Touch

I have always sympathized with those who have lived alone -- not found love -- not married. For I know what it means to have someone to live alongside of you. And I now know what it means to not have someone live alongside of you. Humans are made to live in some kind of community. Pish posh to those who believe that man requires more than one mate. Whatever ... but I truly believe we are not meant to live alone. And here I am ... alone. This was not my choice.

Sure, many exist -- even thrive -- living alone. But I really wonder how they do that. I'm doing okay for now, but even my son knows better. He knows that I need people in my life -- people in my home and that I am not meant to be alone and he doesn't want me to be. This is quite personal, in a way -- but on a very elementary level, not at all. Difficult topic? Some may think so. Some reading may relate painfully here. Some may have absolutely no idea what it means to be all alone. Some have dogs. I don't mean to be flip. Dogs are companions and prevent that aloneness that can creep in and dry you up. But the touch, the smell, the rawness of living beside another living, albeit flawed, human being has no rival. I don't allow my dog in my bed, either.

Ingrid Michaelson sings a song about lost love. It's probably about someone who left her, but I still relate. In reality, David did leave me ...

The sky looks pissed, the wind talks back.
My bones are shifting in my skin, and you my love are gone.

My room feels wrong, my bed won't fit,
I cannot seem to operate, and you my love are gone.

So glide away on soapy heels, and promise not to promise anymore.
And if you come around again, then I will take,
then I will take the chain from off the door.

I'll never say, I'll never love,
oh but I don't say alot of things and you my love are gone.

So glide away on soapy heels and promise not to promise anymore.
And if you come around again then I will take
the chain from off the door.

I really relate to that -- my home feeling wrong ... my bed not fitting. For 23 years I shared a home and a bed with one man who knew everything about me. He knew my past, he knew my faults, he knew my beauty, he knew my family, he knew my body, he knew my thoughts and my beliefs -- my heart and my fears.  So what now?  I still feel married, but I'm not old and I'm not done living. What do I do now?

I'm still raising my children and I'm busy and very invested in all of that. I don't feel like this all of the time, of course ... but some days I just feel really alone and it's awful. I want and need to be held -- to be touched. I don't mean sex -- I just mean intimacy of some sort. I remember when I was a young mother with my kids all over me all day long and I was touched-out. Sometimes I just needed everyone to back off and stop handling me. Yeh, not anymore. And my heart truly breaks for those who have not known the loving contact that I have known.  Don't pity me.  I've been very blessed with a lot of love and affection in my life -- but some days scratching the ears of my faithful pooch does not cut it.  Some nights I do miss my purring cat right there at my beating heart, flying fur and all. But mostly I miss a big, strong, breathing, living man in my bed.

I would be wholly remiss if I were not to mention that I believe that we are never truly alone -- that God is with us always. The Church understands the importance of touch -- and practices it through the right hand of fellowship, the kiss of Christian love, and the laying-on of hands.  In my church, when we ordain people -- recognizing that they are set-apart -- called -- for a purpose, for a ministry -- others who have been ordained before them touch them -- all together.  It's really very affecting.  When our new little church was chartered, we installed a bunch of elders who had already been ordained.  (I was one of those ...)  And we ordained someone, too.  It was a big, Presbyterian service -- with several congregations being represented -- so when all who had already been ordained as Elder or Deacon were invited to come forward for the laying-on of hands, the beloved was surrounded and lovingly touched as she was set-apart for ministry -- called by God to serve the Church. Of course not everyone could reach her, so we formed a chain, of sorts -- touching each other.   I'll tell you what -- if you're uncomfortable touching people, you get over it quickly through such a beautiful and loving act.  All that Christian love was radiating through each other to her.  God's love.  The love of Jesus.  Wow. 

And then my thoughts naturally move to those who have not known affection -- who have lived the majority of their lives alone and untouched. I'm so sorry. How truly tragic. Of course, that is my own, biased opinion -- knowing what I have known. Perhaps you scoff at my dependency on another's body heat, closeness and companionship -- consider it a weakness. Perhaps. Perhaps not ... But I do know that I have known great love -- I've lost it -- but have known it and would never trade that for a ho-hum existence. I'm really rambling now.

If you're not alone -- go touch the one you're with. Tenderly. Really touch them -- sense the warmth of their skin -- the beating of their heart -- their breath on your cheek -- the heat that causes you to kick off your covers -- even the snoring coming from the other side of the bed -- and know that you are not alone. That you are sharing a holy space with someone who knows everything about you, or, at least, is learning all of that. Be wholly grateful for their presence -- as sloppy or aggravating as it may be at times. You are not alone. And if you don't have that daily closeness with anyone and desire it, don't be afraid to seek it. There are many levels of intimacy which can be very beautiful -- pure. Cultivate those relationships -- even if it is simply friendship. Don't settle for being alone. Unless you really want to be.

My husband sort of glided away on soapy heels ... and that promise to have and to hold from this day forward, etc. etc. etc. is in my past. Do I say I'll never love again? Na ... but I don't say a lot of things. You, my love, are gone.