Where's the Silver Lining?

This and that and rocking chairs

Tonight is one of those nights when I'm feeling low and blue. I had a good cry, but the burden didn't really lift.

I wrote a poem, "Rocking Chair Sorrow" , about an elderly woman left alone to rock and wait, and I realized I'm becoming that woman. The difference is I visit with people on the phone, online, even in person at times, but I'm still alone, searching for vindication that I have worth.

How sad. I have Robert, and I'm very grateful I do, yet because of the physical problems, we seldom if ever hug - it hurts him too much. Sometimes I so long for a hug. Virtual hugs, for some reason, don't do the job. The son who hugs me is over half way around the world. The son who is close doesn't give hugs except to his wife and sons. Once in a while, I would so love for him to give me a hug and say, "Mom, I love you." He wouldn't have to often, just once or twice a year. My oldest is in Virginia, and she gives hugs when we see each other, but once every year or two doesn't give much time for many.

I'm being very gloomy tonight, I know.

The son who doesn't hug used to be so loving. That doesn't mean he isn't loving now, just that he doesn't show it as readily. His middle son most reminds me of him. Ryan, his oldest, will give me a hug when we first see each other and then again before we part, if I initiate it, which is a marvelous occurance with a twelve-year-old boy. Shane, the youngest, always wants his hug when we first see each other and then when we go our separate ways. But Colby is the one who will come and sit beside me and put his arm aroung me, or come up and give me a hug (oh, he does others the same way, but this is my pity party, so I'll just talk about me). When his father was a child, he did the same thing. *sigh* Maybe I used up all my alloted hugs before he became an adult.

But I know he love me and his dad. Yes, he and his wife and boys live here so they can be close to her parents, but I know they are here for us, too. I know that, but sometimes I don't feel it.

My best friend and oldest adopted sister was by yesterday and she hugged me before she left. That was the first hug I had from an adult in ages. Isn't strange how we seek and need human contact, physical contact?

Maybe I want or need too much, apparently I'm asking for too much, or expecting it. However, in my own way, I'm sitting in my rocking chair staring at the window wondering, just like the old woman in my poem. Whew, maybe I just need to get a life.