Monday – August 28, 2023
I went to sleep last
night absolutely exhausted. I'd come home from a two-week trip to Sarasota
visiting Timothy.
At one point in the
middle of the night, I drowsily reached my hand out expecting to feel his hand
slowly grasp mine and squeeze gently. It literally woke me up to not feel his
hand in mine. I’d felt his touch for two weeks.
Constantly, casually,
silently, absently even at times but with purpose.
Constantly – walking
down the sidewalk or into a store or restaurant – one or both of us would reach
for the other. Our hands would grasp, and we’d walk together, touching.
Casual – sitting on the
couch at home or in a restaurant or driving down the road, touching.
Silent type - Hmm? You
there? Yes, here’s my hand. You okay or feeling anxious? Yes, here’s my hand.
Whispers and murmurs but always a touch. You are not alone, feel my hand
touching you.
Absently but with
purpose – middle of the night rolling over, a hand would reach out from either
of us to pat, soothe, ease back to sleep. Squeeze fingers, more murmurs but
always a touch.
I miss that and it’s not
even been 24 hours.