The Love Language of Grief

 

If you know me well you know that physical touch is most definitely NOT my "love language". It never has been. 

I appreciate a short and sweet hug as a greeting or farewell to someone I rarely see...key word: rarely.

I hug people because I know it is what they need from me. I can appreciate that physical touch is the love language of so many others. I can appreciate the fact that the family culture that some people have involves consistent hugging. And I am so very willing to provide people with that form of connection.

I think that it is a naive to believe that we should only expect people to reach out to us in our specific love language without putting emphasis on reaching out to others in the ways that they are naturally inclined to receive love in. It is also naive to not accept love when it is given in someone else's love language...to them that means something very significant. They are loving you in the way they wish to be loved. It's a treasure.

And so I never disregard a hug from a family member or a friend. Nor do I deny it to them. I want to love others like Christ loves them. I can imagine that he felt "hugged out" sometimes, but he knew how much those hugs, those hand shakes, those simple touches must have meant to each and every person he came in contact with. He loved so very well, in each of the love languages...is it so hard to imagine that we are called to do the same?

I'm not saying you have to hug everyone or buy everyone gifts or spend hours upon hours with them. 

I'm simply saying that we should all take the time to love others. Love them in ways that speak to your heart and love them in ways that speak to their heart. It's a fairly simple narrative when you really think about it. 

I built up my appreciation for physical touch throughout my marriage to my late husband, John. Prior to our relationship I wouldn't say that I ever "needed" a hug from anyone to feel comforted or supported. Words of affirmation were always more my mindset. I remember, early in our marriage, how hard it was to sleep with another person in the bed with me. I always tried to stuff a pillow between us and preferred to not be touching as I slept. Poor John...all he wanted was to snuggle. Haha. 

But, throughout our 14 years together I learned to be vulnerable with John and to let my guard completely down with him. Soon enough, his hugs brought me comfort. His touch made me feel supported. He was the only one whose physical touch brought about those things for me. 

Eventually I couldn't sleep without him in the bed with me. I longed for his arms to surround me anytime I felt vulnerable or scared or in need of comfort. 

John taught me the love language of physical touch. The sacred aspect of being wholly yourself and completely vulnerable with your person...your partner...and to, amazingly, feel comforted, simply by their touch. We didn't even need the words that I so often craved.

And then he died.

The brutality and the rapidness of the disappearance of that aspect of love hit me like a ton of bricks. 

After all the trauma had been distributed throughout my heart and the adrenaline was long gone I settled into the aspect of physically missing him.

I would surround myself with pillows trying to recreate the feeling of his body against mine.

I would reach for him in the middle of the night...and I would break when I found empty space.

Everyone was hugging me...all the time...but it all felt so very empty. 

They held my hands and they literally wiped my tears away...but I felt no safety resonating from their touch.

I no longer had a single person in the world whose touch could bring me what I needed.

So, I did what I thought I had to do under such heartbreaking circumstances. 

I willed my body to not need the physical touch of others.

I trained myself to hate physical touch again. I forced myself to disengage mentally when physical touch was required of me. 

I made myself survive.

It certainly wasn't pretty. But I felt that it was, somehow, necessary. 

And then, so very suddenly, a little girl came into my life.

And if you know anything about adoption or foster care, you know how very important physical touch is to children. Particularly children who do not feel loved. 

I knew how important it would be for me to engage physically with her. I knew that it was necessary from the very start. And boy, was I right.

It wasn't so hard in the beginning, when she was a little standoffish. But as she grew to accept me and my love for her she started to crave physical touch. She longs for lingering hugs and constant snuggles and she often begs to sleep in my bed with me. 

She doesn't often sleep in my bed but when she does she is all over me, haha. I actually rarely sleep when she is with me, because she is always touching me and I am never able to fully relax. There is just so much cuddling and she is constantly reaching out to me to make sure that I'm still there. She needs me to still be there...

I need to still be there...for her. 

Because physical touch is her love language...and I will do whatever it takes to love and honor her in that way. Because she is my daughter...and I promised from the moment I knew of her existence that I would give all of me that I could to her. Not to the extent of my own detriment, because we all know that wouldn't help her in the long run either, but still, motherhood is a calling of sacrifice. 

It is exhausting though. To put so much into someone else and to have such hard time being filled myself. 

This is a season, I remind myself, as she plasters herself to my side every night. 

This is a season, I remind myself, as I long for just a little more space.

This is a season, I remind myself, as I go to bed alone every night.

This is a season, I remind myself, as I remember what it felt to be fully known and fully loved by a man.

This is a season, I remind myself, a season to love and honor my daughter in a way that can move mountains for her. 

The love language of grief has been my calling for many years...

But I am determined to find joy in the the love language of the living...

For it is just as sacred of a calling...even in this season.