Real Hugs

A widower friend was recently celebrated his wife's birthday alone for the first time. I heard the catch in his voice as he struggled with her imprints: a kitchen table where life ran its course, a favorite holiday meal, an undisturbed comforter. I was reminded how important memories are and how much despair there is in the stillness of being left behind.

He needs a hug. Not one of those wimpy one-armed hugs we get from acquaintances or co workers. I'm talking about a real hug, where you grab hold and melt into each other, feeling warm and safe and connected. The kind of hug where nobody wants to let go first and so it lasts and lasts. The kind of hug that when it finally ends, people around you are looking on with embarrassed envy because it's been so long since they've had one.

Hugs like that etch the details somewhere deep: the smell of their skin, the feel of their arms, the sound of their heart, the warmth of their stance, the depth of their care. Real hugs condense life down to one harmonious moment where our spiritual, emotional, intellectual and physical selves are made whole.

Real hugs are our greatest expression of love, hope, and compassion. Lies, dishonor and deceit cannot prevail on the hallowed ground where we offer up the most tender parts of ourselves to one another.

I stand still in the embrace of this, feeling my love and support trickle into them and renew their spirit. It feels good and helpful to honor them and lend a hand. And then an amazing thing happens: I feel the enormous power of their gift to me, filling me with all that they are. Their transfusion of love fills my heart and spirit to etch a memory, too. This is what connects us together in our humanity. This is what we need on the arduous journey ahead.

NMcC