Cold Hands

Cecil’s hands are bitterly cold especially during the winter. Oftentimes during a playful moment, he will partially close his hands and touch my back with fingers that literally feel like ice. Too often, I’ll say to Cecil, “Don’t touch me with those cold hands.” My loving husband’s response is so gentle: “Just think, I have to live with them every day.” We laugh, change the subject, no longer touching, and move on to something else.

A few days ago, a thought came to me about death: when the breath of life is taken away; almost immediately the entire body becomes COLD– hands, feet, face, legs….

As I reflect on the finality of death (should Cecil precede me) when earthly interactions are no longer possible between us, I certainly wouldn’t want to think that I spent any precious moments saying to my beloved, “Don’t touch me with those cold hands.”

If I have to view Cecil in a casket and place my hands on his cold body, cold forehead, cold hands, I want to be able to smile and remember how we embraced regardless of whatever physical changes affected our bodies (cold hands, edentulous mouth, bed sores, memory impairment) as we moved down the cycle of life.

Life is too short and beautiful to be miffed by worldly things. Every moment is precious together especially with loved ones. From this day forward, I will forget the cold hands.

So, my darling Cecil, touch me with your colds hands. Let my body warm your hands. Touch my face. Touch my neck. Touch my chest. Touch me… Touch me….Touch me….