Witching hour

He could sleep anywhere - this is a photo from our high school yearbook. He’s sleeping on a bench in the quad.

These days, 5 in the morning is the witching hour for me - often I don’t fall asleep until 5 and other times when I fall asleep at a reasonable time I wake up at 5. Sometimes if I wake up at 5 I can fall back to sleep around 8 - needless to say, my mornings are not very productive. When I can’t sleep I lay in bed reading on my Kindle, periodically setting it aside and closing my eyes, giving myself a chance to fall asleep. If my mind starts up whirling and brooding and ruminating I go back to reading.

Last night I couldn’t fall asleep - I kept turning from side to side, rearranging my pillow, eventually swapping with another pillow. Note to self: I need a new pillow. I finally fell asleep some time after 5. When I woke up I had a knot in my back between my shoulder blade and spine, and it really hurt. Hours later it still hurts - I stood under a hot shower, but that didn’t help, and I’m finding I need to keep changing positions when I sit - slouching is my position of choice, but that hurts the knot. If Randy were here he would patiently knead that spot with his strong hands until it eventually felt better.

And this reminds me of how much I miss just being touched. Randy was an excellent and frequent hugger - I’m much more resistant to hugging anyone who isn’t an immediate family member. Kids and grandkids hug me - hello hugs, good-bye hugs, I’m-sorry-you’re-sad hugs. But none of those lead to me sitting on Randy’s lap, curling up next to him on the sofa, a gentle kiss, or a back rub.

I’ve read about touch deprivation in the elderly - mostly elderly women because men die so much younger - it’s a serious thing. I remember feeling a little of that in high school - which says something about my family and my lack of romantic relationships.

Now I’m thinking about how often Randy and I touched in little ways. He would sit face-forward on the loveseat to read or watch TV and I would sit/slouch/recline at the other end, facing him, with my feet tucked under his thigh. Often I would rub the top of his head or his tummy, run my hand over his beard. Often at night when Randy was ready to go to sleep he would roll onto his side with his back to me and bring his knees up and I would get into a mirror position and touch the soles of my feet to his. It was a good-night foot kiss.

Now I sleep in the middle of the bed so it doesn’t seem so empty and try not to think about how I probably won’t have anyone to snuggle with for the rest of my life.