Hugs

Think of Winnie the Pooh being slammed by Tiger!

A hug,

What’s in a hug?

What do people hug?

Children hug, parents hug, we hug our dogs, we hug our cats. We hug at funerals and weddings. We hug friends. We hug our sisters, our brothers, our grandparents, we hug ourselves sometimes.

What kind of hugs are there? There’s the classic A frame hug where. I have seen my sister hand out “A” frame hugs, the cursory hug where you are not quite familiar with the person so shoulders touch arms reach.

Some people are not huggers, others are. I am a hugger. I love bringing people into the folds of my arms.

Today I hugged one of my dearest friends. I big hug, a strong hug, the kind of hug that says “I love you” I squeeze, she squeezes. I feel her warmth in my hands, I feel her smile next to my cheek. Our hearts touch. Her arms wrap around me tightly, an embrace that says I don’t want to let go. The embrace that says so much.

Today I hugged a dog. She sat next to me and handed me her paw. It was everything she had to not jump up into my arms, to knock me over. She sat, she let me stroke her face, her chest.

My neighbor’s dog wants to jump on me. I’ve only laid eyes on this strong pit-mix 3 times in my life and yet her excitement, her enthusiasm is unmistakable. She is really happy to see me. I know this because her tail wags, her body wags, she tries to jump on me. I hold her down with all my strength. She really wants to break free. Maybe she would lick me to death.

I hug my daughter. I hugged her recently. I held her. We stood still and silent in our embrace. A month ago, I hugged her husband. My daughter joined in. The three of us held each other. No words needed, love passed through each breath. My daughter’s hair touching my cheek. Her husband’s arms around my shoulder, his arm around my daughter. The three of us held each other in this sacred silent space. In that silence so much was shared. How does one describe such a special moment? The rest of the world disappears, the floor we stood on disappears, nothing else in the world exists. We are temporarily removed from this physical world as love bleeds through. The feeling that passed through me is with me still, a month later.

There have been special hugs over the years. The hug my daughter gave me when she got off the school bus as a little girl, the hug my son gave me when he got off the bus. Running full speed to throw their arms around me.

My son when he burned his hand on the kitchen stove, held on so tight, his head pressed against my shoulder as if he would never let go.

My dog, Charlie the day I had to say good bye. His fur so warm, so soft, now wet with my tears, my heart pounding next to his.

The hug from my special horse loving friend, every time I see her. Sometimes tears roll down my cheeks in our silent embrace.

My mother’s hug. The hug she gave me and Mary when she greeted us on visiting Sundays when we were in the Orphanage. One knee bent, touching the floor, arms outstretched waiting for us to run into them. How she didn’t fall over.

My son is 28 years old now. Tall, strong, muscular. He doesn’t talk much. He makes the best coffee. “give me some of your coffee” He always does.

My son doesn’t hug. He will let me poke his sides on occasion, but he doesn’t hug. He will let me push on his back. But he doesn’t hug. He will push on my back if I ask him but he doesn’t hug. He will share some of what he has cooked but he doesn’t hug. He will ask me if I want to go with on the drive for fast food but he doesn’t hug. He will bring me something to soothe my leg cramps, he hears me scream when I have a nightmare. I know because when I ask him did you hear me? He says “ya”. He has listened to some of my writings, he has shared some videos he finds interesting, but he doesn’t hug. I have asked him for a hug but he just moves on with whatever he was doing. Maybe he was getting a glass of water. Maybe he was cooking his dinner. When our dog Charlie was alive I would say “John give me a hug.” My son would put his arms loosely around my shoulders to see if Charlie would get in on the hug. Charlie always did. In the last five years of Charlie’s life that’s how I got a hug from my son. It became a game. Let’s see what Charlie does. “John come here give me a hug” and sure enough the nails clicked rhythmically on the floor as Charlie made his happy wagging way to us trying to squeeze between us as John and I watched with smiles on our face Charlie’s back and forth weaving through our legs. Charlie loved those hugs.

I haven’t seen my son for over a month now. We have texted each other perhaps three times, you see I moved out.

Today, I snuck into my “old” house, my home for the past 30 years. You see I had seen my soon to be x husband walking the dog. My soon to be x said John is in the back room if you want to see him.

I walked through the front door, no announcement, no warning. I walked with confidence right to where I knew my son would be sitting.

Without hesitation, as my son sat on the couch next to a fresh cup of coffee I stood directly in front of him “come on, up, give me a hug, either that or some of your coffee,” He put his phone down next to his leg. Then he hesitated, took a sip of coffee. I repeated “come on, stand up, give me a hug.” He slowly stood up, placed his shoulders next to mine, his arms hung down on either side. I wrapped my arms around him. I held him. He didn’t pull away. He stood there, let me hold him, hug him. I knew he was uncomfortable but he stood there, he didn’t pull away. He let me hold him. In that briefest of moments our hearts shared space. In that brief moment. I felt him say he loved me.

Today my son let me hug him.

I want to tell someone. But who and how could I ever express the depth of what I felt in that brief moment.