Human Touch

I got to see my niece last week - the one who's left town for Grad School. She came to the beach Friday morning, spent the day and night, and we followed her home on Saturday to see her apartment before heading home ourselves.

It was wonderful to see her, even though it's only been three weeks. I've prayed for her often, called her occasionally, and thought about her nearly constantly over the last three weeks. I had the opportunity to take her grocery shopping and put gas in her car - little things in the grand scheme, but every little bit helps.

During the day on Friday we were talking and I asked her if she was lonely and if she was hearing from her friends back home.

"Not too many people have called, but I'm too busy to talk even if they did," she explained. One of the five classes she's teaching has 200 students. She has to assign homework regularly and administer tests. The grading alone of the homework and tests for that many students times 5 is staggering, not to mention the three papers she's already had to do for her graduate courses, preparing lectures, having office hours, etc.

Then she continued.

"The thing that has struck me the most, though, is not being hugged."

"What do you mean," I asked, not quite getting her inference.

"Well, think about it, Aunt Pat," she said (using that nickname for me that I hate and only my nieces and nephews use - they're the only ones who can get away with such a masculine version of my given name), "for the last 28 years of my life I've been hugged daily, usually several times a day, between Mom and Dad, my aunts, grandparents, cousins, friends, and the people from my church. For the last two weeks, I haven't had any physical contact with another human being. I don't know anyone well enough to hug them and no one is hugging me. After 28 years of daily physical contact with people who care about me, for the last two weeks, I've not been touched. I had no idea how deeply that would affect me."

I'm sure she had no idea how deeply that would affect me, either. I cried. Then I called the children who all took turns hugging their cousin and making sure she had enough physical contact to, hopefully, make up for the last two weeks.

I know she will eventually build close relationships. But, in the meantime, she's missing out on such a simple gift that most of us take for granted - the gift of touch, the ability to reach out and physically connect with another human being.

Over the years I've visited nursing homes and been struck by how much the elderly need to be touched - their hands held, their arms rubbed, a tight squeeze around the shoulders - human contact. It's a basic human need. And scientists now are beginning to more fully understand the impact of the lack of human touch. Babies who aren't touched regularly and lovingly develop attachment disorder and are incapable of reciprocating love. It follows them into adulthood and has a tremendous impact on their future for the rest of their lives. The elderly crave the touch that they experienced routinely for so long and now are without. When I visit nursing homes, I make a special effort to TOUCH as many people as I can. Now my own niece, my beloved, precious niece, is suffering from the same lack in her life.

We all need to be reminded from time to time of the need for connecting with another human being and recognize that lots of people live their lives without that touch for years on end. We don't think about it because we have it. But there are many out there who don't.

And, apparently, my niece is one of those people.