The first time I invited a good friend not just over to but into my house, postvaccination, sans masks, I couldn’t even wait until she walked up to my door–I ran outside to greet her, and we tackle-hugged each other in the driveway. We both held on tight, the otherworldly buzz of a thousand cicadas in our ears, as we took turns exclaiming how good it was to see each other. We hadn’t hung out in person since January 2020, and of course I was looking forward to talking, sharing a meal, catching up on all her news–but somehow I’d forgotten that before any of that happened, I would also get to hug her. It was my first hug from a friend in more than a year, and a reminder of just how comforting a good hug can be.
In March 2020, when our once far-ranging lives shrank to texts, phone calls and faces on screens, I knew my family and I were going to miss seeing close friends and relatives in person. But over the past year, I’ve also caught myself feeling bereft over the absence of briefer interactions, even those impromptu two-ships-passing moments, with more casual friends. I’ve missed the experience of meeting someone new, striking up a conversation and realizing you might be friends in the making. I’ve missed running into old friends on my travels, or going to a reading or event alone and reconnecting with someone I hadn’t expected to see.
But just as there are many different kinds of relationships and friendships, there are also many different kinds of hugs, and I’ve missed the satisfying hugs you share with friends you haven’t seen in a while, the quick hugs you exchange with frequent companions when you sit down for coffee, the long hug you might give a favorite relative before you part ways.
Most of all, I am haunted by the hugs I’ll never get to give my mother, who died of cancer early in the pandemic. I have a lifetime of her love and affection to remember. I know the exact day we must have hugged for the last time, weeks before COVID-19 forced shutdowns and stay-at-home orders throughout the country. But I don’t remember our final hug itself–how long we held on, or how tight, or her exact words before I left for the airport–because I thought I’d be back soon. I didn’t know it was the last time I would ever see her.
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