Art Heals: Family

I saw a report on the French news that after May 11, France will authorize family members to visit relatives in nursing facilities or isolated in their homes, on a limited basis, no more than one person at a time, for no more than one hour, and no touching. 

If America is the land of hugs, which have taken over from handshakes in social and even some  professional settings, France is the land of the kiss. La bise, the kiss on the cheek ( or one on each cheek, or three times, starting with the right cheek, or  maybe the left depending on where you are in the country or who proffered a cheek first.) 

No touching  means no kissing,  no sweet bisou  on  your grandmother’s soft cheek.  Even air kisses are hard to throw when your lips are covered by a mask.  We must kiss with our eyes now.

For us Americans, if our parents and grandparents are still living, we are continuing  to protect them by not entering their spaces, by sharing touch hand-to-hand against shielding glass, for a while longer, until it is safe again to hug and kiss.  But  I can’t help but think of the many who cannot overcome  these barriers even without a pandemic to hinder them. Immigrants, with families far away in unreachable  countries.  Those at  war, and under occupation, locked away from each other with no end in sight.  For me, the pain of losing my parents these last few years is mitigated by not  having to worry about their safety, but I still miss being able to share moments, to look into their eyes, to touch.

No matter who we are, no matter where we are, we carry our families with us.  We pack them heedfully in the suitcase of our memories, opening it carefully to unpack the souvenirs of our times together. 

I thank artist Adam Chamy for giving me this metaphor with his painting, inside a suitcase, Diptych 1952 (Mom & Dad). Art Heals.