The Human Touch
Today, for the first time in more than a month I felt the human touch. I actually initiated the first touch by extending my hand to bid farewell to a nice lady I was chatting with about my passions of history and writing. we were both at the senior center waiting to speak with the tax people to have our taxes prepared. My name was called and I prepared to stand and meet the preparer. I found myself extending my hand to thank the lady for chatting with me. It was kind of slow motion. I remember pausing and wondering why I was doing this. What would it be like to feel another human’s touch after all this time. I know I have gone longer than a month. I think the longest I have gone without feeling the touch of another human is close to three months. As this lady’s hand slipped into mine, it felt odd and at the same time pleasant.
Growing up I dreaded the human touch. The main touches I received were painful and wrong. I guess when you get the wrong kind of touches and then the right kind and then have people not wanting to touch you at all, it can be quite confusing. I withdrew my hand and as I was approaching my tax preparer Galar decided to growl a bit and the elderly gentleman grabbed my arm to steady me. It felt odd again, but Galar’s growls were more intense than the gentleman’s hand holding my arm. I got lost in the tax preparation process and didn’t give it much thought beyond until I left the center and slid into my car. Most people don’t ponder the touch of others. Being a writer is a solitary life. Having a chronic illness brings about even more solitude. Sometimes I believe I should be used to this, but then I feel the pain of being so disconnected.
There are different kinds of touches. Here I only look at the kinds appropriate for public viewing. You have the intimate touch of a hug and kiss from a friend in greeting. Then on the opposite end of the spectrum is the sterile touch as when my doctor examines my ears or someone reaches out to help steady me when I am off balance. Then you have the middle ground, a handshake in greeting or farewell. Usually I am only receiving the sterile touches and have gotten to where I don’t even feel it unless the doctor is performing a procedure. Perhaps once a year I am lucky enough to receive the intimate touch as someone will feel the need to take pity and come visit me. Those I have come to not expect at all in my life and when they do occur, I am usually so overwhelmed that I cry. It is the touches in the middle that make me stop and wonder. Enjoy those you care about and make sure they know how much by at the very least, embracing them when you see them. Don’t let them form the idea that touching is wrong or has to hurt.
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