Human Touch

I see my massage therapist every two weeks. I always look forward to it because I know it is a time to really, truly relax my body and soul. Best prescription the cardiologist ever gave me! It's always interesting though. I undress, lay face down on the table, and wait for the wonderful relief of working out all the knots in my shoulders and back. As I wait for her to enter the room, I always THINK that I'm relaxed, arms hanging down, eyes closed, etc. However, it's that first touch, the first laying on of hands, when I really relax. She puts her hands on my tight, knotted, clenched muscles, and my body just melts. It is then when I realize what causes that true relaxation and comfort is the simple human touch. The warmth of another person touching me causes a distinct physical, molecular reaction and transforms me into a state of peace and comfort I don't experience anywhere else.

We have, in many ways, become a society afraid of showing emotion and often afraid of being politically incorrect if we hug or touch someone. As a teacher, I engage in risky behavior like patting my students on the shoulder when they're doing a good job or need a little encouragement, or even hugging them when they need a hug. We're told we shouldn't do that, but I can't help it. Here's a kid who just needs a reassuring hug or hand of support. For so many of them, they don't get that anywhere else. Human touch is necessary for some of those moments.

So, back to the massage therapist. . . . it occurs to me that every two weeks I PAY someone to touch me. (Yes, I realize I'm mentioning massage therapist and payment together, but you know what I mean!) As that thought solidifies in my mind, I begin to realize that there are very few occasions in my life where I receive such a thing. I have been divorced for a long time, busy with my kids, and have only dated a little with that not really going too far, so it's been a long time since I've had that reassuring, loving male touch on a regular basis. I'm not even talking about anything sexual, just the little things like snuggling next to someone on the couch, an arm around my shoulders, holding hands, and a hug. I realize how much I have missed that over the years. Lord knows it would have been nice during some really tough times! In church yesterday, as we all held hands during The Lord's Prayer, this whole topic crossed my mind. The touch of a stranger in a unified meaning can be powerful. I will admit another realization . . . I like it when I end up sitting next to a guy. I'm beginning to sound a little pathetic, perhaps, but just making a point.

We need to be touched. From birth, babies desire to be cuddled and loved on, premature infants especially. A baby ignored and not touched will suffer in many ways. Older children with ADD have benefited from massage treatment. Human touch lowers blood pressure and reduces stress hormones. It can relieve anxiety. According to Tiffany Field, who directs the University of Miami's Touch Research Institute, the lack of touch in our society can lead to dangerous problems, " It's a very serious problem. If monkeys are deprived of touch, they kill each other." Even anthropologists have documented that primitive cultures with less affectionate touch are more violent than cultures with more touching.  We all marvel at the brutality in society and wonder how we got there. I believe it's the disconnect of many things emotional, and perhaps even more so, the lack of genuine, loving, supportive, comforting touch.

Oh, and let's not forget all those wonderful spontaneous hugs from children! They melt our hearts as their little arms swing around the neck and hold on tightly. Pure, innocent, love. I miss those hugs from my kids, but imagine a child who grew up without that opportunity or who had it at one time only to be pushed back as he grew older. I still hug on my kids, whether they like it or not. 

   

So, the point of all this is  . . . . take a little time to be aware of whether you are giving and receiving enough human touch. Do you see someone hurting and hesitate to offer a hug, a hand, or an arm around the shoulder? We are more likely to hug someone in congratulations than we are in support and comfort. That's sad. Our skin is one of the most sensitive organs, yet it can be one of the most deprived. If you're not getting enough touch, you might even need to tell a friend, "Hey, I need a hug." Don't be afraid to ask. I don't like the corporate speak of, "Perhaps we need to reach out to him," because it's really meant in a more negative way, so don't let that one fool you. And yes, you know I couldn't write all this without saying it . . . 

"Reach out and touch somebody's hand. Make this a better place, if you can." Yep, had to end on a corny note. :)

I have 2 sons

I think I'm like other mothers when about to give birth to the second child. Underneath the excitement of adding another member to the family, there is that little nagging question . . . . "I never thought I could love anything as much as I love my first child. How is it possible to love another being that much more again? How does this work?" The idea of multiplying, or reproducing another love so big is overwhelming. You know it can and will happen, but wow!

Ethan was an only child for the first four years of his life. He and I spent so much time together playing, talking, learning, cuddling, loving, etc. We were amazingly close, and I often found it hard to believe that this happy, excited, loving creature was mine. He was a delight to have around, always entertaining, extremely compassionate, very curious, smart (of course), and just plain happy. For four years, the world revolved around Ethan, and he was fine with that. Of course he knew no different, so that was just the way life was. Somewhere around year three, he picked up on the concept of the whole brother/sister thing, and decided he'd like to have one. The idea was nice, but goodness, we were so happy, just the two of us, I didn't know if I wanted to change that, although I'd always wanted more kids. My marriage had some issues, but there was potential that they would resolve. I wasn't getting any younger, and I didn't want too big of a gap between children, so, why not!

Asa was born just before Ethan's fourth birthday. Any questions about how you can love another child as much as you loved the first had faded long before Asa's birth. We all loved this new little boy like crazy, and Ethan was such a proud big brother!! I had two sons, and they were wonderful. Ethan didn't complain much about the attention a new baby demanded. He waited patiently for a few months, then wanted to know when Asa would be able to play with him. In came the frustration of realizing that wasn't going to happen right away, but still he wanted to help with Asa, feed him bottles, etc. It was busier, but I loved my two boys!

As Ethan began to grow, the gap between the two of them grew. There was no way Asa could keep up with any of that, so Ethan had less time to devote to his little brother. Once the teenage years hit, Ethan became the prime focus again, first in small ways, and then in HUGE ways. From the age of 14 to his current age of 18, Ethan was the primary focus for all of us as with dealt with his drug addiction. Asa was more amazingly patient than I can imagine anyone would be. There were so many times when I had to leave him, at the age of 10, in the waiting area while I had 30 minute visitations with Ethan, so many times I hauled him up to Wichita Falls for the weekend so we could visit Ethan, so many nights I had to leave him at home while I went to family counseling for Ethan, so many times he stayed in his room when Ethan and I fought, and it was scary. Asa had every reason in the world to act out for attention, but he never did. As much as I hated it, it often felt like I was the mother of one again, Ethan demanded so very much! That feeling always made me sad for Asa, but he didn't complain.

When Ethan moved near his father last March, Asa and I both started on a different path. Although there were relapses for Ethan, bad visits back home, and other demands from him still, Asa and I began to center again. The next thing I know, it's all about me and Asa, and Ethan was no longer the central focus, mainly because of geography. It wasn't long before I once again felt like the mother of one. Then I felt bad for Ethan because it was so much easier not to deal with any of the drama when it wasn't living with me. Now, Ethan is in jail, and will be for a while, and Asa and I are getting to know each other in ways we weren't able to before. I so cherished the first four years I had alone with Ethan, and now I will cherish the last 5 years I have alone with Asa. However, I can't help feeling like I was cheated out of many years where I truly had "two boys." There were a few, but not enough. Sometimes I don't want to talk about Ethan because I get too sad. When those times come, I have lately found myself saying, "I have two sons, I have two sons."

George Bailey, generosity, and the art of accepting help . . .

One of my favorite movies of all time is "It's a Wonderful Life." I could watch it any time and love it, but it especially warms my heart during the Christmas season as more people tend to feel the spirit. I don't presume to be as good and selfless as George Bailey tended to be, but I have always tried to be generous, encouraging, and supportive. That charges my heart, and I completely believe that "if I can, I should," when it comes to helping others. But, like George Bailey, I have had many times in life where I was completely downhearted and felt the world would be a better place if I hadn't been here to screw it up. Yes, that's a selfish thought, as if I had any real power, but it's that wondering if I had done something differently, would the outcome have been better, that nags me. George Bailey is given the angel, Clarence, to help him learn the truth about the difference we each make in the lives of others, most often without ever knowing we have. What a gift!

Now, while George is busy feeling sorry for himself, feeling like a failure, feeling like he let everyone down, and feeling like he might as well end it all, his wife Mary is out rallying the troops. When she finds out what the problem is, she doesn't hesitate to ask for help. The difference between George and Mary, on this matter, is pride. George puts it all on himself, and Mary just says hey, we need help! I am like Mary when it comes to anyone else. See a problem, let's get together and fix it. For example, a little over a year ago, a friend was in a serious bind. Another friend and I came up with a plan, went to our whole group of connected friends, and asked for help on her behalf. Everyone was so wonderful!! We came together, got her through a couple of rough months, and she's been getting back on track ever since. It was humbling to see. Just as in the movie, it was as if the front room was suddenly filled with people who were happy to put what they could in the basket and help George out. In fact, they were overjoyed to be able to do something to help. Bells were ringing and angels were getting their wings all over the place. Beautiful!! However, when it comes to me, pride keeps me from reaching out. I can't be Mary for myself. When I'm in trouble, I'm like George. I feel sorry for myself because I figure it must somehow be my fault. I feel like a failure because I didn't do the right thing. I feel like I let everyone down because things are no better, and often worse. I don't though, ever feel like I want to end it all. Hide in my bed, not answer the phone, avoid the world . . . . yes, but never end it all.

I believe my mother did a great job of raising me to be independent, able to take care of myself, and not afraid to do things that are tough but potentially rewarding. Independence and self-reliance though, can sometimes have their drawbacks. For me, that drawback is that I have a very hard time not only asking for, but accepting help when I need it. This is not to say that I haven't been helped in an infinite number of extraordinary ways throughout my life, but when I'm in a really, really deep hole, I don't know how to ask for the ladder. It usually has to be thrown down the hole and hit me on the head. Well, a ladder has hit me on the head, and I'm beginning to climb up. This hole has been caused by a culmination of things. Between 2004-2009, I didn't think life could get any more difficult and complicated. Many of you have battled some of the same things. I'm not at all unique. Divorce, single parenting a couple of angry and hurt boys who needed a father, health problems, stressful work, financial problems, making major changes like quitting a job, selling a house, and moving across the country with no job or house waiting for you, all the typical stuff so many people have been through. But, I did it. Didn't do it without a lot of support, encouragement, and exhausted ears and shoulders of my friends and family, but got it done. Once it was done, I thought, "Ok, it's all downhill from there. Surely." Then, the giant sink hole caved in. Like any other parent, throw anything at me, but don't hurt my children. Things fell apart. Ethan developed a raging and desperate drug addiction, which I discovered only when it was too late, that it was largely a result of some things he thought he had escaped when we moved. But, it was worse than that, so much worse than that. And then, even worse than THAT! I am not unique in dealing with this either. It is so much more common than I imagined. I air my dirty laundry a lot to all of you, but there's much more in piles that you can't see. There are hidden piles that nobody has seen. The surface has been hard enough to air. Getting it out helps, but there is still all the collateral damage to contend with. There are mountains of medical bills, prescriptions, testing, counseling, rehab hospitals, attorney fees, court costs, fines, etc., etc., etc. I'm busy trying to fill in the hole as quickly as I'm sinking. Then, it is suddenly no longer just Ethan, Asa is holding his own, but the same can't be said for me. Surgery for me. Brakes on, have to stop for a bit. Problem is, if I'm not shoveling it out, it's getting deeper.

So, like George, I find myself feeling sorry for myself, feeling like a failure, and feeling like I'll never get out of this damn hole! It finally becomes too much. Just at that time, Clarence arrives to tell me I'm not done yet, that I have plenty of love and support to  carry me through, and that things will work out. Clarence was instrumental in "Santa" sending me a gift card so I could buy Asa Christmas presents and feel like less of a failure. Clarence was present when my friends kicked my butt into gear to give Asa the tree, decorations, etc. that he deserved. And Clarence has done what I couldn't do. Clarence has asked others for help for me. My stubborn pride left me sinking without any idea of how I was going to get out this time, just waiting for the endless bottom. Clarence even  put the word out to my high school friends asking for financial support, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. I tried; believe me, I tried! It's been very strange to accept the help that many of you have given, and very humbling. There is an art to accepting help, and I haven't learned it yet, but I want you all to know that I'm learning. Your help has given the ladder in my hole some solid ground, and I'm starting the climb out. I can hear you all at the top of the hole cheering me on, and I know I'll get there. I remind myself often that it could be so much worse, that I don't have it nearly as bad as others, and that I'm not alone in my struggles. I appreciate your patience, your understanding, your encouragement, your support (both emotional and financial), and most importantly . . . . your genuine love and generosity of heart. In all honesty, I don't know how I've made enough of a difference in your life for you to want to help me, but I'm glad I did. I have done an amazingly beautiful job of choosing my friends in life. I don't know what I would do without each and every one of you. With the family and friends I have, I'll get to the top of my ladder and out of my hole. I will. And when I do, I'll throw a ladder down a hole for the next person. This is the beauty of life and love. Thank you for teaching me!

Some random thoughts of late . . . .

Sometimes I think of things to say on my Facebook status, but it would either be too long to write, or there are too many things to say, and I don't want to put a laundry list on there. So, I guess this seems like a more appropriate place for a laundry list. Below are some random thoughts of late . . . .

1. Yesterday afternoon and last night, I was so angry, frustrated, and sad that I had the recurring thought of "it's a good thing I don't own a gun." Now, don't misinterpret. I didn't want to use it on myself, or on anyone else, I just wanted to shoot things. Maybe hold someone hostage at the horrible, incompetent hospital Ethan was at, until they gave me his stuff and his Vyvanse pills back. It's a long story, but I can't think about it any more right now. 
2. This morning, on a Saturday, I woke up at 8:30 in the morning!! What's up with that? I even managed to stay awake, wide awake. As I was walking around the kitchen, getting a Diet Dr. Pepper, I thought about how it's probably a good thing that I don't live with anyone else (except Asa, who wouldn't care about this, and is gone this weekend anyway.) I was thinking about how comfortable I was walking around the house in a big shirt, my underwear, a sweater, and my socks. Just remarkably comfortable. I'd like to stay like this all day.
3. I've been taking down the Christmas stuff, but I don't want to put away the tree. I will miss the lights at night when I'm sitting on the couch. I need to think of an alternative.
4. "Under the Tuscan Sun" is a great movie, and always gives me a little of that elusive hope floating somewhere in the bottom of Pandora's jar. Happened across it this morning when I was up so early.
5. "The Descendants," which I also happened across, and happily so, was an excellent movie, and made me think about the mess we make of life. But, there's always a chance for redemption. There is a scene in the movie (spoiler alert) where they are spreading ashes in the ocean. This made me think about spreading our little portion of Walter's ashes a couple of weeks ago. If you've never experienced such a thing, it's oddly wonderful. The ashes are not fine, gritty ashes. They're larger than you might expect, contain tiny bone particles, etc. I don't mean to sound morbid, but that actually made it a little more real. Walter was really still there, he wasn't just ash. We each spread a little, nobody wanting to spread too much before we each had a chance. After we'd passed the jar around a couple of times, there was still more left, and it fell to me to empty it out. The part in the bottom of the jar was held tight, and didn't want to let go. Then, we all chuckled a little about how stubborn he STILL was. I had to stick my finger in the jar and loosen it up. It was a strange feeling. Then, it was done. He was free, and would spend no more time on the shelf in Mom's prayer room. I think it's only just now hitting me as I write this, typing through some tears. I miss him, I miss my grandmother, I miss all of them.

Hmmmm . . . . . interesting, this whole writing process. I think I just needed to write #s 1-4 in order to get to #5, and #5 was what I was needing to deal with.

The last thing in the jar

"The first woman was named Pandora. She was made in heaven, every god contributing something to perfect her. Venus gave her beauty, Mercury persuasion, Apollo music, etc. Thus equipped, she was conveyed to earth, and presented to Epimetheus, who gladly accepted her, though cautioned by his brother Prometheus, to beware of Zeus and his gifts."

We know that Pandora is the legendary source of all the sorrow, pain, suffering, sadness, deceit, cruelty, and general mistreatment and evils of the world. She simply couldn't resist opening the jar/box. Curiosity and intelligence led her to it. As hard a she tried to quickly close the lid, it was simply too late. Once escaped, there was nothing she, or anyone could do. She was given the beautiful gifts of the gods, yet released all the evils of the universe on the world. 

I think of my children when I think of Pandora. They were made of all the good things of heaven. Intelligence, handsomeness, wit, curiosity, wonder, kindness, love, etc. One represents the world before the jar was opened, and the other is post jar opening. Although Asa has been exposed to plenty of sorrow, pain, suffering, and sadness, he maintains a certain level of innocence and naivety. I'm very protective of that for him. There's no rush. Ethan is the post jar-opening child. He stood next to Pandora as she opened that jar. In fact, he probably would have encouraged her to do so. His intelligence and curiosity served him well until he was about 11 years old. Then, the jar was fully opened. He was hit squarely in the face with all those sorrows flying out. They have taken their toll with him. He has seen and known sorrow, pain, suffering, sadness, deceit, cruelty, and many, many other evils. He is damaged. He is marked. As a result, those of us who love him, have felt many of the same, but to a lesser degree. I have not seen or experienced many of the things he has, and I don't know that I would have survived them if I had. His full story is yet to be told, but it has brought more sadness than I ever imagined possible. 

The good news, however, is that after Pandora opened the jar and all the evils flew out, one thing remained in the bottom of it . . . HOPE. That is the one thing that was left for the world. We were to use it to combat all the bad that had escaped, just that one thing . . . . HOPE. I've written about hope and faith before, but these are still what I turn to on a constant basis. They are ultimately all that is left at the bottom of my jar, and they are the gifts of God. The evils of the world exist, there is no doubt about that to me, but we have the last small gift to oppose them with. It's all we have, but it's mighty. 

So, I look at my children, and no matter how damaged they may have become by the events of their lives, they will always have that final gift. At the moment, it's often elusive for me, and horribly elusive for Ethan right now. The jar seems to have become so deep that the bottom isn't visible, but I know that HOPE is down there somewhere, and I'll fight to keep my grasp on it. I just hope Ethan doesn't stop looking for it, and that he will once again reach for it, and grab tightly.