It has been brought to my attention before. One might hope that a single reminder would suffice for someone of my mental prowess. I can after all recite both my phone number and social security, being ten and nine digits apiece. But I seem less able to hang on to a recollection of the value of touch. 

I remembered with my babies. I held them every day and much of the night. I scooped them up when they cried, or fell, or laughed, or ran away. Their skin and mine were on close terms, sharing sweat, and yogurt splotches, dirt and tears. But with John, well I forget. 

We have never been one of those adorable couples who kiss every time one leaves the house, or snuggle on the couch during a movie. I am not sure why, since I know better. But when we do hug after a stormy interchange with Ben, or hold hands in church it is nice. Very nice.

I read an article about the value of touch. Two therapists who share a business, a marriage, and a name articulated three bennies from staying close. Feeling secure, staying connected, and communicating affection are the strong suits of touch. All of which are lovely aspects of a shared life. 

Cognizance seems to kick in for most of us when trouble assaults us. After a flood, or an earthquake, a long separation, or surgery there is no response but to wrap our arms around each other. If only an old dog like me can learn to be proactive.