Touch

My husband has been gone for almost a year. It's just the kids, and me. I get to see Sparky in about two weeks, for two weeks. Of course, I'm excited. Nervous, too. It will feel strange, i think, to be touched by somebody other than my kids. My daughter is constantly crawling all over me, cuddling on the sofa, curling herself into the curve of my body when she has a bad dream and comes to sleep with me, hugs from the boy, nudges from the dog when I have something in my hand that she wants. That's about it. I am and always have been, a touchy-feely person. I'm sure it annoys some people, even if all I do is put my hand on their upper arm to emphasize what I'm saying, or to reinforce my sincerity. That's just me.

I've always understood the importance of touch, and valued it, incorrectly sometimes, even. And it's not all about sex. It's about a mental connection that extends into some kind of subconscious understanding. I miss holding his hand, the way he runs his hand down my arm, the soft brush across the back of my neck when he puts his arm around me in church. Touch is a very personal thing. In my relationship, it's many things: acceptance, understanding, as I stated earlier, love, compassion, joy, and of course, desire. I feel bad that I've forgotten what he feels like. How soft his face is right after he shaves, the rough hair on his arm, the warmth of his hands on my shoulders when I'm working at my desk, resting against the solid security of him, while we listen to the Lord's word preached and proclaimed every Sunday, all of it. When I met my husband, he wasn't a "touch" person. His family just wasn't that way. Somehow, after 12 years of marriage, he misses me touching him, and misses touching me, too. Don't get me wrong: The Afghan People are big huggers, and I mean BIG. But it's always men, and it makes him uncomfortable, and besides, I smell way better then they do.

The way I touch my daughter has caught my attention, too. I stroke her long hair as she sits on my lap, I feel her soft cheek against my own , and tell her how much I love her, holding her tiny hand when we cross the street or parking lot, gently examining ber "boo-boo" when she comes to me after she has hurt herself, brushing her hair, trying not to pull to hard when I find a tangle, rubbing her with lotion after her bath, to keep her skin from becoming itchy.

It's trickier with the boy. He still likes his hugs, but not in front of people. And he usually pulls away when I ruffle his hair or give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Stinker..... :)

I try to touch with love, even when I am meting out deserved discipline. And to some degree, I know that I am successful: I see it mirrored in the way my daughter plays with her own dolly, pretending to be its mommy, or watching the boy with her, when he is teaching her how to do something. I also feel it in the way my kids touch me. My daughter cups my face in her little hand, mimicking me, and the boy pats me on the back every now and then.

All of this tells me how much touch means to me, and to my family. It's funny how something so simple can be so complicated at times, but also how fulfilling it can be.

I miss that from my husband the most. I don't know how I'm going to let go of him long enough to drive to the time share we are staying in for those two weeks, and how I'm going to put him on a plane at the end of those two weeks, knowing that he will be home four months after that.
After all of that, I can hardly wait......