Sympathetic Touch

Frank (courtesy of CRAVE Photography)

                Last year, the inevitable happened—my little girl, my only child, grew up and left for college four hours away.  I can’t speak for parents of multiple children, but I will say that mothers of only children give their entire hearts to that one child and when it’s time to give her wings, she flies away leaving a humungous hole. 

                That’s where the cats come in.  They don’t acknowledge you when you are talking or do anything you ask them to.  They are demanding, insistent, and randomly destructive.  Every now and then, though, they surprise you, like last week.  I read on Facebook that a local mother of three young children had just entered hospice care and was saying her goodbyes.  I started to sniffle and pray and Frank climbed onto the keyboard and touched noses with me (Frank, who would just as likely bite my nose) and I was reminded that when there are no words for moments of sorrow, reaching out with a touch of caring is the greatest comfort.

                Do I reach out or do I let shyness and discomfort keep me from giving that all-important loving human touch?  Do I let myself be the hands of Christ to the sorrowful?

                It was a small moment of grace for Frank to come at that time.  Just as quickly as it happened, the peace was replaced by the discovery of the dining room tablecloth and centerpiece draped over a knocked over chair.  Frank took advantage of the time I spent picking up to climb into a bowl of chai mix I was preparing on the kitchen counter.

                Take the good with the bad.