Modes of Affection

As a citizen from the land of steady habits, I call up the same type of music for each day of the week while I do the early morning chores. On Saturdays I call for the children’s music we played for our kids. This Saturday our favorite musician from that genre, Tom Chapin, was playing.

I change Cindy quickly and easily as she gives no resistance. From the neck down Cindy cannot move her muscles voluntarily. Above the neck she can lift or turn her head. She also can stick her tongue out. She did this as I moved her limbs for physical therapy and my face drew near to hers.

For years I assumed that Cindy sticking her tongue out was only a signal for food, even when there was none around. A few weeks ago I finally wondered if she wanted something else and kissed her.  I quickly discovered that an intimate kiss was precisely what Cindy wanted, perhaps has been wanting for years.

I admit to not feeling comfortable kissing Cindy as she lay helpless physically and verbally. In no way does this feel like “old times” for me. However, since I was Cindy’s first and only boyfriend, there can be only one image in her mind for who is giving her the satisfaction of a kiss. There still must be a vibrant memory, or at least a feeling, of one particular person residing in her mind. That thought is enough for me to always oblige her with a kiss, despite the awkwardness.

I change Cindy’s disposable mattress underpad as the last thing to do in the room before leaving to make breakfast. I used to shift Cindy to a chair in order to do this. Now I use another mode of affection.

I get the new underpad unfolded and within reaching distance on the bed. Then I sit on the swivel chair next to Cindy, at about the same level as the bed. From this perch I easily slide Cindy over and onto my lap, curled up with her right cheek against my chest. I switch out the old pad with the new. Then we spend one or two songs in this position while I rub her back and talk to her.

The song “Grow in Your Own Sweet Way” by Tom Chapin starts to play. This is my favorite of all the children’s songs when our kids were young; the only song that on occasion caused a tear to shed. The title says it all, a song about the innocence and growth of your little loved ones.

Listening to the song invokes bittersweet memories. I realize no time in our lives are as innocent or free of pain as they might seem to be in retrospect. Yet the juxtaposition of holding a declining adult in my lap, instead of a blossoming child, preserves the sweetness of the song without the promise.

Still, I am grateful for our two new modes of affection over the past few weeks. Cindy appears to be grateful as well, her cheek buried into my chest. Ironically, kissing my wife now feels awkward but holding her in my lap like a child brings comfort to us both. Both modes reinforce our love during our final journey together.