarding for both people involved, is the very thing that keeps these babies from thriving is truly heartbreaking.

The catch phrase "Reach out and touch someone" holds significant meaning- we need touch, connection, validation from another that we exist and are important and are valued. Funny how an innocent pat on the shoulder can hold so much meaning; "I'm still alive and noticed," it says. I'm usually one that has a definite "bubble"- I've never been a hugger. But these days I'll soak up any kind of touch I can get- I even welcome hugs and the requisite intrusion of my "bubble".

Of course I miss the kind of touch we all think about; hugs, kisses, holding hands, shoulder rubs.

But what I miss the most is the whisper of a touch...those barely perceptible moments of connection that you don't even realize you have.

Until they're gone...

Tracks of my tears

This morning on my way to work I decided to change out some of the CD’s in my CD player. One I chose was a Motown/Golden Oldies mix that I put together years ago with artists like Smoky Robinson, The Supremes, Otis Redding, The 4 Tops, etc. Not sure why I chose that one, other than it must have been my unconscious trying to work some things out.

You see, we used to vacation in Kerrville every summer at our family’s one room cabin with no a/c, no TV, no phone, etc. All we had was a radio that was always tuned to the oldies station- my dad loved oldies and especially when we were at the cabin. I think it reminded him of his own childhood summers spent there. Immediately when my CD came on I was taken back to when I was about 8 years old. The sound of oldies on the radio slipping through the screen door while me and my brother climbed trees, or played tag, or explored the woods around the cabin. This was the place where my father taught us to find arrowheads, and make flint rocks spark (in the unlikely event that we ever get lost in the woods and needed to build a fire), roasted marshmallows on the open fire pit, and hiked nature trails with us. It was like a time warp- we did all the things that he and his brothers did when they explored those same woods and hills when they were kids.

So this morning I was taken back to this place in my mind and I realized that in just over a month, my father will have been gone for 15 years. Half of my life. I was struck by the eerie similarities of losing him and losing Andie. They both died unexpectedly of heart conditions that were unknown to all of us at the time. They both were taken way too soon, leaving a wife and two children behind. They both could have been saved if medical intervention had gone the way it should have. And then, there’s Kerrville-the place my father loved the most and I practically grew up, the place where Andie’s parents grew up and graduated high school, the place we were vacationing when Andie died.

Now, as an adult, looking back through my not-so-rose-colored glasses, that place has lost its charm for me. There isn’t a sense of nostalgia when I think of Kerrville-there is a sense of dread. It makes me think of the two most important men in my life, both of whom are gone and never to return.

I picture it like a black hole on map- something to be avoided for fear of what could happen next. Like the Bermuda Triangle smack dab in the middle of Texas- there are warning signs, “Do Not Pass Through- Go Around!” It makes me abundantly sad to think that a place that used to hold so many happy memories is now something I want to avoid thinking about. I feel like the universe is trying to teach me a lesson, as if it is saying, “You didn’t get it the first time around, do you get it now?” I'm still not sure I do...I'm continually trying to find meaning in all of this.

Now as I type this, I find myself humming a song that got stuck in my head this morning...

“So take a good look at my face/

you'll see my smile looks out of place/

if you look closer, it's easy to trace the tracks of my tears"

- Smoky Robinson & The Miracles

The color of a widow...

Black is the color of mourning but I’ve come to believe gray is the color of a widow. The widow’s world is overshadowed by guilt, regret, doubt, uncertainty, and gloominess once the actual mourning has subsided and we begin to “move on” and establish a new normal. So to me, gray is most appropriate shade.

Guilt and regret are the most salient emotions for me these days…there are a thousand decisions along the way that if I’d made differently might have resulted in a different outcome for Andie.

As I was walking with the girls the other day on the familiar route that Andie and I used to jog together a memory ran through my mind like a jumpy movie reel- fleeting snippets passing through my consciousness. A few weeks before he died he had complained that he got short of breath when we were running. This was one such occasion, and he had to slow down and quit running. He told me to go on ahead without him and finish the run- he would walk home behind me. I remember turning to him and saying, “Oh yeah right, with my luck you’ll have a heart attack and drop dead and there will be no one here to save you, and I’ll just be waiting for you at home. I’m not leaving you.” So we walked the rest of the way home together.

The irony of that situation is that I didn’t leave him, and when he did “drop dead” from heart problems I was lying right beside him in bed. I stayed by his side until he passed from this world, and despite the fact that I was right there with him I still couldn’t save him. So it didn’t matter after all, except that it gives me peace to know that he was not alone in those last moments and that I was there the whole time.

I have a lot of guilt over not being able to do more to save him-not acting quicker, wishing I hadn’t gone into panic mode, not knowing what to do. I regret making the flippant comment that “with my luck” he would drop dead. I regret that I didn’t make him go see a cardiologist after he couldn’t finish our normal run. I regret that we went on vacation and were miles from the nearest hospital when he died. There is guilt that in an effort to lessen his anxiety about his chest pain, I tried to act as if it was just something minor instead of being honest with how scared I was. I regret that we chose to have his doctor look at him on Monday when we returned from vacation instead of going right in on Friday morning. There is guilt that perhaps I didn’t tell him enough how much I loved him or how much he meant to me. There is guilt about all the fights and things said in the heat of the moment over the years that were hurtful. I regret that this past year of having twins was one of the most difficult years in our marriage and I didn't have more patience with him.

My guilt colors my world. There is a dense fog over my perceptions. It makes me second guess all the decisions I’ve made and will have to make. What if I do it wrong again, what consequences will I have to suffer the next time around?

Guilt: the color of a widow and regret it’s close cousin...tandem shades of gray.