Experiencing my husband’s long illness and recent death reminded me of the importance of the human touch. His fingers grazing mine when he needed something from the bedside table he couldn’t reach. His smile as I rubbed his feet while we talked, with me doing most of the talking. Mutual reassurance at 3 A.M. when I’d hear irregular breathing, lay a hand on his chest, and feel the pattern change to calmness. That little current flowing between us as we held hands for our morning prayers, even after the actual words came only through my lips. Hugs of family and friends that brought healing tears and pushed away fears. And all their cheek-kisses, back caresses, adjusting wayward strands of our hair, finger massages, and quiet hand-holding for both of us and for each other.
People ask, “Is there’s anything I can do?” They don’t realize that their caring touch brought Frank and me so much comfort and encouragement. I’m convinced that God gave us each a body so we can minister to each other through the grace of a simple human touch.