I had been in the home for just three weeks, and I wasn't happy. In fairness, it's not really a home. It's one of those senior independent living facilities, where we all have our own little apartments and can live our own lives as much or as little as we choose, but there's a dining hall that serves meals, and staff available to help us with anything we can't manage on our own. There's a bus service for folks who can no longer drive their own cars (not me, yet, thank God), and basic medical and health services available on site. All in all, for what it is, it's not a bad place.
But I was unhappy. And I let everyone I met know it. Staff, other residents, I was a pain in the ass to everybody.
I had recently lost my wife of forty-eight years to a heart attack, and eight months later, my kids, realizing that I wasn't managing too well on my own at seventy-seven, convinced me to move here and sell the house. I didn't like it. I didn't like giving up a lifetime of things we had acquired as a couple, I didn't like leaving the comfort of my home for so many years, I didn't like relocating to another part of town and having to learn where things were and meet all new people.
And so, I was sitting alone on a couch in one of the common areas one afternoon, thinking about how miserable I was, when a resident I had been introduced to as Claudia walked up and sat down next to me. Claudia is a nice looking lady, if you understand that "nice looking" doesn't mean the same thing here that it does out in the world. Nicely dressed, full-figured but not obese, tastefully made up, with silver-colored short-styled hair, nevertheless her skin was wrinkled and aged and she moved about slowly. Most of the residents here are in their seventies, plus or minus, and Claudia fell into that category. There are some much older, but you don't see them often. Occasionally one or two of them will sit quietly in the library or one of the other common areas, or will come to dinner in the dining hall, but mostly they stay in their apartments and have their meals brought in by the staff. Eventually, they move on to full-service nursing facilities. Or, they just don't wake up one morning.
When I met Claudia, I had been in my perpetual bad mood, and had spoken sharply to her. As she sat down, I thought to myself, "Well, I guess I'm in for a lecture now."
Claudia started right in. "Jim, I know you're not happy here. We all see it. I feel badly for you, but what you need to know is, most of us felt the same way at first. I was miserable for weeks when I moved here. Trust me, it will get better." I started to apologize for my behavior, hoping to forestall the real scolding I was expecting to begin, but it didn't. Claudia continued, "I want to tell you that we've found a way to bond as a community, to fight the loneliness, and to just feel better about ourselves. I'd like to tell you about it. Is that all right?"
I nodded, thinking, "Here comes the Bible pitch."
I was wrong again. "Jim," she asked, "do you like to be touched?"
"What do you mean?" I responded.
"I mean touching. Physical contact with another human being. Most of us haven't had much of that for a while when we arrive here," she sad, placing her hand on my chest, rubbing it gently. "Does that feel nice?" I nodded. "Good," Claudia replied. "Let's walk back to your apartment and talk some more about this."
I agreed, and we stood up and began walking down the corridor. On the way, I asked her, "What kind of touching are we talking about?"
"All kinds" she answered. "As much or as little as people are comfortable with."
"Sexual touching?"
"It's sexual, or it can be, but it's not sex. It's touching each other, everywhere. It can include genital and anal touching and fondling, and mutual masturbation. Even oral stimulation sometimes." We arrived at my unit and walked inside. Claudia began unbuttoning my shirt. "It's better skin-on-skin," she explained, as she began rubbing my bare chest. My nipples crinkled up as she tickled them, and, running her hands through my chest hair, she observed, "You're a hairy fellow, I see."
"I guess so," I replied.