Touch (part 2)

Another prime example of my dad's inability to offer positive touch occurred after my beloved Mum passed away. We were all by her bedside for her final breath. I remember talking to her, kissing her forehead and squeezing her hand. I don't remember much else. After a few minutes of our final goodbyes, we called her angelic end-of-life nurses in to the room, they entered and automatically gave us all a hug. I watched my dad in the nurse's embrace and saw he was struggling with it. He could not wait to get out and away. Anyone observing this scene may have thought, the situation was all too much for him. I knew different. Human touch is too much for him. Whilst my husband and I were receiving the pure love, strength and humanity of that moment, my dad was appalled that a stranger would do that to him.

That occurred in the early hours of the morning so after a few hours of trying and failing to get any sleep, I got up in a daze and robotically went downstairs to the kitchen where I could hear the family. Someone made me a cup of tea and I plonked myself down on the conservatory sofa. I felt numb and in terrible shock by my Mum's last few days which had been truly harrowing. I heard my husband say he was going to shower. Next thing the first tsunami of grief washed over me, I howled and wailed and cried never-ending buckets of tears.

Suddenly this weird primeval noise came from deep within me. I had heard about such sounds, mostly relating to therapy clients who had suffered abuse but I had never heard such a noise coming out of me before. I could not stop it so I set it free. It was an awfully disturbing, wild sound that you can't physically make yourself. Anyway, I was in the midst of all this and just letting it all go when suddenly I felt something touching my knee. I wondered if it was my dear little dog who was my ever present shadow. I opened my eyes and there he was sitting looking at me, very unsure as to what was happening to his person but he stayed there just the same. He had not touched my knee. I looked up and there was my dad probably about a metre away. That is, as far away from me as possible but still within reach to tap my knee twice with his fully stretched arm and utter these words: 'There, there.'

Well, as you can imagine that was really comforting and made me feel so much better. Not.

I continued my sojourn into the depths of my grief. My husband suddenly appeared and my dad's relief was palpable as he said 'oh, there you are, you can take over!'. My dad was gone in a flash and my husband sat down close to me, gathered me up in his arms and just held this snotty, crying, noisy primeval being that was his grief-stricken wife. That is exactly what I needed in that moment.

PS In the country where both my husband and I grew up, a regular sight, sound and smell would be the snoek van. That is a van full of fish for sale. The van man would sound his horn to let people know he was there. Now, I thought my primeval sound was just like the snoek van but my husband thought not. He thought it sounded like a lighthouse and that really confused him as we live in a landlocked area of the country. Fortunately, he still came to help.

PPS Sadly, my Mum had fallen down the stairs and that was the cause of her demise. The second I had heard her on the stairs, I got that terrible sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that you get when something horrific happens. That stayed with me for the four days she courageously fought for her life. But after that primeval roar of mine, that sick feeling had vanished. I thought that was incredible.