To Be Held and To Hold

I grew up in an affectionate household. Both my mother and my father hugged and kissed me right up to the days of their deaths. As a little boy, I would sit on my father’s lap while we watched TV, and when we took walks he held my hand. I remember crawling into my mother’s bed during thunderstorms where she would comfort me with hugs.

So it is that physical affection, receiving it and giving it, became an important part of my life, and was constant during my marriage of fifty years. My late wife Norma was equally affectionate, and although the heat of passion lessened as we grew old, we never stopped. Kisses, hugs, and holding hands were everyday physical expressions between us, a source of comfort and bonding. And from time to time, we still crawled into bed together to make love.

I’d heard a report on the web that when a kiss is held for six seconds, oxytocin – the hormone of bonding – is released. I mentioned it to Norma and she took to the idea right away, although she sometimes asked me if I was counting. Sometimes I was. A quicker off-center kiss would often have to be repeated correctly. “Soften up,” she’d sometimes say, this insistence coming from an 80 year old woman.

Since her death I greatly miss her mind, but today I miss her body terribly. I want to wrap my arm around her shoulders, pull her close and watch stupid TV together. I want to be kissed and to kiss, and my hand wants feel the softness and warmth of her skin. She loved it when I caressed her cheek and cradled her face in my hands, and she would often kiss the top of my head as she walked behind me while I was sitting down.

We’ve had periods apart when she left to visit family or friends, but that felt different. We’d send heart emojis, which would suffice. But I’ve not been alone like this since I was in my late teens, and it’s hard to get used to. Not that I don’t like solitude; I’ve done my share of silent solo retreats, but after 50 years, the loss of her frequent physical affection feels staggering.

Our marriage was not always rosy and wonderful. We shared the trait of independence and developed different interests and activities. Sometimes our differences led to difficulties, but we were both committed to working things out. It helped that I married a therapist. But through it all, even the tough times, we never stopped being affectionate. For me it was something I could count on, and I got used to it. Now I will find it in small bits and pieces: hugs from my daughters and grandchildren, handshakes with friends, a friendly clap on my shoulder. I don’t expect anyone will kiss me on the top of my head. Now I must learn how to comfort myself, to help my body handle cold turkey withdrawal, because I am addicted to affection, and not just any affection but affection for and from my wife.

To Be Held and to Hold sounds like a good title for a book and would make a heartbreaking movie if only I didn’t have to have a leading role.